" "He'll have hard work to do it by that time, father," remonstrated Thames; "you'd better let me help him. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. 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. These things were common knowledge among the bon ton, who were generously welcoming these unfortunate escapees. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. " "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger.
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