At

   a cattle show, recently, a fellow who was making himself ridiculously conspicuous, at last broke forth—"Call these ere prize cattle? Why, they ain't nothin' to what our folks raised. My father raised the biggest calf of any man round our parts."

   "I don't doubt it," remarked a bystander, "and the noisiest."

   "

    Ma

   , I am going to make some soft soap, for the Fair this fall!" said a beautiful Miss of seventeen, to her mother, the other day.

   "What put that notion into your head, Sally?"

   "Why, ma, the premium is just what I have been wanting."

   "Pray, what is it?"

   "A 'Westchester Farmer,' I hope he will be a good looking one!"

    A correspondent

   from Northampton, Mass., is responsible for the following:—"A subscriber to a moral-reform paper, called at our post office, the other day, and enquired if

    The Friend of Virtue

   had come. "No," replied the postmaster, "there has been no such person here for a long time."

    The

   late Rev. Dr. Sutton, Vicar of Sheffield, once said to the late Mr. Peach, a veterionary surgeon, "Mr. Peach, how is it you have not called upon me for your account?"

   "Oh," said Mr. Peach, "I never ask a gentleman for money."

   "Indeed!" said the Vicar, "then how do you get on if he don't pay?"

   "Why," replied Mr. Peach, "after a certain time I conclude that he is not a gentleman, and then I ask him."

    I saw

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