We have received the kind New Year’s greeting of R. B. Jr., for which we offer a return of our best wishes. We have also the pleasant letter of P. L. H., and that of E. D. H. His answer――Constantinople――to the puzzle, is right. We have also received the communications of D. A. B――k. Our little friend, a “reader of the Museum” at Pulaski, will see that we have hardly got room for his thoughts on “Liberty.” His sentiments, however, are very just. The puzzle from Goshen, though a good one, must be omitted. We must say the same of the geographical enigma from a place without a name. The complimentary note of Charles A. H――y is received, and his answer to the puzzle is right. The “young subscriber from New Hampshire” will see that we have not space for his pleasant enigma. We insert the following letter with pleasure. In regard to the word “_Cowpig_,” as used by Mrs. Trudge, we venture to suggest that she meant _Cupid_; but, as we would not be too confident on this point, we propose to ask her what she did mean, when we next see her. _Sandwich, January 8th, 1844._ DEAR MR. MERRY: I wish you a happy new year. I think I have found out the answer to the puzzle in the January number, which is Constantinople. As I am not much of a poetess, I cannot put it in the form of an acrostic or rhyme, and I hope a plain answer will do. It is the first one I have ever found out, but I think it is because I have not had patience enough, for I found it very easy. I am glad you are going to have some good long stories, equal to the Siberian Sable-hunter, in this year’s Museum. I feel much interested in the story of Bridget Trudge. I laughed well at the red bonnet and _yallar_ silk gown, and fan with Wenus on one side, and Cowpig on the other. But none of us can tell what Cowpig means. Please explain it in the next chapter about them. P.S. My sister Lottie is very disappointed at not finding any “Little Leaves.” E.P.C. The letters of R. P. H., E. B. P., and James P., will appear in the next number. ―――― We insert the following with pleasure, which the writer tells us is a true picture of a _dear home_. It makes our old heart glad to find that we are welcome, even among the mountains. A WINTER EVENING IN THE COUNTRY. Away among the mountains a pleasant farm house lies, And round its fireside gather sweet faces and bright eyes; The blazing fire of maple-wood lights up the spacious room, And branches of the fragrant birch give out a sweet perfume. And we are happy――’midst these hills our childhood has been past, And beautiful they seem to us, with forests old and vast; The summer and the autumn bring golden fruits and flowers, But dearer than the summer days are pleasant winter hours.