Time fled, and with its fleetings came those changes in the fates and fortunes of the Somebodies, we have noted. Nor was our friend Rhapsody without his changes,--mutations of fortune, a change of government, made changes. Rhapsody one morning was not as much surprised as mortified to find his "services no longer required," as a new hand was awaiting his withdrawal. Rhapsody, true to custom at the capital--lived up to and ahead of his salary; and, when deposed, deemed it prudent to make his exit from a spot no longer likely to be favorable to the self-respect or personal comfort of a man bereft of power, and without patronage or position. Rhapsody, by trade (luckily he had a trade), was a boot-maker. Start not, reader, at the idea; we know "shoemaker" may have a tendency to shock some people, whose moral and mental culture has been sadly neglected, or quite perverted; but Rhapsody was but a boot-maker, and no doubt quite as gentlemanly--physically and mentally considered, as the many thousands who merely _wear_ boots, for the luxury of which they are indebted to the skill, labor and industry of others. Rhapsody came down gracefully, and quite as manfully, to his level, only changing the scene of his endeavors to the city of monuments. Rhapsody had feelings--pride. He sought obscurity, in which he might perform the necessary labors of his craft, to enable him to keep his head above water, and await that tide in the affairs of men, when perhaps he might again be drifted to fortune and favor. Rhapsody took lodgings in a respectable hotel; he arose late--took breakfast, read the news--smoked--lounged--dressed, and went through the ordinary evolutions of a gentleman of leisure, until he dined at 3 P. M.; then, by a circuitous way, he proceeded to his shop--put on his working attire, and went at it faithfully, until midnight, when, having accomplished his maximum of toil, he re-dressed--walked to his hotel--talked politics--fashions, etc., took his glass of wine with a friend, and very quietly retired; to rise on the morrow, and go through the same routine from day to day, only varying it a little by an eye to an eligible marriage, or a place. Rhapsody--we must give him the credit of the fact--from no mawkish feeling of his own, but from force of public opinion, resorted to this secret manner of eking out his daily bread, and acting out his part of the fictitious gentleman. During one of his morning lounges--accidentally, Rhapsody met Miss Somebody in the street. They had not met for some few years, and it may not be troublesome to conceive, that Miss Alice--under the new order of things--was more pleased than otherwise to renew the acquaintance of other days, with a gentleman still supposed to be--and his attire and manner surely gave no sign of an altered state of affairs--in a position recognizable by society.