She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. "That depends upon you. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. Now, it won't do a bit of good to warn Spurlock. 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. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. Terrific yells rent the air. . Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. I wish to rise in the world, mademoiselle, and you are going to help me. "If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth.
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