The Jacobite. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. 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. " "Come, lad; let's have it," said McClintock. But suppose I go?” “Now, Veronica! No, no. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. " "Waste not another word with him, Thames," cried Jack.
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