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. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. They were only passers-by. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford.
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