This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. " Her utterance was here choked by sobs. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father. 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. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. They mean something. ” “You came—here!” he repeated, vaguely.
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