She prefers it like onions, in a large bunch, and strong. The reason why most women do not want money is because they have no use for it. They never dress; they never wear jewelry; silks and satins have no charms in their eyes; laces, ribbons, shawls never tempt. To exist and walk upright in simpleness and quiet is the sum of their desires. Dear creatures! how is it that they never want? My neighbor, Mr. DROWSE, desires to know where you get all your funny things for PUNCHINELLO? He knows they are there, does Mr. DROWSE; for he gets my copy of the penny postman, and he keeps it, too. It is the only good taste my neighbor has displayed of late years. I tell Mr. DROWSE that you make your fun. He further asks, Where? I tell him in the attic--up there where they keep the salt. He desires to know the size of attic. Of course he has never seen your noble, capacious, alabaster forehead, else he would perceive the source of those scintillations of light and warmth which radiate throughout the universe every Saturday for only ten cents. He is curious also to know about the salt, and doesn't comprehend how or where you use it. He used to use it when a boy in catching birds by putting the briny compound on the tails of the same, and _that_ he used to call "fun alive;" but he don't see it--the salt--about PUNCHINELLO. I suspect Mr. DROWSE doesn't see the sellers, (certainly he avoids them when PUNCHINELLO is offered, much to my mortification, and one dime to my cost,) and so is not likely to discern the source of the fun. I merely informed Mr. DROWSE that the editor was very tall, very handsome, with very black skin and rosy hair, (at which he opened his eyes with astonishment, and asked if I meant so; at which I said, "Yes, I guess so,") and that he laughed out of his nose, eyes, head, and hands, as well as his mouth. DROWSE wants to see the editor very much. He has seen men with black skins and hearts, (for he used to know lots of politicians;) but wants to put his vision on some "rosy hair"--and when he does, no doubt his gaze will be fixed. It is healthy sometimes to have the gaze fixed; and often, like sauce-pans and sermons, it has to be fixed. When Mr. DROWSE calls at 83, please show him in Parlor 6 with the Brussels, fresco-work, and lace curtains. April is a model month. So serene, steady, clear, and balmy. Nothing but blue sky, gentle zephyrs, kissing breezes, genial suns by day and sparkling stars by night. PUNCHINELLO no doubt likes sparkling stars--stars of magnitude--stars that show what they are. PUNCHINELLO perhaps goes to NIBLO'S, and not only sees plenty stars, but plenty of them. But of April. It is called "fickle;" but that's a slander. "Every thing by turns and nothing long"--that is a libel on which a suit could be hung. The same vile falsehood is cruelly uttered of some women, when every body knows, or should know, that these same women are nothing of the sort. Who ever knew a fickle woman?