Well, the nex day there was a gran dinner at our chambers. White soop, turbit, and lobstir sos; saddil of Scoch muttn, grous, and M'Arony; wines, shampang, hock, maderia, a bottle of poart, and ever so many of clarrit. The compny presint was three; wiz., the Honrabble A. P. Deuceace, R. Blewitt, and Mr. Dawkins, Exquires. My i, how we genlmn in the kitchin did enjy it. Mr. Blewittes man eat so much grous (when it was brot out of the parlor), that I reely thought he would be sik; Mr. Dawkinses genlmn (who was only abowt 13 years of age) grew so il with M'Arony and plumb-puddn, as to be obleeged to take sefral of Mr. D's. pils, which 1/2 kild him. But this is all promiscuous: I an't talkin of the survants now, but the masters. Would you bleeve it? After dinner and praps 8 bottles of wine between the 3, the genlm sat down to ecarty. It's a game where only 2 plays, and where, in coarse, when there's only 3, one looks on. Fust, they playd crown pints, and a pound the bett. At this game they were wonderful equill; and about supper-time (when grilled am, more shampang, devld biskits, and other things, was brot in) the play stood thus: Mr. Dawkins had won 2 pounds; Mr. Blewitt 30 shillings; the Honrabble Mr. Deuceace having lost 3L. l0s. After the devvle and the shampang the play was a little higher. Now it was pound pints, and five pound the bet. I thought, to be sure, after hearing the complymints between Blewitt and master in the morning, that now poor Dawkins's time was come. Not so: Dawkins won always, Mr. B. betting on his play, and giving him the very best of advice. At the end of the evening (which was abowt five o'clock the nex morning) they stopt. Master was counting up the skore on a card. “Blewitt,” says he, “I've been unlucky. I owe you, let me see--yes, five-and-forty pounds?” “Five-and-forty,” says Blewitt, “and no mistake!” “I will give you a cheque,” says the honrabble genlmn. “Oh! don't mention it, my dear sir!” But master got a grate sheet of paper, and drew him a check on Messeers. Pump, Algit and Co., his bankers. “Now,” says master, “I've got to settle with you, my dear Mr. Dawkins. If you had backd your luck, I should have owed you a very handsome sum of money. Voyons, thirteen points at a pound--it is easy to calculate;” and drawin out his puss, he clinked over the table 13 goolden suverings, which shon till they made my eyes wink. So did pore Dawkinses, as he put out his hand, all trembling, and drew them in. “Let me say,” added master, “let me say (and I've had some little experience), that you are the very best ecarte player with whom I ever sat down.” Dawkinses eyes glissened as he put the money up, and said, “Law, Deuceace, you flatter me.” FLATTER him! I should think he did. It was the very think which master ment. “But mind you, Dawkins,” continyoud he, “I must have my revenge; for I'm ruined--positively ruined by your luck.”