A summer rarely passes without a succession of smaller shows in the open air, such as balloon ascensions, bicycle races, cricket and base-ball matches and so on. There is a resort known as Cheltenham Beach, a strip of sand twelve miles from the City Hall, reached by the Illinois Central railway and known as “The Coney Island of the West,” although it has never touched the real Coney Island in point of prosperity. At Cheltenham Beach there is always a show of some sort going on. It may be athletics. It may be a broad-sword combat between mounted gladiators. It may be an ascent by a parachute artist, a nervy gentleman who soars a thousand feet in the air in a balloon and then descends gracefully to the earth (at the imminent and exhilarating risk of his neck) under a parachute to which he clings by a thin trapeze bar. This is a hair-raising exhibition frequently seen and quite often ending in the maiming for life of the hardy ærial navigator. At Cheltenham Beach, however, everything “goes,” as it were, and nobody ever complains unless it is on account of the small amount of beer doled out for the conventional nickel. Occasionally they have barbecues and clam-bakes at Cheltenham Beach, which, though at times enjoyable, are not exactly the class of entertainment to which one would invite the ladies of his family.
There are always vast crowds of people in Chicago athirst for amusement. That is why amusement caterers grow so rich when they give good shows. It has been the purpose of the present chapter to show that there is plenty of amusement to be found out-of-doors.
CHAPTER XX.
AN IDEAL AFTERNOON.
The charms of Chicago as a summer resort have been sung ever since one can remember. No matter how sultry the atmosphere in the down-town district, there is generally a cool breeze from the lake to temper the fierceness of the sun if one can only get where it is blowing. It is the purpose of the present chapter to describe how a simply ideal afternoon may be spent, provided the weather is suitable, by a drive along the north shore, taking in two well-known summer resorts in the journey.
About three in the afternoon is a good time to start. By that time the sun has moved well around toward the western heavens and the extremity of its fierceness has departed. Let it be understood for the sake of illustration that the traveler has secured a companion for the journey—for who likes to go driving alone, I should like to know?—and this makes him seem so much the better natured when he asks the hotel clerk to procure him from some first-class livery stable the particular sort of a rig he may fancy. It may be either a modest one-horse buggy, a high-wheeled cart (if it is desired to make an attempt at style), a mail-phaeton with a spanking team, or any one of half a dozen other styles of conveyance to be had at short notice. It may even happen that he has secured a lady companion for the trip, and if so, the lucky dog is to be envied, eh? Who does not know how much more pleasure is attached to the task of holding the ribbons when one’s left elbow is continually jolting against the shoulder of a pretty woman at one’s side.
The start is made in due season. The pace is necessarily careful up Michigan avenue and on to the big Rush street bridge (we are to have a mammoth viaduct hereabouts some day, so “they say”) but once on the North side the gait may be accelerated to a slashing trot, the smart pace of which will lend an added color to the cheek of the charmer at your elbow—always supposing the companion to be feminine. Turning into Dearborn avenue at Ohio street the smooth asphalt pave is encountered on which the hoofs of the spirited animals sound smartly. It is only a few minutes until North avenue is passed and Lincoln Park reached, upon which we swerve gently to the right, pass around the curves by Mr. Yerkes’ great electric fountain, and the Lake Shore Drive (referred to in a previous chapter) is reached. Hence and away there stretches a wide and smooth expanse of roadway two full miles straight to the northward. The blue waters of the lake are dancing and sparkling in the sunlight. The refreshing breeze is coming straight from the east and rustling the green foliage of the trees on the left. Is it any wonder that the blood flows quicker through the veins and that the tug of the horses at the bits produces an exhilaration that leads to a desire for increased speed? Even the beasts feel the spirit of the thing, and dash ahead buoyantly over the broad roadway. Other vehicles swarm over the pleasure course—heavy family carriages, in which fat dowagers are taking an airing; dog carts driven tandem by smart young men whose fathers have big bank accounts, and here and there an actual exercising cart with a blooded trotter between the shafts—it all makes up a gay panorama and the probabilities are that if you are human you will let out a link in the lines and indulge in a wee bit of a race just to see if the horseflesh you are in charge of is not just a little better than the next man’s. This will go all right until the mounted park policeman motions you to moderate your pace. His mandate must be obeyed or an arrest and fine will be the result. The policemen are sometimes conveniently blind, however, and sometimes enjoy a bit of a brush as much as anybody, but really furious driving is against the law and will not be tolerated.
A SUMMER CONCERT GARDEN.
But the two miles have been passed by this time and Diversey street and the northern limit of the park is reached. A few yards further and it is time to stop, for we have reached the great gateway of the famous summer garden, formerly known as “Fischer’s,” but which is now conducted by a gentleman of another name. No matter what the name is; it is still Fischer’s just the same. Driving through the gates into the grounds a servant takes charge of the team, leaving you at liberty to stroll down to the covered pavilion which abuts on the very edge of the lake and sit and drink in the cooling breeze to your heart’s content. There are other refreshments that you may indulge in if you choose, but it is generally conceded that the breeze alone is worth the price of admission.