The hole had been there six months, and he had found nothing witty to say about it, and at first sight Mr.Cibber had done its business.

And on such men he and his portrait were to attempt a preposterous delusion.

Then there was Snarl, who wrote critiques on painting, and guided the national taste.

The unlucky exhibitor was in a cold sweat.

He led the way, like a thief going to the gallows.
"The picture being unfinished, gentlemen," said he, "must, if you would do me justice, be seen from a--a focus; must be judged from here, I mean." "Where, sir ?" said Mr.Cibber.
"About here, sir, if you please," said poor Triplet faintly.
"It looks like a finished picture from here," said Mrs.Clive.
"Yes, madam," groaned Triplet.
They all took up a position, and Triplet timidly raised his eyes along with the rest.