"Breathe at this phial," said Winifred. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. 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. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished.
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