She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. "Where is my mother?" he added, regarding the knight with a searching glance. ” Anna read, and her cheeks grew slowly scarlet. 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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