” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered. 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. But I can't account for it!" "At all events, you shall answer for it," thundered Wild, with a bitter imprecation. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles.
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