Refugiated in a suburban lodging, verging on that truly English appellation, 'the shabby genteel,' he breakfasted at nine, and made his exit at ten, exactly, leaving his landlady in considerable doubt whether he was a moderate annuitant, a half-pay officer, a junior in a banking-house, or an attorney's clerk. While absent on one of these morning excursions, his laundress called with his clothes. 'This makes five-and-thirty shillings as how Mr. Mitford owes me.' 'And as how,' says the landlady, peering from the top of the stairs, 'he owes me for five weeks rent.' 'Strange he doesn't pay!' echoed the woman of suds. That morning Mitford's evil star predominated. His tailor, his wine-merchant, and his butcher, presented themselves together. 'We wants our money!' cries the trio in a breath. On such occasions landladies are always curious. Ours adjusted her hair, and asked them into her parlor. 'How much does he owe you?' asked she of the man of port and champagne. 'Two hundred and eighty-six pounds, not to mention odd shillings and pence.' 'My eyes! what a lot of money!' echoes the laundress; 'and all for such outlandish stuff! I never drinks nothing but small beer, 'cept it's a quartern o' gin.' 'And my bill,' said the Schneider, 'is three hundred pounds.' 'And mine,' cried the man of beef, 'is two hundred.' 'I tell you what, gem'men,' says the landlady, 'in my opinion you'll never see a shiner; he owes me for five weeks rent.' 'I wish I could get my bottles back,' says the man of champagne. 'I'll never get my clothes,' says the man of measures. 'It's no use standing no nonsense,' says he of beef; 'a gem'man as has got no money, is no gem'man, and dash my wigs! if he don't pay me, I'll tell him so!' 'I'll seize his trunk!' says the landlady. 'And I'll keep his clothes!' said Suds, 'when I can get them again.' 'I'll have satisfaction!' says the man of beef, his hand reverting insensibly to his steel; for in the mind of a butcher, satisfaction is inseparable from slaughtering a sheep or lamb. The trio finally agreed to call that evening, and not depart without the wherewithal. Poor Mitford unsuspectingly came home to dinner. Scarce had he concluded, when the man of wine, of measures, and of beef, made a simultaneous attack. Now even when a man has money, to be dunned immediately succeeding dinner, and forced to pay out a certain quantum of pounds, shillings, and pence, is horridly provoking. What then must it be to a man who has NO money? What must it have been to Mitford, who by no means boasted the mildest of tempers--who was still more soured by recent misfortune--and who had three of the noisiest of the genus 'dun' to deal with?