8. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. A bumper round, gentlemen. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. ” Ann Veronica sat over her fire with her father’s note in her hand. "You have both," replied Wood, fervently. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. You can borrow any of my outfits anytime, you know. 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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