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. " "I don't unterstand you," returned Mrs. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. ‘Alors, what advantages?’ ‘But think,’ he said earnestly, moving a little closer. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy.
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