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. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thought we saw him, at a café dining with ‘Alcide,’—as a matter of fact, it seems that it was her sister. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. From now on, you’re going to listen to me for a change. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. "Enough!" cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum.
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