“He just wants to get laid, you know. He can come round there. Give him his medicine every half hour. " "Oh Heavens!" cried Jack, driven to his wits' end. 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. " "On the contrary," rejoined Smith, looking askance at his companion, "I happen to know you're in the right. It was impossible to meet the motion bodily. I once saw a man die after collapsing that way. "This is strange," said Jack, under his breath. .
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