The Himalayan size of these swindles and their monumental
effrontery led the New York Sun humorously to suggest the
erection of a statue to the principal Robber Baron, "in
commemoration of his services to the commonwealth." A letter was
sent out asking for funds. There were a great many men in New
York, the Sun thought, who would not be unwilling to refuse a
contribution. But Tweed declined the honor. In its issue of March
14, 1871, the Sun has this headline:

"A GREAT MAN'S MODESTY"

"THE HON. WILLIAM M. TWEED DECLINES THE SUN'S STATUE.
CHARACTERISTIC LETTER FROM THE GREAT NEW YORK PHILANTHROPIST. HE
THINKS THAT VIRTUE SHOULD BE ITS OWN REWARD. THE MOST REMARKABLE
LETTER EVER WRITTEN BY THE NOBLE BENEFACTOR OF THE PEOPLE."

Another kind of memorial to his genius for absorbing the people's
money was awaiting this philanthropic buccaneer. Vulgar
ostentation was the outward badge of these civic burglaries.
Tweed moved into a Fifth Avenue mansion and gave his daughter a
wedding at which she received $100,000 worth of gifts; her
wedding dress was a $5000 creation. At Greenwich he built a
country estate where the stables were framed of choice mahogany.
Sweeny hobnobbed with Jim Fiske of the Erie, the Tweed of Wall
Street, who went about town dressed in loud checks and lived with
his harem in his Opera House on Eighth Avenue.

Thoughtful citizens saw these things going on and believed the
city was being robbed, but they could not prove it. There were
two attacking parties, however, who did not wait for proofs--