" "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. One thing may be a necessary collateral of the others. She gloried in it: he needed her. 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. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. " "Very well, Sir," replied Austin, rising and walking towards them. "They shall not harm you, my love!" she exclaimed.
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