‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. ‘Here we go again. She was still good at following orders. ‘You have the means to take up your rightful place. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. ’ ‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than by what she had said. 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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