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missioners, a quarter century ago, do a praiseworthy thing 

 when they secured these acres for the recreation and enjoy- 

 ment of the people? In 1883 when they hegan their work 

 this question was not easy to answer. Thirty years ago the 

 population of The Bronx was 60,000 instead of 540,000 one 

 ninth of what we have now. In those days the homes of the 

 people did not yet crowd the boundaries of this pleasant re- 

 servation. No well-graded streets told you when the limits of 

 the park had been reached. The fields and woods about were 

 wild. The bottomless (?) " Black Hole " on the west was 

 rich in traditions of cattle which, in spite of the protecting 

 barbed-wire had sunk to an untimely death in gruesome quick- 

 sands. To-day the answer is clear and certain. We are 

 glad these few blocks of land are not built upon with solid 

 rows of houses. We are satisfied that standing in idleness 

 they are better used than if they were full of crops. If they 

 were still a farm they might yield a thousand bushels of corn; 

 and of all who frequent them each might have for himself a 

 quart of corn perhaps every year or if they were planted 

 with potatoes they might yield four thousand bushels, and 

 everybody might get a half peck of potatoes once in a twelve- 

 month. But when our boys play ball on the diamonds it 

 would take more than a few potatoes to call off their game. 

 When the young man goes for a stroll with his sweetheart, 

 some day to be his wife, these shady walks are worth more to 

 him than a few handfuls of meal. When the kiddies frolic 

 for sheer joy on the velvet lawns, and the babies and their 

 proud mothers bask in the genial air and sunshine, who would 

 give up for his share in our park for a fine dinner in the best 

 hotel of the city? Blessings on the men whose wise foresight 

 and whose care have given us this place of rest and quiet and 

 health and beauty. For with Keats we hold that, 



" ' A thing of beauty is a joy forever. 

 Its loveliness increases ; it will never 

 Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep 

 A bower for us, and a sleep 



