“That was the best thing happened on the roof.  So you see how dull it is.  La, la, la!”

“’Tis fine ye have it up there in society, Miss Diana.  Ye have the cat show and the horse show and the military tournaments where the privates look grand as generals and the generals try to look grand as floor-walkers.  And ye have the Sportsmen’s Show, where the girl that measures 36, 19, 45 cooks breakfast food in a birch-bark wigwam on the banks of the Grand Canal of Venice conducted by one of the Vanderbilts, Bernard McFadden, and the Reverends Dowie and Duss.  And ye have the French ball, where the original Cohens and the Robert Emmet-Sangerbund Society dance the Highland fling one with another.  And ye have the grand O’Ryan ball, which is the most beautiful pageant in the world, where the French students vie with the Tyrolean warblers in doin’ the cake walk.  Ye have the best job for a statue in the whole town, Miss Diana.

“‘Tis weary work,” sighed the island statue, “disseminatin’ the science of liberty in New York Bay.  Sometimes when I take a peep down at Ellis Island and see the gang of immigrants I’m supposed to light up, ’tis tempted I am to blow out the gas and let the coroner write out their naturalization papers.”

“Say, it’s a shame, ain’t it, to give you the worst end of it?” came the sympathetic antiphony of the steeplechase goddess.  “It must be awfully lonesome down there with so much water around you.  I don’t see how you ever keep your hair in curl.  And that Mother Hubbard you are wearing went out ten years ago.  I think those sculptor guys ought to be held for damages for putting iron or marble clothes on a lady.  That’s where Mr. St. Gaudens was wise.  I’m always a little ahead of the styles; but they’re coming my way pretty fast.  Excuse my back a moment—­I caught a puff of wind from the north—­shouldn’t wonder if things had loosened up in Esopus.  There, now! it’s in the West—­I should think that gold plank would have calmed the air out in that direction.  What were you saying, Mrs. Liberty?”

“A fine chat I’ve had with ye, Miss Diana, ma’am, but I see one of them European steamers a-sailin’ up the Narrows, and I must be attendin’ to me duties.  ’Tis me job to extend aloft the torch of Liberty to welcome all them that survive the kicks that the steerage stewards give ’em while landin.’  Sure ’tis a great country ye can come to for $8.50, and the doctor waitin’ to send ye back home free if he sees yer eyes red from cryin’ for it.”

The golden statue veered in the changing breeze, menacing many points on the horizon with its aureate arrow.

“So long, Aunt Liberty,” sweetly called Diana of the Tower.  “Some night, when the wind’s right.  I’ll call you up again.  But—­say! you haven’t got such a fierce kick coming about your job.  I’ve kept a pretty good watch on the island of Manhattan since I’ve been up here.  That’s a pretty sick-looking bunch of liberty chasers they dump down at your end of it; but they don’t all stay that way.  Every little while up here I see guys signing checks and voting the right ticket, and encouraging the arts and taking a bath every morning, that was shoved ashore by a dock labourer born in the United States who never earned over forty dollars a month.  Don’t run down your job, Aunt Liberty; you’re all right, all right.”