In the evening our hero went with his friend and a party of gentlemen to Maidenhead, near which place a battle was to be fought next day, between two famous pugilists, Bourke and Belcher. At the appointed time the combatants appeared upon the stage; the whole boxing corps and the gentlemen _amateurs_ crowded to behold the spectacle. Phelim O’Mooney’s heart beat for the Irish champion Bourke; but he kept a guard upon his tongue, and had even the forbearance not to bet upon his countryman’s head. How many rounds were fought, and how many minutes the fight lasted, how many blows were put _in_ on each side, or which was the _game man_ of the two, we forbear to decide or relate, as all this has been settled in the newspapers of the day; where also it was remarked, that Bourke, who lost the battle, “was put into a post-chaise, and left _standing_ half an hour, while another fight took place. This was very scandalous on the part of his friends,” says the humane newspaper historian, “as the poor man might possibly be dying.” Our hero O’Mooney’s heart again got the better of his head. Forgetful of his bet, forgetful of every thing but humanity, he made his way up to the chaise, where Bourke was left. “How are you, my gay fellow?” said he. “Can you _see at all with the eye that’s knocked out_?” The brutal populace, who overheard this question, set up a roar of laughter: “A bull! a bull! an Irish bull! Did you hear the question this Irish gentleman asked his countryman?” O’Mooney was detected a fourth time, and this time he was not ashamed. There was one man in the crowd who did not join in the laugh: a poor Irishman, of the name of Terence M’Dermod. He had in former times gone out a grousing, near Cork, with our hero; and the moment he heard his voice, he sprang forward, and with uncouth but honest demonstrations of joy, exclaimed, “Ah, my dear master! my dear young master! Phelim O’Mooney, Esq. And I have found your honour alive again? By the blessing of God above, I’ll never part you now till I die; and I’ll go to the world’s end to _sarve yees_.” O’Mooney wished him at the world’s end this instant, yet could not prevail upon himself to check this affectionate follower of the O’Mooneys. He, however, put half a crown into his hand, and hinted that if he wished really to serve him, it must be at some other time. The poor fellow threw down the money, saying, he would never leave him. “Bid me do any thing, barring that. No, you shall never part me. Do what you plase with me, still I’ll be close to your heart, like your own shadow: knock me down if you will, and wilcome, ten times a day, and I’ll be up again like a ninepin: only let me sarve your honour; I’ll ask no wages nor take none.”