“‘Ducks and Green-peas’ is informed, that when A plays his rook to B’s second Knight’s square, and B, moving two squares with his Queen’s pawn, gives check to his adversary’s Queen, there is no reason why B’s Queen should not take A’s pawn, if B be so inclined.

“‘F.  L. S.’  We have repeatedly answered the question about Madame Vestris:  her maiden name was Bartolozzi, and she married the son of Charles Mathews, the celebrated comedian.

“‘Fair Play.’  The best amateur billiard and ecarte player in England, is Coxe Tuggeridge Coxe, Esq., of Portland Place, and Tuggeridgeville:  Jonathan, who knows his play, can only give him two in a game of a hundred; and, at the cards, no man is his superior.  Verbum sap.

“‘Scipio Americanus’ is a blockhead.”

I read this out to the Count and Tagrag, and both of them wondered how the Editor of that tremendous Flare-up should get such information; and both agreed that the Baron, who still piqued himself absurdly on his play, would be vastly annoyed by seeing me preferred thus to himself.  We read him the paragraph, and preciously angry he was.  “Id is,” he cried, “the tables” (or “de dabels,” as he called them),—­“de horrid dabels; gom viz me to London, and dry a slate-table, and I vill beat you.”  We all roared at this; and the end of the dispute was, that, just to satisfy the fellow, I agreed to play his Excellency at slate-tables, or any tables he chose.

“Gut,” says he, “gut; I lif, you know, at Abednego’s, in de Quadrant; his dabels is goot; ve vill blay dere, if you vill.”  And I said I would:  and it was agreed that, one Saturday night, when Jemmy was at the Opera, we should go to the Baron’s rooms, and give him a chance.

We went, and the little Baron had as fine a supper as ever I saw:  lots of Champang (and I didn’t mind drinking it), and plenty of laughing and fun.  Afterwards, down we went to billiards.  “Is dish Misther Coxsh, de shelebrated player?” says Mr. Abednego, who was in the room, with one or two gentlemen of his own persuasion, and several foreign noblemen, dirty, snuffy, and hairy, as them foreigners are.  “Is dish Misther Coxsh? blesh my hart, it is a honor to see you; I have heard so much of your play.”

“Come, come,” says I, “sir”—­for I’m pretty wide awake—­“none of your gammon; you’re not going to book me.”

“No, begar, dis fish you not catch,” says Count Mace.

“Dat is gut!—­haw! haw!” snorted the Baron.  “Hook him!  Lieber Himmel, you might dry and hook me as well.  Haw! haw!”

Well, we went to play.  “Five to four on Coxe,” screams out the Count.—­“Done and done,” says another nobleman.  “Ponays,” says the Count.—­“Done,” says the nobleman.  “I vill take your six crowns to four,” says the Baron.—­“Done,” says I. And, in the twinkling of an eye, I beat him once making thirteen off the balls without stopping.

We had some more wine after this; and if you could have seen the long faces of the other noblemen, as they pulled out their pencils and wrote I.O.U.’s for the Count!  “Va toujours, mon cher,” says he to me, “you have von for me three hundred pounds.”