What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. 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. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain.
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