The joy and pride of Truro is her beautiful pleasure ground, usually called Victoria Park; but just as often termed the Joe Howe Park, from the fact that it contains the Howe Falls, named after him, and also because it is proposed to erect a Howe memorial there later on. The park has been described as “Nature’s fairyland, . . . . with its groves, its deep ravines and its beautiful waterfall.” This is about as good a brief description as could be made. The park is so beautiful that merely to describe it as one of the best in the province is to rob it of its just due. It has really all the characteristics of a great park, deserves to be classed with the chief pleasure grounds of Canada, and is, in fact, superior in natural beauty to any of the well-known North American parks. It is surely only a question of time before excursion trains will bring people from all over to enjoy the delights of this picturesque place.
The entrance to Victoria park is at the front door of the town, for it is close to the Intercolonial Railway Station. Scarcely anything has been done here to alter the approach or surroundings. It has been left almost as found, and the result is very satisfactory. The deep ravine that runs through the park, and contributes so much to its romantic aspect, has its opening at the place selected for an entrance, and a pretty little stream winds its way in the channel thus provided. A carriage drive penetrates for some distance, but the strong feature that pleases all who visit here is the multitude of walks and romantic by-paths that lead off in every direction.
Here are innumerable little dells with banks of brightest green; and under shady birches or maples are comfortable seats for three or four people—generally holding two, however—where with a pleasant book, or dainty fancy work, many enjoyable hours may be spent in delightful company with birds and flowers. Yonder is a rocky bluff, tipped with green, and down its face trickles a little rill, wetting the projecting edges of the rock and causing them to glisten like silver. Just opposite are even bolder heights that are clothed in a wealth of woodland growth reaching up to the very top.
Here the park brook turns off into more secluded ways, and following it, instead of the road, a charming sylvan dale is found where not one sound intrudes save the music of the birds and the gentle ripple of the water—surely a fit retreat for artist, poet or dreamer. Here where “nature reigns”:
“Within its banks this little stream includes
A world remote from all the world of men;
And hides a kingdom far from mortal ken,
In the green depths, where never foot intrudes.”
Would you stand by the “Wishing Well,” and give expression to your fondest day-dreams? The well is here, up a gentle slope where all is tranquil and secluded. Would you climb “Jacob’s Ladder”—steps up to heaven—and land with your head in yon fleecy cloud? Here are the rustic steps reaching to the top of the height. Would you visit the “Holy Well,” where Acadian infants were christened in the long ago? Bible Hill is a little distant, so here in the park is a “Holy Well” from which, by no stretch of imagination, the same water flows.