And she had jest put her foot right down, that have that Fair she would.  And like as not if she hadn’t got it she would have throwed herself and kicked.  I shouldn’t wonder a mite if she had.

But she jest clawed right in, and tore round and acted, and jawed, and coaxed, and kinder cried, and carried the day, jest as spilte children will, more’n half the time.

Not but what New York wuz a-cuttin’ up and a-actin’ jest as bad, accordin’ to its age.

But Chicago wuz younger and spryer, and could kick stronger and cut up higher.

New York wuz older and lamer, as you may say, its jints wuz stiffer, and it had lost some of its faculties, which made it dretful bad for her.

It wuz forgetful; it had spells of kinder losin’ its memory, and had had for years.

Now, when the Great General died, why New York cut up fearful a-fightin’ for the honor of havin’ him laid to rest in its borders.

Why, New York fairly riz up and kicked higher than you could have spozed it wuz possible for her to kick at her age, and hollered louder than you could have spozed it wuz possible with her lungs.

When Washington, the Capital of this Great Republic, expressed a desire to have the Saviour of his Country sleep by the side of the Founder of it—­why, New York acted fairly crazy, and I believe she wuz for a spell.  Anyway, I believe she had a spazzum.

Her wild demeanor wuz such, her snorts, her oritorys, resounded on every side, and wuz heard all over the land.  She acted crazy as a loon till she got her way.

She promised if she could have the Hero sleep there, she would build a monument that would tower up to the skies.

[Illustration:  If she could have the Hero sleep there, she would build a monument that would tower up to the skies.]

The most stupendious, the most impressive work of art that wuz ever wrought by man.

Wall, she got her way.  Why, she cut up so, that she had to have it, seemin’ly.

Wall, did she do as she agreed?  No, indeed.

She had one of her forgetful spells come right on her, a sort of a stupor, I guess, a-follerin’ on after a bein’ too wild and crazy about gittin’ her way.

And anyway, year after year passed, and no monument wuz raised, not a sign of one.  She lied, and she didn’t seem to care if she had lied.

There the grave of the Great One wuz onmarked by even a decent memorial, let alone the great one they said they would raise.

And when the Great Ones of the Old World—­the renowned in Song and Story and History—­when they ariv in New York, most their first thoughts wuz to visit the Grand Tomb of our Hero—­

The one who their rulers had delighted to honor—­the one who had been welcomed in the dazzlin’ halls of their Kings.  And them halls had felt honored to have his shadow rest on ’em as he passed through ’em to audiences with royalty.