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. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him. My nerves were in rags. It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother.
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