This defeat proved Broughton’s ruin. The Duke of Cumberland could never speak of this contest with any degree of temper, and turned his back on the beaten man. The legislature interfered, the amphitheatre was closed, and Broughton never fought more. Previous to this battle, it is said he had grown plethoric; if so, it requires no great acumen to opine the cause of the sudden swelling which temporarily blinded him. The best monument to the memory of Broughton is the character and description of his pupil and admirer, the gallant Captain, which eulogy, like that of Lord Byron on the “eminent” Mr. John Jackson, remain permanent answers to the slanderers of pugilists and pugilism. “Advance, brave Broughton!” exclaims Captain Godfrey. “Thee I pronounce captain of the boxers. As far as I can look back, I think I ought to open the ‘characters’ with him: I know none so fit, so able to lead up the van. This is giving him the living preference to the rest; but I hope I have not given any cause to say that there has appeared in any of my characters a partial tincture. I have thoroughly consulted nothing but my unbiassed mind, and my heart has known no call but merit. Wherever I have praised, I have no desire of pleasing; wherever decried, no fear of offending. Broughton, by his manly merit, has bid the highest, therefore has my heart. I really think all will poll with me, who poll with the same principle. Sure there is some standing reason for this preference: what can be stronger than to say that, for seventeen or eighteen years, he has fought every able boxer that appeared against him, and has never yet been beat? This being the case, we may venture to conclude from it; but not to build alone on this, let us examine farther into his merits. What is it that he wants? Has he not all that others want, and all the best can have? Strength equal to what is human, skill and judgment equal to what can be acquired, undebauched wind, and a bottom spirit never to pronounce the word ‘enough.’ He fights the stick as well as most men, and understands a good deal of the small sword. This practice has given him the distinction of time and measure beyond the rest. He stops as regularly as the swordsman, and carries his blows truly in the line; he steps not back, distrusting of himself, to stop a blow, and puddle in the return, with an arm unaided by his body, producing but fly-flap blows, such as pastrycooks use to beat those insects from their tarts and cheese-cakes. No! Broughton steps bold and firmly in, bids a welcome to the coming blow; receives it with his guardian arm; then, with a general summons of his swelling muscles, and his firm body seconding his arm, and supplying it with all its weight, pours the pile-driving force upon his man.