When General Harrison took the "chair of state," our friend Rhapsody was reinstated in his place, occupied years before, and by fortuitous circumstances he got still higher--an appointment of trust connected with a handsome salary; so that Jones, the boot-maker, was enabled to re-enter the Somebodies into the gay and fluctuating society at the national capital, from which they had been so unceremoniously driven by the death of the husband and father. Mrs. Somebody, that was, however, is now a much older and much wiser person, the wife of our ministerial friend, who vouches the difficulty he had in overcoming Mrs. Somebody's repugnance to leather--and for sundry quibbles--yea, strong arguments against any blood of hers ever uniting with the fates and fortunes of a boot-maker; with what _propriety_, her experience has long since taught her. Alice is the happiest of women, mother of many fine children, the wife of a man poverty could not corrupt, if public opinion forced him to mask the means that gave him bread. Rhapsody is no longer a politician, or office-holder, but engaged in lucrative pursuits that yield comfort and position in society. To relate the trials, courtship and marriage of "Jones, the boot-maker," is one of our friend Rhapsody's standing jokes, to friends at the fireside and dinner table; but that such a safe and happy tableau would again befall parties so circumstanced, is a very material question; and the moral of our story, being rather complex, though very definite, we leave to society, and you, reader, to determine. A Distinction with a Difference. A gentleman from "out 'town," came into Redding & Co.'s on Christmas day, and leaning thoughtfully over the counter, says he to Prescott, "Got any Psalms here?" "N-n-no," says Prescott, reflectingly, "but," he continued, after a moment's pause, and handing down a copy of Hood, "here's plenty of old Joe's!" The out-of-town gentleman gave a glance at _the pictures_, and with a countenance indicative of having been tasting a crab-apple--left! Pills and Persimmons. I remember an old "Joke" told me by my father, of an old, and rather addle-headed gentleman, who some fifty years ago did business in New Castle, Delaware, and having occasion to send out to England for hardware, wrote his order, and as he was about to despatch it to the captain of the ship, lying in the stream, ready for sea, a neighbor got him to add an order for some kegs of nails, and in the hurry, the old man dashed off his _P. S._, but upon attempting to read the whole order over, he couldn't make head or tail of it. "Well," says he, in a flurry, "I'll send it, just as it is; they are better scholars in England than I am--_they'll make it out_." Strange enough to say, when the hardware came over, among the rest of the stuff were the so many kegs of nails, but upon opening one of these kegs, it was full, or nearly so, of American quarter dollars. The old man roared out in a [word missing].