About this time, the veteran writer and encyclopædist, Alexandre, made a lamentable _fiasco_ at his Café de l'Echiquiér in Paris; an establishment which he vainly hoped would entice away the _habitués_ of the Cafés de la Régence et de Procope. Coming over to London, he made the acquaintance of Mr. Staunton, and the two players struck hands together, and resolved to open a chess establishment as a partnership concern. Alexandre put in his little all--the change out of his Paris capital--and he and his coadjutor opened rooms at the Waterloo Chambers. A very good locality, perhaps too good, for rents in that neighborhood are rather high. Some twenty or thirty old players rallied round them, but the attempt was only of short duration. The two _camarades_ took to squabbling and vilifying each other; and, within a year, the Club was formally dissolved at the request of the members. All connection now being severed between the members and Messrs. Alexandre and Staunton, the amateurs convened a private meeting for the purpose of examining their prospects and taking steps for reorganization. Mr. George Walker advertised for a large room, and was answered by Mr. Beattie, proprietor of Beattie's Hotel, George street, Hanover square. Here, once again, the remains of the "old guard" planted their standard, and in special, solemn convocation, under a full sense of their responsibility, and with all due solemnity, they christened their Club THE ST. GEORGE'S, the name being suggested, in the first place, by the baptismal appellative of their virtual founder and Hon. Sec., Mr. George Walker; and, secondly, because the meeting was in George street, in the parish of St. George's. The Club was exceedingly prosperous during the first year of its existence, much being due to the fostering care of Mr. B. Smith, M. P. for Norwich, who was assiduous in his attendance, and a capital "whipper-in" of members. The room was large, well proportioned, and well ventilated, cooking first-rate, wines unexceptionable. Wine, by the by, makes your game brilliant, if not sound. Dull, unimaginative Zsen would have been betrayed into an attempt at brilliance and dash, with a couple of bottles of "old crusted" under his belt. But it began to appear as though a West End Club could be nought but an "annual." Mr. Beattie failed in business, and the St. George's were turned out of doors, wanderers for a season, without prospect of refuge. And the devotees of Caïssa were on the town for some weeks, two or three of the leading and most active assiduously on the watch to find a fresh location, but almost in blank despair as to the result.