He was going to settle I forget how many millions upon me, and I think that I was dazzled. 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. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment.
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