The above description of —the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains Sole monarch acknowledged of Mary'bone plains— may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all I ever saw;" but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal appearance. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. See paragraph 1. I keep on thinking of you. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering.
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