"Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. A few minutes later Sir John left the room. 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. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. “I will tell you when to stop.
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