“You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. And yet—I love you. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it.
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