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 played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Not a breath was drawn. He would pick a random member of the ever-shifting household for the sake of example. A phase of mental activity that men called courage: to summon at will this energy which barred the ingress of the long cold fingers of fear, which cleared the throat of stuffiness and kept the glance level and ever forward. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. " "What a life!" "No worse than yours. "You'll feel better after it. He tried this sentence with expletives.
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