“_14 May 1761._ Jemmy Lumley, last week, had a party of whist at his own house; the combatants, Lucy Southwell, that curtseys like a bear, Mrs Prijeau, and a Mrs Mackenzie. They played from six in the evening till twelve the next day; Jemmy never winning one rubber, and rising a loser of two thousand pounds. How it happened, I know not, nor why his suspicions arrived so late, but he fancied himself cheated, and refused to pay. However, _the bear_ had no share in his evil surmises: on the contrary, a day or two afterwards, he promised a dinner at Hampstead to Lucy and her virtuous sister. As he went to the rendezvous, his chaise was stopped by somebody, who advised him not to proceed. Yet, no whit daunted, he advanced. In the garden, he found the gentle conqueress, Mrs Mackenzie, who accosted him in the most friendly manner. After a few compliments, she asked him if he did not intend to pay her. ‘No, indeed I shan’t, I shan’t; your servant, your servant.’ ‘Shan’t you,’ said the fair virago; and, taking a horsewhip from beneath her hoop, she fell upon him with as much vehemence as the Empress Queen would upon the King of Prussia, if she could catch him alone in the garden at Hampstead. Jemmy cried out Murder; his servants rushed in, rescued him from the jaws of the lioness, and carried him off in his chaise to town. The Southwells, who were already arrived, and descended, on the noise of the fray, finding nobody to pay for the dinner, and fearing they must, set out for London without it.” “_3 Dec. 1761._ If you are acquainted with my Lady Barrymore, pray tell her that, in less than two hours, t’other night, the Duke of Cumberland lost four hundred and fifty pounds at Loo; Miss Pelham won three hundred, and I, the rest. However, in general, Loo is extremely gone to decay: I am to play at Princess Emily’s to-morrow, for the first time this winter; and it is with difficulty that she has made a party.” “_2 Feb. 1770._ The gaming at Almack’s, which has taken the _pas_ of White’s, is worthy of the decline of our Empire, or Commonwealth, which you please. The young men of the age lose five, ten, fifteen thousands pounds in an evening there. Lord Stavordale, not one and twenty, lost eleven thousand there, last Tuesday, but recovered it by one great hand at hazard: he swore a great oath,—‘Now, if I had been playing _deep_, I might have won millions.’ His cousin, Charles Fox, shines equally there, and in the House of Commons.”