A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. ‘And it is me you dare accuse? It is yourself you should arrest. A father is in debt, we'll say. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Heaven knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the twenties. The gallows has groaned for him for years. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. It is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. Your fingers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl’s. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me.
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