” “I can assure you,” he answered, “that it isn’t a habit of mine. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. He had but to give his orders. I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me. His tongue was hot. Taking off his stockings, he then drew up the basils as far as he was able, and tied the fragments of the broken chain to his legs, to prevent them from clanking, and impeding his future exertions. 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. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered.
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