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DESTINY. Like a shadow that flies from the sun god, we slip out of life and are gone. The place where we were is vacant, for who will remember till noon. The drop of dew like a diamond which pleased at the glimmer of dawn? And when the singer has left us, who cares to rememeber the tune? In the leaves’ deep drift in the forest what bird is seeking the one Beneath whose shelter she builded her tedi¬ ous love cradling nest? It has lived, it was used, has perished; now lieth, its use being done; Forgotten of sunshine and songster in rhe dust Whence it came. It is best. But we, we shrink from the leaf’s fate, and we murmur: “Soon they forget; These friends whom we loved, who loved us and shared in our pleasures and mirth. Our names are lost in the silence death bring eth, and no regret Endureth for us, low lying in the green gemmed bosom of earth.” Oh, mortal, accept the omen; we live, we are used, and we fall As the leaf -before us has fallen. We pass from our place and are not. The living have grief sufficient, content thee to fold in thy pall Remembrance and sorrowful grieving, and be of the living forgot. —Clare St. George, in Inter-Ocean. ONE TOUCH OF NATURE. BY L. T>. LEECH. It was m the early seventies, and I and my two partners were running a cattle ranch located on the Big Medicine tiiver 111 southwestern .Kansas. The recently finished Pacific railroads to the north of us had driven the buffalo pretty well out of the southern country, and the millions of acres of rich grasses which had pastured countless thousands of these animals for untold ages past,now lay open to the herds of the cattlemen, We were among the first ranchers who entered the new field, but at the time of which I write nearly one hundred cow camps had been established within a radius of fifty miles of ours. 0 ‘ tite most recent arrivals in the neighborhood • was a New Englander named Bailey, a quiet, rather delicate looking fellow of about thirty-five, who, ayear before my story opens, had come on the range, bought a couple of hun dred head of cattle, and located a ranch on the North Fork, about twenty miles west of our camp. Bailey was a shy, reserved sort of man, and although hospitable enough when visited, evinced but little of that whole-souled fraternal sociability which generally characterizes the lordly riders of the range. This made him very un w *th the exception of an old Mexican herdsman, who served him in the capacity of cowboy, he had few friends and no intimates. We are all entirely too ready to believe the worst of any one whom we dislike, rule C0W ^°^ S aro uo exception to the bo when, one autumn afternoon, big .lim bmith, the boss herder of the circle bar ranch, came thundering up to the dug-out, with his pony all afoam, and, calling me outside, told me that Bailey was which . running there off a bunch of steers in to other were a lot of strays belong mg ranchers, and that the boys had gotten wind of it, and were organ him izing for a pursuing cattle thieving, party to I catch did and hang the accused man's not doubt Ten minules later guilt. revolver, I had belted on my saddled my pony, and was galloping rendezvous, like the wind for the appointed all too ready to take my part ra the anticipated ‘ hanging-bee.” We were a wild, rough-looking set who met that evening at the 2-X ranch, and started out ou poor Bailey's trail. To tell the truth, we were most of us as wild ■and rough as we looked. There were fifteen in the company altogether, - for the most part owners, or part cowboys owners, AVe of ranches, and the Vest and each were all well mounted, volver, was armed with knife and re while from every hung the ever-present lariat, the all-im portant item, next to his pony, of a cow boy’s equipment. * Tom Anderson,as'rapping Missourian, who ran the 2-X brand, and who was the fell acknowledged master-spirit of the range, occasion, naturally into the lead upon this as he did upon all others where intrepid daring,and unyielding firmness 'were required. / Tom was what the cowboys call a “holy terror.” He did not know what fear was; but, (hough relentlessly he had fierce heart and cruel when enraged, a that was as tender as a child's in some of its moods. He was a lion in both looks and nature, and we all admired him, and generally submitted, without question, to his Our leadership. rode sixty miles that night, party over light and just as it began to grow next morning we came up with Bailey. He and his old herder were engaged in cooking breakfast over their camp-fire and when we appeared upon the scene, we did not wait for them to finish their meal before explaining their business. Fierce and haggard from our hard night-ride, we were an ugly-looking crew, and it was little wonder that poor Bailey looked scared as he rose and timorously morning, greeted us with a advanced “ Good¬ gentlemen! ” as we and drew up around the fire. No one answered his salutation; it was received with grim, ominous silence. “Just take care of him. boys, while I ride out to the cattle and see that there is no mistake about the strays. We want to be certain he’s guilty before go¬ ing any further,” said our leader; and, as he spoke, he and several others of the party started toward a bunch of cattle that were grazing upon the prairie not far while the rest of us over Bailey, who had now grown pale as death, and was trembling in every limb. In a moment Tom and the others re¬ turned, and, as they approached, Tom said: “It’s true boys. There’s a dozen strays in the lot, and no mistake,” and turning, without he more added, ado, to the cowering culprit, with a harsh abruptness that was simply terrible: “You, Bailey, are a cattle-thief, and we have come after you to hang you. You knew the law of the range when you broke it, so you must abide by it. You shall have an hour, and an hour only, to prepare for death.” A9 his doom was thus spoken, Bailey, poor wretch, was completely overcome with terror and dismay, “O boys, boys, don’t hang me! You mustn’t hang me!” he cried piteously, falling I suppliantly on his knees. “I swear am innocent! I call on my Maker to witness lhat I intended to pay you for your cattle. Oh, have mercy, and don’t hang down, me!” and and like he broke completely wept a child, But it was no use. There was no re¬ lenting in the harsh, stern faces of his termination; captors, no softening and of their grim de not a syllable of dis sent was uttered when our leader spoke again, and said sternly: “Mercy from us you will not receive, You had best pray for it from your Maker. In an hour’s time you will be in his presence.” As Tom spoke, the poor wretch gave faces °ne despairing of the look at the unrelenting about him, and, men grouped on their ponies of pity, fell, with meeting hopeless with not a sign a groan, face downward upon the grass, “I reckon we had better leave him by himself fur awhile, boys. If he has any prayin’ to do, I allow he kiu do it better without a aujienee; so let’s draw off agiece till his time’s up.” This most opportune and delicate suggestion it came from old Jake Lape, an( l was acted upon with alacrity. We immediately hundred moved off for a distance of a yards or so, and left the doomed man alone to make his final preparations fully intended for death. Although we that it to hang him, we ail felt wn« uo more than right to show him all the politeness and courtesy ad missibie under the circumstances, dejectedly Shortly after we rode off, Bailey rose to his feet, thrust his hand ln to his bosom, and drawing forth what looked, from a distance, like a letter, dropped upon his knees and pressed it again and again to his lips with im passioned placed fervor. Afterward he rc it in his bosom, and, bowing his bead, spent the remainder of his last hour seemingly in silent prayer, When the time had finally expired, and i we drew near the kneeling culprit to finish our dread work, he arose to meet - us "'id 1 an air so calm and gentle, so | j utterly for we had changed, expected that to it meet-with astounded tears us, atl d supplications aud struggles, Me offered not the slightest resistance ! wbe:» we bound his hands securely Im¬ bind him, and, lifting him upon his horse, drove with him down to the creek bottom, where aseraggy cottonwood had already been selected to serve as a gal loxvs. Bailey was driven under the tree; the noose of a lariat was quickly placed about his neck, and the other end thrown across an overhanging limb, and made fast to the tfunk. Old I.ape had his “quint” raised in readiness to bring it down across the flank of the doomed man’s pony at the word of command; all was ready for the final act. when Bailey raised his head and Anderson spoke. his side, he Calling Tom to said: “Tom will you do a favor for a dying “What man?” is it?” the gruff reply. was “I want you to promise to see that my family gets what little property I leave. They are poor, and will need it badly, Tom; so, please promise. I know you’ll do it if vou say you will.” ■‘Well, Bailey, I’ll do it, if that’s all you want. You may rest easy on that score; I promise,” answered Tom, in a softened tone. — V---" “Thank you, Tom; and now, just one thing more, eagerly, please,” “reach into continued bosom the prisoner picture that’s there, ray and let and get the me have another look at my wife and children before I die. We all of us sat cottonwood grouped about during on this our ponies under the scene, and, as Tom Anderson taking complied pic¬ with Bailey’s request, and a ture from the prisoner’s bosom held it before him so that he could look at it, the surrounding group of rough cow¬ boys became utterly absorbed in the scene. Not a whisper was uttered, and the noise of the restive ponies, as they champed their greensward, bits or stamped alone impa¬ broke tiently upon the the solemn stillness. With a look of unspeakable tender¬ photograph ness, Bailey and glued held his them eyes there upon the for fully a minute. his head dropped suddenly Then upon his breast, and, with a groan, he cried out, in boys, despairing accents: it’s hard die and “0 boys! to leave them all alone; and to die in such a way, too! It will kill poor Mary, if she's not dead already; I know it will.” He no longer looks at the picture, but Tom Anderson himself was gazing at it instead. Long and earnestly he looked at it, but did not speak a word. Then he handed it to old man Lape, and it passed from hand to hand until every mac in the party had taken a long look at it. A sweet, gentle womans face looked smilingly forth from the midst of the card, while over each of her shoulders peeped a chubby face filled with childish glee and innocence. On the border of the card was written, in a clear, delicate hand: “Come home soon, papa; we’re so lonely without you.” When the picture had gone the rounds, atrd Tom Anderson returned it reverently to Bailey’s bosom, the culprit raised his head and said: “It was for their sake, boys, I drove the cattle off in such a hurry. I got word yesterday that my wife was dying, and I took the first steers I could find in order to get the money to see her. It was wrong, I suppose, but I would have paid you for every head I took when I came back.” Like a flash Tom Anderson's knife was out of its sheath. A quick stroke, and the rope about the prisoner’s neck was severed. Instantly Bailey’s pony bore him aside, and in his place, facing the crowd, on his mustang sat Tom, with uplifted hand and his eyes fairly blazing with fierce excitement, while we were too much amazed to either speak or move. “That man speaks the truth!” he shouted. “He never intended to steal them cattle. But whether he did or not, it’s all the same tome; the man that lays finger on him must do it over my dead body. If I had a wife like that lady in the pictur’ critter an’ she was sick, I’d steal every on the range to git to her; an’ the man’s a dog that wouldn’t. If any man here thinks different I’m ready to fight it out with him right . here and now.” For a moment there was no response, then old man Lape spoke up: “Well, Tom,” said he, * “ye needn’t talk to mighty fierce, as no one's goin’ to fight ye, I guess. Not that we’re skeered of ye, Tom. You mustn’t flatter your¬ self by thinkin’ that at all, but we all feel about the same as you do in the matter. Leastwise I do, and to show Bailey that I believe he’s innocent, I hereby make him a present of them three steers o’ mine that’s in his bunch. “Bully for you, old man! them’s my sentiments; and I’ll chip in the steers that belong to me, too!” shouted Bill Smith. “Same here!” yelled Dutch Frank, rubbing two big tears off his cheeks with his grimy fist. “I’m with you,boys!’’ shouted another. “Me, too!”said another, and a minute later every one of the “strays” that had caused all the trouble belonged as much to Bailey as if the iiank of each of them bore his brand and no other. The revulsion of feeling was simply tremendous. The very men who ten minutes before had been ruthlessly intent upon hanging Bailey now crowded around him, begging forgiveness, and vying with one another as to which could do the most for him. Such of us a3 owned none of the “strays” actually felt mean, and jealous of those who did until Tom Anderson ■suggested a way in which we too, might give vent to our generous impuis’es. — critters “Boys,” said he, “there’s none spring o’my in Bailey’s bunch, but next I’m a-goin’ to brand twenty calves for that little girl in the pictur’, and it’s my intention to take care of them and their increase for her until she’s growed up.” “Now you’re shoutin’, Tom! I’ll do the same, chimed in another. “I’ll go twenty for the little boy!” shouted another; and so it went until each man of us had made a liberal con¬ Poor Bailey was entirely overcome, and no wonder. To escape hanging so narrowly, and five minutes later to have those who had been bent upon executing him eagerly competing with one another as to which could show him the greatest kindness was enough to upset any man. He tried to express his feelings co¬ herently, but could not; and we left him in the midst of his tears and protesta¬ tions of gratitude, and rode off to the nearest ranch to procure food and rest for ourselves and our ponies before start¬ ing on our homeward journey. A' . i f ■■=> -Si* Bailey is at present one of the wealth iest and most popular cattle men in the Southwest. His wife did not die, but recovered, and now resides with him at his ranch on the North Fork. We cowboys kept our word; and the spring after the lynching affair saw sev¬ eral hundred calves branded with the initials of Bailey’s son and daughter and turned loose on the range. With his share of them and their progeny the boy lias stocked a big ranch of his own; while the share of the little girl, who is, by the way, one of the loveliest plains, prairie makes flowers her that of ever graced the heiresses one Youth's the richest in tae State. — Companion. Meals at a Cost of Fifteen Cia’ii. city A for satisfying tneal can be had in this probably Jess money than in most cities in this or any other country. There is plenty of variety in the daily bill of lare presented bv the cheap res¬ taurant. For breakfast or supper the hungry guest may take his choice of beef¬ steak, wither without fried onjjons; mut¬ ton or pork chops, ham and eggs, scrap¬ ple, sausages or fried liver. With each of these more or less nourishing dishes are served—fried potatoes, two relishes, bread or hot cakes and butter and a large cup of coffee or tea, and the price of all this—is but fifteen cents. All meals arc served at a uniform charge, and surely the dinner of roast meat, three vegetables, pudding, deep coffee, into bread and butter must cut the slender in a gin of profit realized on the morning and even¬ ing meals. of the But a vast number of the patrons fifteen cheap restaurants regard cents as an extravagant outlay for a single meal, and they have to be catered for accordingly. For five cents a man can have a large bowl of vegetable or bean soup, an oyster or beef pie, a big plate of beef stew, a plate of scrapple,pot pie, other pepper pot or his choice of several more or less appetizing and nour¬ ishing dishes. The less said about the serving and cooking of this cheap food the better. Sticklers for show—white clothes and highly polished knives, forks and spoons—must look elsewhere than to the cheap restaurants for these deceptive quantifies adjuncts to an appetizing meal. Vast of food are consumed daily in the popular cheap dining rooms. The proprietoi of one of these places gave a reporter the following list of the average quantities of food used in the preparation of a week's meals: One thou¬ sand,four hundred pounds of bread, 1,290 pounds beef, steaks, joints, stewing meats, etc.; coffee, 000 pounds of sugar, 100 pounds of 20 pounds of tea, 400 • pounds of of muttonj and joints and chops, 150 daily. pounds About veal 125 quarts of milk 2,500 bushels of potatoes are used annually, and a proportionate quantity of cabbage, parsnips, turnips, beets and other vegetables. England Book-keeping from was by first introdued into Italy Peele in 1509.