The night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the ground and had frozen into a hard thick crust, so that only the heaps which drifted into byways and corners were affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad. The wind, as if expending increased fury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and after whirling it into a thousand misty eddies scattered it in the air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, this was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire and thank God they were at the home; and for the homeless, starving wretch to lay him down and die. Many hungerworn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets, at such times, who let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world. Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs that night,when Mrs. Chetty matron of the workhouse to which our readers have been already introduced as the birth place of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced, with no small degree of complacency, at a small, round table, on which stood a tray of the corresponding size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most grateful meal that all matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Chetty was about to solace herself with a cup of tea. As she glanced from the table to the fire-place, where the smallest of all possible kettles was singing a small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction evidently increased-so much so, indeed, that is why, Chetty smiled. "Well" said the matron,leaning her elbow on the table, and looking reflectively at the fire; "I'm sure we all have a great deal to be grateful for ! A great deal , if we did but know it"/ Mrs. Chetty them 'shook her head mournfully , as if deploring the mental blindness of all those paupers who did not know it; and thrusting a large silver spoon (private property) into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea.