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. I say again, grace à vous. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours are moved to envy. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. “Was I that bad?” He asked. Perhaps in two or three weeks. It's a pity you wouldn't give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so I could have it filled nearer home. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. "What for?" demanded Wood. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. Let's go up and see how the patient is doing. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. “Compromise and kindness.
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