I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. 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. McClintock sent his yacht over for us this morning. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee.
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