” He came towards her with that in his face which filled her with blind terror. ’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder. It makes wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough for Punch. Like the flaws of an old marble. 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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