‘Cold night, Mrs. Corney,’ said this young gentleman, as the matron entered.

‘Very cold, indeed, sir,’ replied the mistress, in her most civil tones, and dropping a curtsey as she spoke.

‘You should get better coals out of your contractors,’ said the apothecary’s deputy, breaking a lump on the top of the fire with the rusty poker; ‘these are not at all the sort of thing for a cold night.’

‘They’re the board’s choosing, sir,’ returned the matron. ‘The least they could do, would be to keep us pretty warm: for our places are hard enough.’

The conversation was here interrupted by a moan from the sick woman.