The Widow found her "lost lamb" hiding behind a rain-barrel when she opened up the house next morning, and there was a mighty touching and affecting scene. In fact, the Widow must have touched him at least a hundred times and every time he was affected to tears, for she was using a bed slat, which is a powerfully strong moral agent for making a boy see the error of his ways. And it was a month after that before Bud could go down Main Street without some man who had called him a noble little fellow, or a bright, manly little chap, while he was drowned, reaching out and fetching him a clip on the ear for having come back and put the laugh on him. No one except the Widow ever really got at the straight of Bud's conduct, but it appeared that he left home to get a few Indians scalps, and that he came back for a little bacon and corn pone. I simply mention the Widow in passing as an example of the fact that the time to do your worrying is when a thing is all over, and that the way to do it is to leave it to the neighbors. I sail for home to-morrow. Your affectionate father, JOHN GRAHAM. FAREWELL _Provoked by Calverley's "Forever"_ By Bert Leston Taylor "Farewell!" Another gloomy word As ever into language crept. 'Tis often written, never heard, Except In playhouse. Ere the hero flits-- In handcuffs--from our pitying view. "Farewell!" he murmurs, then exits R.U. "Farewell" is much too sighful for An age that has not time to sigh. We say, "I'll see you later," or "Good-by!" When, warned by chanticleer, you go From her to whom you owe devoir, "Say not 'good-by,'" she laughs, "but 'Au Revoir!'" Thus from the garden are you sped; And Juliet were the first to tell You, you were silly if you said "Farewell!" "Farewell," meant long ago, before It crept, tear-spattered, into song, "Safe voyage!" "Pleasant journey!" or "So long!" But gone its cheery, old-time ring; The poets made it rhyme with knell-- Joined it became a dismal thing-- "Farewell!" "Farewell!" into the lover's soul You see Fate plunge the fatal iron. All poets use it. It's the whole Of Byron. "I only feel--farewell!" said he; And always fearful was the telling-- Lord Byron was eternally Farewelling. "Farewell!" A dismal word, 'tis true (And why not tell the truth about it!); But what on earth would poets do Without it? MY RUTHERS BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY [Writ durin' State Fair at Indanoplis, whilse visitin' a Soninlaw then residin' thare, who has sence got back to the country whare he says a man that's raised thare ot to a-stayed in the first place.]