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. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. '" As these words were delivered by the carpenter with stern emphasis, a female servant entered the room, and stated that a gentleman was at the door, who wished to speak with Captain Darell on business of urgent importance. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. He is Jacques. He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his.
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