The following puzzle is from three subscribers for Merry’s Museum for 1842, and it will oblige them to see it in the May number. H. T. C. E. J. S. J. W. C. I am a word of 13 letters. My 3d, 12th, 13th, 5th, 12th, and 9th, is the name of one of the ex-presidents of the United States. My 1st, 8th, 13th, and 9th, is a name common with the female sex. My 4th, 5th, 12th, and 13th, is the name of a metal. My 7th, 9th, 6th, and 2d, is the name of another. My 11th, 10th, 9th, and 2d, is a common thing with boys in winter. My 6th, 4th, and 5th, is one of the elements. My whole is the name of a great warrior. I am quite pleased with the following, and should be happy to hear from Bertha very often. CHARADE. My first’s the end of him whose wife Was turned one day to salt; And doubtless, if the truth must out, My fourth’s the end of malt. My second, if you will believe it, Essential is to rest; My third,--and you can well conceive it,-- Is that which you love best. My fifth--my last--’tis found in heaven-- ’Tis found, alas! in hell; And though not in an oyster met, It lives in every shell. Already hath my humble name In these brief lines been set; But modest merit’s overlooked, And you don’t see me yet! I am the greatest earthly good,-- The only path to glory,-- Come, gentle reader, guess my name, And keep me e’er before thee!--BERTHA. The letter from J. A. is very gratifying, so I give it an insertion. _Petersburgh, Va., March 2, 1842._ MR. MERRY: I have just begun to take your Museum, and I like it very much. I think you tell stories very much as Peter Parley did. I like Parley’s books so much that I called my little dog Peter Parley. He died some time ago, and now I am going to get another, and I intend to call it Robert Merry. I hope you won’t be offended at this, for we always call dogs after famous people. I think the best of your stories is the Sable-Hunter, but I really wish you would go on with it a little faster. JAMES A----. The following is inserted, not because it is a very famous specimen of poetry but because it is written by quite a young person, and shows a very tender feeling ON A DEAD RABBIT. Once upon a time, When I was in my prime, I had a rabbit white as milk, And its hair was soft as silk. One morn I went to feed it,-- There was no rabbit there-- And long I hunted after it, Looking everywhere.