Struggles and Triumphs, P. T. Barnum [good books to read in english .txt] 📗

has been built; and, on a rising piece of the ground, a substantial foundation has been built for a Soldiers’ Monument. The cornerstone of this monument was laid with impressive ceremonies and a military display, in the presence of a large concourse of citizens and soldiers, among whom were Major-General Alfred H. Terry, U.S.A.; Major-General and Governor Joseph H. Hawley; Adjutant-General Charles T. Stanton; Quartermaster-General Julius S. Gilman; Surgeon-General Philo G. Rockwell; Paymaster-General William B. Wooster; Aides-de-Camp and Colonel John H. Burnham, Alford P. Rockwell, William H. Mallory, Charles M. Coit, General S. W. Kellogg, of the First Brigade; Colonel S. E. Merwin, Jr., Colonel Crawford, and other officers of the Governor’s staff, and of the Connecticut State Militia.

The branch horse-railroad already reaches one of the main entrances, and brings down crowds of people every day and evening, and especially on the evenings in which the band plays. At such times the avenues are not only thronged with superb equipages and crowds of people, but the whole harbor is alive with rowboats, sailboats and yachts. The views on all sides are charming. In the rear is the city, with its roofs and spires; Black Rock and Stratford lights are in plain sight; to the eastward and southward stretches “Old Long Island’s seagirt shore”; and between lies the broad expanse of the salt water, with its ever “fresh” breezes, and the perpetual panorama of sails and steamers. I do not believe that a million dollars today would compensate the city of Bridgeport for the loss of what is confessed to be the most delightful public pleasure-ground between New York and Boston.

For these magnificent results, accomplished in so short a time, the people of Bridgeport are indebted to the park commissioners, and especially to Mr. Nathaniel Wheeler, whose untiring energy and exquisite taste have been mainly instrumental in bringing this work forward to its present state of completion.

There is easy and cheap access to this ground by means of the horse-railroad from East Bridgeport and Fairfield, and numerous avenues open directly upon the park from Bridgeport. It is the daily resort of thousands, who go to inhale the salt sea-air; and the main drive is already, on a lesser scale, to the citizens of Bridgeport, what the grand avenue in Central Park is to the people of New York; with this priceless advantage, however, in favor of Seaside Park, of a frontage on the Sound, and a shore on which the waves are ever breaking, and sounding the grand, unending story of the mysteries of the great deep.

On the western and northern margins of this public ground, in sight of the Sound and in full view of every part of the park, will hereafter be built the villas and mansions of the wealthiest citizens, and, when the hand that now pens these lines is stilled forever, and thousands look from these seaside residences across the water to Long-Island shore, and over the groves and lawns and walks and drives of the beautiful ground at their feet, it may be a source of gratification and pride to my posterity to hear the expressions of gratitude that possibly will be expressed to the memory of their ancestor who secured to all future generations the benefits and blessings of Seaside Park.

XLVII Waldemere

My Private Life⁠—Plans for the Public Benefit in Bridgeport⁠—Opening Avenues⁠—Planting Shade-Trees⁠—Old Fogies⁠—Conservatism a Curse to Cities⁠—Benefiting Barnum’s Property⁠—Sale of Lindencroft⁠—Living in a Farmhouse⁠—By the Seashore⁠—Another New Home⁠—Waldemere⁠—How It Came to Be Built⁠—Magic and Money⁠—Wavewood and the Petrel’s Nest⁠—My Farm⁠—The Holland Blanket Cattle⁠—My City Residence⁠—Comforts of City Life⁠—Begging Letters⁠—My Family⁠—Religious Reflections⁠—My Fifty-Ninth Birthday⁠—The End of the Record.

What I can call, without undue display of egotism or vanity, my “public life,” may be said to have closed with my formal and final retirement from the managerial profession, when my second Museum was destroyed by fire, March 3, 1868. But he must have been a careless reader of these pages, which record the acts and aspirations of a long and industrious career, who does not see that what, in opposition to my “public life,” may be considered my “private life,” has also been largely devoted to the comfort, convenience, and permanent prosperity of the community with which so many of my hopes and happiest days are thoroughly identified. I speak of these things, I trust, with becoming modesty, and yet with less reluctance than I should do, if my fellow-citizens of Bridgeport had not generally and generously awarded me sometimes, perhaps, more than my need of praise for my unremitting and earnest efforts to promote whatever would conduce to the growth and improvement of our charming city.

When I first selected Bridgeport as a permanent residence for my family, its nearness to New York and the facilities for daily transit to and from the metropolis were present and partial considerations only in the general advantages the location seemed to offer. Nowhere, in all my travels in America and abroad, had I seen a city whose very position presented so many and varied attractions. Situated on Long Island Sound, with that vast water-view in front, and on every other side a beautiful and fertile country with every variety of inland scenery, and charming drives which led through valleys rich with well-cultivated farms, and over hills thick-wooded with far-stretching forests of primeval growth⁠—all these natural attractions appeared to me only so many aids to the advancement the beautiful and busy city might attain, if public-spirit, enterprise, and money grasped and improved the opportunities the locality itself extended. I saw that what Nature had so freely lavished must be supplemented by yet more liberal Art.

Consequently, and quite naturally, when I projected and established my first residence in Bridgeport, I was exceedingly desirous that all the surroundings of Iranistan should accord with the beauty and completeness of that place. I was never a victim to that mania which possesses many men of