“Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. 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. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. The baby crawled towards them, seeking their blood.
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