His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules.

He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a _flattened_ nose, and a brown, leathern-looking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning.

Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick.

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.

James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day.