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I was a lad of 16 years only, andMorphy was my idol. He took a greatnotion to me, so young, and so verysmall for my age, as did Mr. Mead,the President of the Club. Scharetts,of the Dey Street House, was my chaperone. I lost but one game, an entirely new defense to the Evan's Gambit, by Leonard, during my threemonths play in the two cities, NewYork and Brooklyn. I never shall forgethow Morphy astonished the crowdof noted players during one of hisgames with Perrine. They all seemedto think that Perrine would have wonif he had made a certain move. Theyasked if they might interrupt thegame to ask him a question. He said,"certainly." Then the move wasshown him, and he was asked if Perrinewould not have won had he madethat move. So fast that it was diffi ​cult to follow him, he made the move,and followed it up for about six moves—"he go there, I go here, he go there,I go here," etc., etc., "and I win." Heseemed inspired with a perfect knowledgeof the game. He was young,smooth-faced, modest as a girl, dressedin perfect taste, and never said a wordwhen playing, unless spoken to. Hesat leaning a little forward, at the table,his legs crossed and his hands freefrom the board. He never made amotion until ready to play, and then,quickly, he reached forward and withthe thumb and two fingers he made hismove and as quickly withdrew untilready for his next move. He looked asif he had just "jumped out of a band-box,"so neat and boyish was he in hisappearance. I loved him. I went threetimes to his hotel (the Fifth Avenue) toplay with him, at his invitation, but Idid not find him in. I published hisgames with Perrine, and criticised themin a chess column that I edited at thetime. Paulsen took seventy-five minutesfor one move in a game with Morphyduring the American Chess Congress, in1857. Thomas Frere, chess editor ofFrank Leslie's, told me that it annoyedMorphy so that he told him (Frere),going to lunch at the noon adjournment,he would never let Paulsenwin a game of him, and he kepthis word. Morphy played from inspirationrather than from calculation.Everything possible in the game seemedrevealed to him. He made Mead,President of the New York Club, angrywhen the $1,500 gift was presentedto him, in New York City, because hesaid in his reception speech that hediffered with Mead in what he saidabout chess in his presentation speech,alluding to it as a profession. Morphysaid it should never be so considered,but merely as a recreation. I was toldthat Mr. Mead was so angry that heleft the room and refused to have anythingfurther to do with the ceremoniesof the occasion. Steinitz wentto New Orleans to see Morphy notlong before he (Morphy) died. Hesent to Morphy his name and askedif he could see him for a few minutes.Morphy consented to see him, but uponone condition, and that was, "nothingwas to be said on the subject of chess."Steinitz was grievously disappointed,as that was the subject, above all others,he had come so far to talk with himabout. Steinitz was ushered intoMorphy's presence, all curious to see,study and "diagnose", the great chessgenius, whose wonderful performanceshad astonished the whole world, andmade him the welcome guest of thegreat rulers of the two hemispheres,with his mouth closed, by his promise,as to the one subject that he was morethan anxious to talk about. He cameaway grievously disappointed, but stillglad that he had seen the only Morphythat the world had ever produced. Hehad the poor taste, we think, as well -as the mistaken judgment, thereafterto say that Morphy's play was not upto that of the present day. Mr. SamuelLoyd said, in the chess column he editedat the time, that the completeanswer to Steinitz's statement was "thefollowing game," which was given asone of Morphy's "every-day" games,without any effort to select one fromamong his best. And, so it was amost "complete answer" to Steinitz'sstatement not only, but to all thosewho were conceited enough to agreewith him. If I may be allowed to expressmy opinion, Morphy's style ofplay and that of the present day areso different that it is difficult to comparethem. Morphy's was genius; thatof the present day is skill. The oneis inspiration, the other is calculation.the one is instant insight, the other iscareful analysis. The one is Napoleonic,the other Von Molteonic. The fact is,Morphy was a "Sui Generis." I don'tbelieve he was ever taxed to his fullstrength. If he met a new player,stronger than any other thus far, itwould only tax his apparently inexhaustiblereserve strength, or knowledgeof the game, and over and downwould go his new antagonist, like allthe others before him. I don't believehe was ever "put to his trumps" toknow what to do. I don't believe hewas ever worried in playing, or hadany doubt about the result of any gamehe ever played.

Poor Morphy. I loved him. Whenwill we see his like again? I began to ​play chess at 10, and quit before I was17 years of age to engage in the battleof life. I had everything I could findon the subject of chess, in all languages.I edited a chess column at 15,and knew most of the Americanplayers, many of whom contributed tomy column. Forty-odd years havingelapsed since then? I find myself interestedagain in the greatest of games.

By the way, why is it that we hearbut little now of the Evan's Gambit,the most brilliant opening in thegame? Yours truly,

CAISSA.

Mr. Marshall, like all expert chessplayers, is of a nervous temperament,and this fact was noticeable especiallywhen the visitor was playing manygames at one time. While standing atthe table considering his move, althoughhis mind would have only theimpression of the game before him, hisfeet would shuffle uneasily and his fingersbeat an industrious tattoo on theedges of the board. It was also observed that he smoked incessantly, andwhile smoking would chew savagely atthe end of his cigar or cigarette. Oneof the club members spoke to Mr. Marshall and asked him how it was thatall the great chess players were so highly strung. The master smiled and replied, "I don't know, unless the hardwork the brain is given to do puts thenerves on edge, and sends them twitch-ing all unconsciously."

Mr. Marshall, speaking further onthe subject, said that all the well-knownmasters were very nervous while atplay. Tschigorin, the Russian master,has a way of swinging his right footslowly to and fro across his left leg likea pendulum. His foot goes by thehour, with never a rest, and when theRussian is losing or in a very tightplace his foot goes furiously.

Pillsbury, Mr. Marshall said, had away of working his eyes when at playin a tournament. The skin on the sidesof his face is full of wrinkles from theeye twitching.

Janowski shakes his legs, his feet remaining firm on the floor, and at times, when excited, he knocks his knees together.Fox, when at play, moves bothhis feet. and kicks his heels, and Dr.Laskcr has a way of crossing his legsand gently swaying one foot.—NewOrleansPicayune.

Post mortems are the Maud Mullersof chess.

Some play chess with their hands.They can be identified by the usual remark:"Let's do that and see what hedoes."

An unsatisfactory man to playagainst is he who is never defeatedwithout losing his temper; he wants tobet that it cannot be done again; heimmediately wants to play a match;he can win every game he plays againstthat particular opponent; he ends bycooling down and tries again with thesame result.

Not less unsatisfactory is the manwho, when defeated, is anxious to pointout how it could have been done infewer number of moves; how little thewinner knows about chess anyway; howhe lost by not playing a different moveat a critical place, and when that moveis demonstrated to lose also, how hehadn't played the variation as carefullyas he would if he had tried it duringthe game, etc., etc.

To offset these is the man who playsthe gentlemanly game. He loses withunruffled mien. If he wins he delightsin analyzing the better positions of thegame, even demonstrating where theloser might have improved his play.He smilingly denies the assertions ofhis opponent that he won by greaterskill. He is the builder of chess clubs,the creator of interest of amateurs, thepersona grata whom mankind delightto meet everywhere.

Why is it that firemen do not playchess? They certainly have the time,but it seems that chess has never beenintroduced among them. In every en ​gine house you will see men playingcheckers, and excellent players theyare. One of them was asked recentlywhy he did not learn to play chess.The answer was:

"We don't know anything about thegame, and I don't believe we couldlearn it if we tried."

To the person who has not learnedthe game it seems a profound mystery,capable of being comprehended only bymen of extraordinary minds. The firemancontinued:

"Chess is too complicated a game tolearn. I saw two old fellows playing agame once, and I was watching themfor fifteen minutes and neither madea move. What they were trying to doI haven't the remotest idea. Excuseme! While those fellows were tryingto figure out what they were going todo, we could play a whole game ofcheckers."

It is a pity that the knowledge ofthe royal game should not be possessedby the firemen, who are often weariedfor want of variety in their amusements.Can someone suggest a methodwhereby they may be enlightened?

It has become a habit among olderplayers to make comparison betweenthe character of game played in ourday and that of the time of Morphy,to the detriment of the chess nowplayed in our clubs, in tournaments,and in matches. One would suppose,to read the descriptions given off-handthat genius was of the past, that nothingexists now but the dry edges offrayed-out variations, that the brillianciesof the olden times no longerexist and the beauties which onceblossomed in the combinations of chessare things of the past. It is very oftenthe form of assertion that is made inregard to literature, music and art.In each age there is the usual amountproduced; there is an average of badand good, in which the bad is alwaysmost abundant. The good lives, thebad is forgotten and the fact that thebeautiful is all that we have by whichto remember the past proves merelythe truth of the axiom of the theoryof evolution; it is the survival of thefittest. And so it is with chess.

It is very pleasant reading whichour friend "Caissa" gives us in hisletter in another column of memoriesof Paul Morphy and his times, withthe usual comparison of Morphy'sstyle with the "nose to the grindstone"methods of to-day. Paul Morphy wasthe greatest chess player that everlived. Every student of the game, whohas delved into the stories of the past,realizes that no one ever was so farsuperior to the players of his time, orever defeated his opponents with suchease, and no one ever offered knightodds to the men who considered themselveshis equal. And yet every gamethat was played by Morphy was notbrilliant. Many of them show the impressof the hard study which our studentsof to-day give to their battles.At the end of some of the games thereis the evidence of labor in the statementof time consumed, and withPaulsen, who was nearer to Morphy'sstrength than any other player of thattime, though it is known that Paulsenconsumed most of the time, the gamesoccupied many hours.

A game of chess played by men ofequal strength, and played accurately,will end in a draw, and it is apt to bedull. Brilliancy occurs usually fromopportunities that are afforded by errorsin combination, and where one ofthe players is stronger than the otherthe pretty things will crop out at everymove. It is here that the genius ofchess has its full sway. Anderssenvoiced it well when asked why he didnot play as brilliantly as usual in hisgame with Morphy, when he replied:"Morphy will not let me." To playbrilliant chess requires that you catchyour opponent napping, or that youare the stronger player. Equality ofstrength, especially when the opponentsare of the master class, leads tolong games, with beauties just touchedupon, foiled by clever repartee, andpossibilities that are unseen by the onlookerand would be lost were it notfor the notes which show the trapsand will 'o the wisps with which eachtriesto lead the other into error.

There are more real beauties ofcombination in the games played by ​Morphy against men of less strengththan anywhere else in his publishedbattle. It was also here where Steinitzexcelled. With what infinite skill hewould develop intricate combinationsin his simultaneous exhibitions wherehe knew that the players were of aclass that would allow of chances tobe taken. There were not many gamesplayed by Steinitz in his exhibitionsthat were not worthy of publication. Itis so in all simultaneous chess, andGray's Elegy never had a more realisticapplication than to the beautiesso developed and lost in the multitudeof games so played.

Another element that must be consideredin the comparison of play inour day and that of Morphy is thatlimitation of time by clocks was unknownthen. It was possible to figureout any doubtful combination, no matter how long it took,and necessarilythe possibilities for brilliancies weremuch enhanced. The introduction ofthe time limit has compelled the studentto keep his analysis within boundsand conservative management of gameshas been a consequence. Many a combinationhas been avoided on accountof the near approach to the hour limitand games that might have bristledwith gems have gone on drawing lines.And yet, in spite of this, the gamesof the earlier congresses without timelimit are not on an everage better normore brilliant than those of tournamentsof to-day.