He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. 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. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. " Without waiting for a reply, but darting a malevolent look at the prisoner, he quitted the cell, the door of which was instantly double-locked and bolted. " "I imagine I've been in a kind of trance.
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