Then advisin him to keep away from the Peter Funk sections of the East, and the proprietors of corner-lots in the West, I bid him farewell, and went away. There was a levee at Senator What's-his-name's, and I thought I'd jine in the festivities for a spell.  Who should I see but she that was Sarah Watkins, now the wife of our Congresser, trippin in the dance, dressed up to kill in her store close.  Sarah's father use to keep a little grosery store in our town and she used to clerk it for him in busy times.  I was rushin up to shake hands with her when she turned on her heel, and tossin her hed in a contemptooious manner, walked away from me very rapid.  "Hallo, Sal," I hollered, "can't you measure me a quart of them best melasses?  I may want a codfish, also!"  I guess this reminded her of the little red store, and "the days of her happy childhood." But I fell in love with a nice little gal after that, who was much sweeter then Sally's father's melasses, and I axed her if we shouldn't glide in the messy dance.  She sed we should, and we Glode. I intended to make this letter very seris, but a few goaks may have accidentally crept in.  Never mind.  Besides, I think it improves a komick paper to publish a goak once in a while. Yures Muchly,   WARD,  (Artemus) ____________________ AGRICULTURE. The Barclay County Agricultural Society having seriously invited the author of this volume to address them on the occasion of their next annual Fair, he wrote the President of that Society as follows: New York. June 12, 1865, Dear Sir: I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 5th inst., in which you invite me to deliver an address before your excellent agricultural society. I feel flattered, and think I will come. Perhaps, meanwhile, a brief history of my experience as an agriculturist will be acceptable; and as that history no doubt contains suggestions of value to the entire agricultural community, I have concluded to write to you through the Press. I have been an honest old farmer for some four years. My farm is in the interior of Maine.  Unfortunately my lands are eleven miles from the railroad.  Eleven miles is quite a distance to haul immense quantities of wheat, corn, rye, and oats; but as I hav'n't any to haul, I do not, after all, suffer much on that account. My farm is more especially a grass farm. My neighbors told me so at first, and as an evidence that they were sincere in that opinion, they turned their cows on to it the moment I went off "lecturing." These cows are now quite fat.  I take pride in these cows, in fact, and am glad I own a grass farm. Two years ago I tried sheep-raising. I bought fifty lambs, and turned them loose on my broad and beautiful acres.