the convivial defaulter, who is a gentleman of fifty, who has seen the world, and knows how to manage it, is decidedly of Bowley’s opinion—­that, as a general rule, credit is a bad plan; inasmuch as, so far as his experience goes in the public line, to afford it to your customers, is the first step towards losing it yourself.  But he feels himself free to confess, that he is at the present moment under a cloud, and that it would be inconvenient to him to liquidate his score just then, though, of course, if Bowley insists, &c.  While Bowley is pausing to consider which will be the best way to insist, Mr Nogoe carelessly leads the conversation to another topic, and begins to descant upon the marvellous capabilities of the ’Mother Bunch’ for doing a first-rate trade; and hints mysteriously at the splendid thing that might be made of it, only supposing that his friend Bowley knew his own interest, and went the right way to work.  The landlord, who is now all ear, and who knows his own interest well enough, pours out to his guest a glass of his favourite ‘cold without,’ and seating himself opposite him at the little table, encourages him to be more explicit.  A long private and confidential conversation ensues, the results of which are destined to change the aspect of affairs at the ‘Mother Bunch.’  We shall recount the process for the information of our readers.

Next morning, Mr Bowley is altogether a new man; brisk, cheerful, and active, he has a smile for everybody, and a joke and a ‘good-morning’ even for the cobbler, who has the cure of soles in that very questionable benefice, the Mews.  He visits his tap-room guests, and informs them of a plan which is in operation to improve the condition of the labouring-classes, of which they will hear more by and by.  He is profoundly impressed with the sublime virtues of charity, benevolence, brotherly love, and, as he terms it, all that sort of thing.  Day after day, he is seen in close confab with Mr Nogoe, who is now as busy as a bee, buzzing about here, there, and everywhere, with rolls of paper in his hand, a pen behind his ear, and another in his mouth, and who is never absent an hour together from the ‘Mother Bunch,’ where he has a private room much frequented by active, middle-aged persons of a rather seedy cast, and where he takes all his meals at the landlord’s table.  The first-fruits of these mysterious operations at length appear in the form of a prospectus of a new mutual-assurance society, under the designation of ‘The Charitable Chums’ Benefit Club;’ of which Mr Nogoe, who has undertaken its organisation, is to act as secretary and chairman at the preliminary meetings, and to lend his valuable assistance in getting the society into working order.  Under his direction, tens of thousands of the prospectuses are printed, and industriously circulated among the artisans, labourers, small tradesmen, and serving-men in all parts of the town, both far and near.  Promises of unheard-of advantages, couched in language of most affectionate