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. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. Maggot, drawing up her fine figure to its full height; "because I condescend to live with you, am I never to look at another man,— especially at one so much to my taste as this? Don't think it!" "You had better retire, Madam," said the woollen-draper, sharply, "if you can't conduct yourself with more propriety. "Do me the favour to seat yourself, Jack," said Sir James. "As you please, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan, with affected indifference; "but I'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the ven'son, depend on 't. Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. I asked him to take me away, and hide me. ’ She turned her head, eyes blazing. "' Instead of regarding him, Jack glanced over the iron bannisters, and measured the distance. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again.
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