‘And if it was not for that imbecile of a Gérard, who has put his soldiers to watch for me, it would not need that I make it. 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. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. His mom was a famous model.
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