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On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. And yet it was basically a fine action. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. 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. . Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by. Wild's. But you must promise me not to go near that abandoned hussy at Willesden.
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