One morning, after a gay party, and at a later hour than usual, the three ladies entered the breakfast-room.  Mr. Weston was waiting for them.  “Well, young ladies,” he said, “I have read my paper, and now I am ready to hear you give an account of your last evening’s triumphs.  The winter’s campaign is closing; every little skirmish is then of the greatest importance.  How do you all feel?”

“I do not know how I feel, uncle,” said Alice, languidly.

“Alice has expressed my feelings exactly, and Mrs. Weston’s too, I fancy,” said Ellen.

Mr. Weston smiled, but said he should not excuse them from their promise of giving him a faithful description of the scene.

“Well, my dear sir,” said Ellen, “I have a decided talent for description; but remember, Mrs. Weston, my genius must not be cramped.  Do not break the thread of my discourse by ‘Ellen, do not talk so!’ A Washington party is what you have called it, Mr. Weston, a skirmish.  You remember how the wind blew last night.  When we reached Mr. ——­’s front door, the people had collected in such crowds in the hall, to get a little air, that it was fully ten minutes before we could get in.  We had the benefit of a strong harsh breeze playing about our undefended necks and shoulders.  As soon as we were fairly in, though, we were recompensed for our sufferings in this respect.  We went from the arctic to the torrid zone; it was like an August day at two o’clock.

“We tried to make our way to the lady of the house, but understood, after a long search, that she had been pushed by the crowd to the third story; and being a very fat person, was seen, at the last accounts, seated in a rocking-chair, fanning herself violently, and calling in vain for ice-cream.  After a while we reached the dancing-room, where, in a very confined circle, a number were waltzing and Polka-ing.  As this is a forbidden dance to Alice and me, we had a fine opportunity of taking notes.  Mrs. S. was making a great exhibition of herself; she puffed and blew as if she had the asthma; her ringlets streamed, and her flounces flew.  I was immensely anxious for the little lieutenant her partner.  He was invisible several times; lost in the ringlets and the flounces.  There were people of all sizes and ages dancing for a wager.  I thought of what our good bishop once said:  ’It was very pretty to see the young lambs gambolling about; but when the old sheep began to caper too, he’d rather not look on.’  There was poor old Mr. K., with his red face and his white hair, and his heels flying in every direction. (I am ashamed of you for laughing at Mr. K., Mrs. Weston, when I am trying to impress upon Alice’s mind the folly of such a scene.) I dare say Mr. K.’s wife was at that very moment, five hundred miles off, darning her children’s stockings.