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mg, and can knit her own stockings, than fur half a score of pale-faced,wasp-waisted piano drummers.—[Poughkeepsie Journal. CONFESSIONS—of an album writer. I have written, from first to last, in two hun dred and forty six Albums. In a hundred and ninety In e of them I have made love outright to the charming proprietors, though two thirds ol them excited no feelings in my naturally cold and passionless heart. I have invoked blessing on the heads of thirty-three, in the most fervent and affectionate style, some of whom 1 have not known an hour previous to the time of my mak ing the invocation; and I have complimented eighteen on their possession of unrivalled worth and exalted genius, although, to confess the truth, 1 knew as little about the matter as the man in the moon. Fifty times I have sworn that there is nothing in the world equal to a light blue eye, and fifty times I have sworn that nought in nature can compare u'lth a black eye; I have praised bright eyes for the sunny ra diance of joy that flooded every thing on which they fell; and I have praised dim eyes, for the moonlight melancholy that shone in their hu mid glance. 1 have vowed sometimes, the oheek from whose rich bloom the rose might de rive a fresh charm, was a thing that I devoted ly worshipped ; and at other times, I have sneer ed at the vermilion cheek, and idolized the snowy paleness of sensibility, whose tears had been so often shed for the troubles of life, that they had actually washed all the red color from the face. I have praised high foreheads for their calmness, and low foreheads for their pas sion. I have praised raven hair, auburn hair, chesnut hair, and red hair, and to my ineffable horror, I once discovered that 1 had been eulo gising the ambrosial curls of a lady who wore a wig. 1 have lauded Grecian noses, Roman no ses, and pug noses, white noses, and red noses; dimpled chins, double chins, arid picked chins; straight eyebrows, and arched eyebrows. The consequence of all this has been, that I have lost my character for consistency, not only in the estimation of others, but also in my own. 1 have hail the reputation of being in love a hun dred and ninety five times, though 1 conscien tiouslv affirm, that I have not, in reality, been in love with more than sixty seven different per sons, and never with more than a half dozen at once. All my flights of fancy have been con strued into serious declarations of passion—I have narrowly escaped ten suits for breach of promise, in which the only witnesses against me would have been Albums, and an unpoetical ju ry would have infallibly convicted me. 1 have been called a perjured swain, a breaker of vow s, a hypocritical pretender, an unfeeling wretch, and (horresco referens!) a male llirt! (yj*The Legend op the Lake, an original Tale, •will be published in the nest number of the Gar rur, THE ME&ZtEl?, MUSIC —i T S E F F E r 1'. ‘The relative of a friend of mine,' observes Mr. Nathan in his E*say on the History and The ory <fj\la.-iic, • having been ordered to Devon shire for the benefit of his health, used frequent ly to ride out in the evening. One night as he passed a lone house, his attention was drawn towards it by sounds of such dulcet melody, that his heart became captive through his ears, and, without seeing the. fair siren, be was ‘ full fathom five’ in love—he never rested till he obtained an introduction—his otTers were accepted, and they were married. But alas! for the waywardness of the human heart! But a short time elapsed ere they parted, and for fifteen years were igno rant of each other's pursuits. Business called him into Scotland, when his ear, when least ex pected, caught the sound of that voice which had formerly made so deep an impression. The affection which had slumbered so long, revived with fiesh ardour—the hour ol the evening, the similarity of situation, and the same melody, were coincidences that struck forcibly on his heart: repentant, and trembling with emotion, he rushed into the apartment where she was, and renouncing his errors, implored forgiveness ; a reconciliation followed, and the renewal of their affection was permanent and unabated. The story of Stradella, composer to the ope ra at Venice, whom Purceli i- reported to have taken for his model, is too well known to need narrating in full. On Stradella's night with the fair I lortensia, they took refuge in Koine. The noble Venetian with whom she had resided while taking lessons of Stradella, enraged at their perfidy, hired assassins to destrnv them. For some time the bravos’ search was unavail ing—hut at length they discovered that Stradel la was to give an oratorio of his own composing tion at the church of San Giovani Laterano.— Thither they repaired with the determination of assassinating both him and his mistress as they left the church—hut the beauty of the mu - sic joined to the expressive manner of Stradel la's singing, caused compassion to enter where she hud never been before, and murder melted by music, forsook her prey. Following Stra della from the church, the bravos confessed their errand, and the miracle his performances had caused. An Enigma, said to have been written by Mr. Canning—which for a h igtli of time baffled the skill of all England to solve. “ There is a word of plural number, A foe to peace and human slumber. Now any word you chance to take, By adding S. you plural make ; But if you add an S to this, How strange the metamorphosis : Plural, is plural then no more, And sweet, what bitter was before.” Solution.—The word is cares, to which, by add ing an S, you have caress. J’uekits.— Nothing so variable anti capricious as fashion. The time was, and old people re tnembor. when holies wore pockets!—strange as it seems, this was true. When this clumsy receptacle for keys, pocket handkerchiefs, tsc was laid aside, then came into use the little hag or satchel, called an inJisprnsahlc. To this sue cceded the leather cases somewhat like a car tridge box—and last of all, the basket—yes, a basket, that may hold something less than a peek, \\ inchester measure. A few weeks ago, I saw a well-dressed woman walking up to the door with a basket on her arm. 1 supposed it to he one ol our first ladies, about to make a morn iug call. Hut no ; as 1 stepped to the door she asked me if I wanted to buy some peaches. Now, no harm was done ; hut this shows how easy it is to mistake, a basket woman for a fash ionable lady.—[jXcw Ilan n Herald. Discovery of Madeira.—According to tradition, we owe the discovery of Madeira to lore, l.ioncl Machin, a young English gentleman in the reign of Edward Third, of handsome person and engaging manners, became deeply enamoured of Arabella D’Arcy, a lady of noble family and incomparable beauty. Being rejected by her friends, who be trothed her to another, lie prevailed upon the lady to elope with him ; and putting her on board a small ship at Bristol, sailed away for the Continent. They had, however, scarce!) lost sight of land, be fore a tempest arose, and drove them far out into the Atlantic. Tor many davs they beat about in the ocean, and felt all the agonies which the pros, pcr.t of starving at sea could inflict; but were at length driven by the winds on an unknown island. This island was Madeira. They landed, and roam ed about delighted among its wild ravines and sun ny slopes; but the fatigues and hardships they un derwent were too much for Arabella—sbe withered •ajpUy and died in the arms of her lover. Machin .jjbon folio Wed her. Their remains were interred Ton a woody little eminence overlooking the sea ; and to this day the Portuguese point out the spot where their ashes repose ; and the town of Mackita traces its name to that of the unfortunate lover. Mintmr ijk konui kvillf.— Innocent .Jmusemmts. This lady, after playing a conspicuous part in the war of the ITonde, when peace was made, and her lovers had abandoned her, was reduced to the necessity of seeking for some other occupation. At first she attempted the part of a bcl/r c.ifirit, hut finding that this did not fill up the vacancy, she took refuge from ennui in extreme devotion. The greater sinner, they say, the greater saint. Madame de Longueville must have been very distinguished in the latter character, if all that history tells us be true. It is reported that being once in the country with her husband, and overcome with ennui, her friends in the hope of banishing the foul fiend, pro posed a hunting excursion—“1 do not like hunt ing,” was her reply. “ Let us work then.” “Ido not like work.” ” Shall we walk or play'” “ 1 do not like walking or playing.” ” Well, then, what other innocent amusement shall we have recourse to'” “ I do not like innocent amusements.”