‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. They struck her as cold and indifferent. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. Nothing seemed to be amiss. People who would not go. 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. If you can imagine it, I survived it. ‘Eh bien. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old. She would be extraordinarily interesting as a metaphysical study.
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