As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. ’ Gerald held out his hand, and she meekly gave the dagger up to him. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. 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.
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