I am composed of seven letters. My 3, 2, 4, is what boatmen do. My 5, 3, 2, 1, is the most useful of all metals. My 5, 1, 6, 7, is the smallest division of long measure. My 6, 7, 5, 1, is a part of the face. My 1, 2, 4, is the best time to do what is necessary to be done. My 4, 5, 1, is what those who try for rewards of merit like to do. My 3, 5, 6, 7, is what many people like to be. And my whole is a town in Connecticut. The following is very acceptable. _Syracuse, July 7, 1844._ MR. MERRY,--I hope you will be willing to have a letter from me, as I am going to tell about the salt works of this place. Syracuse is a large town, with about 8000 inhabitants. A mile from us, is Salina, a village in which are many salt springs. The water is pumped out and conducted by canals to Syracuse, where salt is made from it. The water is stronger than sea water, and yields a great deal more salt. The salt is made by vats, which expose the water to the sun and evaporate it, or by boiling it. Both methods are adopted. There are a great many of these establishments, and it is supposed that this year they will all make four millions of bushels. One establishment puts up 1200 bags of 28 pounds each, a day. They require about 1200 yards of cotton cloth, every day, for the bags. You would be very much interested to go into this establishment. There is a long flue, more than seventy feet long, which runs under a great many kettles, in which the water is constantly boiling. The salt is here formed in crystals, white as snow. It is taken out and put in a bin, where it looks like a great long snow-drift. It is taken from this place, and put in a trough thirty feet long and ten wide, with fire beneath; a sort of harrow is made to work back and forward in this, thus stirring the salt. It is then ground, and carried by machinery to a place where it is put in bags. It is really a curious place, and if you were there, you would think salt as plenty as snow in winter at Boston. The salt made at Syracuse is very much liked; some of it is fine and nice for the table. Some is put up in small, neat boxes and sent all over the country. When you were here the other day, I got a peep at a man they told me was you; but as he hadn’t a wooden leg, I have some doubts whether it was really you. Perhaps your leg has grown on again, or you have had one put in as good as new--for it is said the Yankees, down east, are very clever at domestic manufactures.