About ten o’clock, they arrive at their new residence, and find, to their horror, that their predecessors have not begun to move. They inquire the reason. The feminine head of the family informs them, with tears in her eyes, that her husband, (Mr. Jonas Jenkins,) has been sick in Washington for five weeks; that, in consequence of his affliction, they have not been able to provide a new tenement; that she is quite unwell, and that one of her children (she has six) is ill, also; that she don’t know what is to become of them, &c., &c. Smith sets his hat on the back of his head, gives a faint tug at his neck-tie and confesses himself--quenched! His furniture looks more odious every minute. He once felt much pride in it, but he feels none now: he feels only disgust. The cartmen begin to growl out that they “can’t stand here all day,” and request to be informed “where we shall drop the big traps.” Hereupon, Smith ventures, with a ghastly attempt at a smile, to inquire of Mrs. Jenkins why she didn’t tell him, when he called, on Saturday, of her inability to procure a house? To which that lady innocently replies that she didn’t wish to give him any “unnecessary trouble!” which reply satisfies him as to Mrs. Jenkin’s claim to force of intellect. At this juncture, Smith falls into a profound reverie. He thinks that, after all, Fourier is right--“that the Solidarity of the human race is an entity;” that “nobody can be happy, until everybody is happy.” He agrees with the great philosopher, that the “series distributes the harmonies.” He realizes that “society is organized (or, rather, disorganized) on a wrong basis;” that it is in an “amorphous condition,” whereas it should be “crystalized.” With our celebrated “down east” poet, Ethan Spike, Esq., he begins to think that, “The etarnal bung is loose,” and that, unless it be soon tightened, there is danger that “All nater will be spilt.” He comes to the conclusion, finally, that “something must be done,” and that speedily, to “secure a home for every family.” At this point, he is aroused by his tormenters, the cartmen, who inform him that they are in a “Barkis” state of mind, (willin’) to receive their twelve dollars. Smith pays the money, and turns to examine the premises. He finds that Mrs. Jenkins has packed all her things in the back basement and the second-floor sitting-room. Poor thing! she has done her best, after all. She is in ill health; her husband is sick, and away from home; and her children are not well. God pity the unfortunate who live in cities, especially in the “moving season.” But Smith is a kind-hearted man. With a few exceptions, the Smiths are a kind-hearted race--and that’s probably the reason they are so numerous.