has never had to yield precedence to any, but holds its own by force of its splendid vigour and youthful plasticity.  It has the essential characteristics of the portrait, but so combined with the attitude of the artist that the figure stands as much more than a portrait, having in it something more living, more typical, deeper than the mere outward mould of the man.  St. Gaudens’s Farragut has the bearing of a seaman, balanced on his two legs, in a posture easy, yet strong.  He is rough and bluff with the courage and simplicity of a commander; his eye is accustomed to deal with horizons, while the features are clean-cut and masterful.  The inscription is happy:  ’That the memory of a daring and sagacious commander and gentle great-souled man, whose life from childhood was given to his country, but who served her supremely in the war for the Union, 1861-1865, may be preserved and honored, and that they who come after him and who will love him so much may see him as he was seen by friend and foe, his countrymen have set up this monument A.D.  MDCCCLXXXI.’”

There are other statues in the Square besides the noble one commemorating the deeds of the hero of “Full steam ahead, and damn the torpedoes!” At the southwest corner there is a bronze one of William H. Seward, Lincoln’s Secretary of State, the work of Randolph Rogers.  The effigy of Roscoe Conkling, by J.Q.A.  Ward, is at the southeast corner.  Cold and proud is the stone as the man was cold, and proud, and biting.  What chance had haranguing abuse against his icy:  “I have no time to bandy epithets with the gentleman from Georgia”?  Then there is the drinking fountain by Emma Stebbins, given to the city by the late Catherine Lorillard Wolfe, and the Bissell statue of Chester A. Arthur.

No other structure in the city is so many different things to so many different people as the Madison Square Garden.  To the old-time New Yorker, who likes to babble reminiscently of the past, the site recalls the railway terminus of the sixties, when the outgoing trains were drawn by horses through the tunnel as far north as the present Grand Central.  To one artistically inclined the creamy tower, modelled on that of the Giralda in Seville, suggests the collaboration of St. Gaudens and White, and the surmounting Diana the early work of the former inspired by Houdon’s Diana of the Louvre.  To the more frivolous, the sportingly inclined, the seekers after gross pleasures, the Garden has meant the Arion Ball, or the French Students Ball, the Horse Show, Dog Show, Cat Show, Poultry Show, Automobile Show, Sportsman’s Show, the Cake-Walk, the Six-Day Bicycle Race, or events of the prize-ring from the days of Sullivan and Mitchell to those of Willard and Moran; Buffalo Bill and his Wild West Show, or the circus, the Greatest Show on Earth, with its houris of the trapeze and the saddle, and its animals, almost as fearful and wonderful as the menagerie of adjectives that its press-agent, the renowned, or notorious, Tody Hamilton, gathers annually out of the jungles of the dictionary.  Also the interior of the vast structure echoes in memory with political oratory, now thunderous and now persuasive.  Through the words directed immediately at the thousands that fought their way within the walls Presidents and candidates for president have sent ringing utterance throughout the land.