Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. ’ She stopped, for Jack was feebly laughing. It was better even than the hymn-singing. 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. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. It was after all a momentary affair.
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