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 still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. Lucy entered the house by picking the back door lock with the slim jim. "Tom," continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home.
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