The first challenge which the young American received in London was from Herr Löwenthal. Morphy says that no one can mention this gentleman's name, without announcing the fact that he was one of the celebrated triumvirate in the match between Pesth and Paris. Herr Löwenthal and the 19th century came arm and arm into the world together, so that he has been contemporary with many who have gone to another sphere. He was led into chess from sheer jealousy, not of woman, but of a man. At a _café_ in Pesth, much frequented by amateurs of the game,--in fact the Magyar Café de la Régence,--he noticed that a crowd invariably surrounded a certain table after 4 o'clock in the afternoon; and, on further inquiry, he learned that the best chess-player in Hungary took upon himself daily to astonish the natives there. That player was Zsen. Zsen was a clerk in the office of Archives at Pesth, and, when the business of the day was over, he repaired to the above-mentioned spot to play chess for a nominal stake, which never exceeded a _zwanziger_ (sevenpence English). Another peculiarity of his was, that, no matter what the strength of his opponent might be--queen, rook, knight, or pawn player--he never would give any odds. His game was dull, analytical, and sound to a tiresome extent, his only object being to get through the _opening_ and _middle_, and then winning became a certainty; for all his strength came out in the _endings_, and a very good place, too, for it to appear in. Zsen went to Paris in 1831, and played some games with Labourdonnais at the odds of Pawn and Move, winning the majority. He then told the great Frenchman that he did not like playing for stakes as a general thing, but that he would propose to him a match of twenty-one even games for 200 francs; but Labourdonnais declined. And who will say he was wrong? for what pleasure could there be in sitting down day after day before the dullest player in Christendom, for the eventuality of 200 francs? Zsen was so frightfully slow, even in ordinary games, that he would have worn out 200 francs' worth of his opponent's pantaloons before the match was half through. He was an exceedingly nervous man, and this quality particularly evinced itself during the Tournament of '51, to the eminent delight of his London friends. But he was a good-hearted, amiable man, never losing his temper, and ever ready to declare that he hadn't won the game, but his opponent had lost it.