He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. “The very question shows your ignorance,” he declared. ’ ‘Exactly so. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. 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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