em,
with their pockets full of money? What if this infernal cold should keep
them in Washington until after the 1st of May? As Mr. Whedell thought of
himself, turned adrift, and a wanderer, he invariably tore out a few of
the gray hairs which could be poorly spared from his venerable skull.

Mr. Whedell had a deep and unchanging faith in his ill luck; but, this
time, he was pleasantly disappointed. The morning train on the 1st of
May brought back his children to him. They arrived just as those
Bedouins of civilization--the New Yorkers--were beginning to indulge
their nomadic propensities. The streets were full of wagons and drays
laden with jingling stoves, rickety bedsteads, conspicuous crockery, and
other damaged Penates, on the way to new domiciles. Fortunately, the
owner of Mr. Whedell's residence had not yet come to claim possession.
Creditors are early birds; but the hour--sis and a half A.M.--was even
too early for them; and only one--Mr. Rickarts, the shoemaker--had
called. He had been disposed of in the library, by the servant, under
the pretence that Mr. Whedell was not yet up. But Mr. Whedell was up and
dressed before six o'clock, and was watching for the expected carriage,
through the window blinds of his apartment. He ran down to the door with
juvenile briskness to receive the returning ones.

Mrs. Chiffield looked pale and jaded. Her hair was carelessly arranged,
and her bonnet awry--unerring indications of fathomless female misery.
To the anxious inquiry by her parent after her health, she only replied,
"Horrid!" Mr. Chiffield wore the aspect of a man who is disappointed in
his just expectations. He gave a hearty grip to the proffered hand of
his father-in-law, but he quarrelled with the driver over the fare, and
abused him in an under tone, by way of relieving himself.

"And how did you like Washington, my child?" said the fond father, in
his tenderest voice.

"I hate it!" said Mrs. Chiffield, hurrying into the house, as if she
were running away from her husband.

"Hum. Well, I'm not surprised that she dislikes the capital. I believe
most visitors do. Clemmy seems to be a little nervous from travelling,
eh?" Mr. Whedell addressed these remarks to his son-in-law.

"Nervous? Perhaps she is just a trifle nervous, sir. All women are."

"True--true! One of the peculiarities of the sex. Well, you have had a
pleasant time, I trust?"

"Pleasant time? Oh! yes--delightful! Your daughter is a charming girl,