e street-door, and
screamed out 'Muffins!' with all her might, than Mrs. Walker, at No. 5,
puts her head out of the parlour-window, and screams 'Muffins!' too; and
Mrs. Walker has scarcely got the words out of her lips, than Mrs. Peplow,
over the way, lets loose Master Peplow, who darts down the street, with a
velocity which nothing but buttered muffins in perspective could possibly
inspire, and drags the boy back by main force, whereupon Mrs. Macklin and
Mrs. Walker, just to save the boy trouble, and to say a few neighbourly
words to Mrs. Peplow at the same time, run over the way and buy their
muffins at Mrs. Peplow's door, when it appears from the voluntary
statement of Mrs. Walker, that her 'kittle's jist a-biling, and the cups
and sarsers ready laid,' and that, as it was such a wretched night out o'
doors, she'd made up her mind to have a nice, hot, comfortable cup o'
tea--a determination at which, by the most singular coincidence, the
other two ladies had simultaneously arrived.

After a little conversation about the wretchedness of the weather and the
merits of tea, with a digression relative to the viciousness of boys as a
rule, and the amiability of Master Peplow as an exception, Mrs. Walker
sees her husband coming down the street; and as he must want his tea,
poor man, after his dirty walk from the Docks, she instantly runs across,
muffins in hand, and Mrs. Macklin does the same, and after a few words to
Mrs. Walker, they all pop into their little houses, and slam their little
street-doors, which are not opened again for the remainder of the
evening, except to the nine o'clock 'beer,' who comes round with a
lantern in front of his tray, and says, as he lends Mrs. Walker
'Yesterday's 'Tiser,' that he's blessed if he can hardly hold the pot,
much less feel the paper, for it's one of the bitterest nights he ever
felt, 'cept the night when the man was frozen to death in the
Brick-field.

After a little prophetic conversation with the policeman at the
street-corner, touching a probable change in the weather, and the
setting-in of a hard frost, the nine o'clock beer returns to his master's
house, and employs himself for the remainder of the evening, in
assiduously stirring the tap-room fire, and deferentially taking part in
the conversation of the worthies assembled round it.

The streets in the vicinity of the Marsh-gate and Victoria Theatre
present an appearance of dirt and discomfort on such a night, which the