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. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. The Leads. He began to tell me something—and stopped. It was just upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall.
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