Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1895-10-16

Little Feet
Two little feet, so small that both may nestle
In one caressing hand;
Two tender feet upon the untried border
OF life's mysterious land,
Dimpled and soft, and pink as peach tree bios
In April's fragrant days
How can they walk among the briery tangles
Edging the worlds rough ways9
These rose white feet along the doubtful fu
ture
Must bear a woman's load,
Alasi since woman has the heaviest burden
And walks the hardest road.
Love- for awhile, will make the path before
All dainty, smooth and fair
Will Gull away the brambles, letting only
The roses blossom there.
But when the mothers watchful eyes are
shrouded
Away from sight Of men,
And these dear feet are left without her guild
Who shall direct them thenf
How will they be allured, betrayed, deluded,
Poor little untaught feetP
Into what dreary mazes will they wandera
What dangers will they meet?
Will they 70 stumbling blindly in the darkness
OF sorrows fearful shades
Or find the upland slopes of peace and beauty
Whose sunlight never fades?
Will they go toiling up ambitions summit,
The common world above,
Or in some nameless vale, securely sheltered,
Walk side by side with love?
Elizabeth Akers Allen.
Born Of rich and honest parents, with ances-
tors known to fame,
Not stain Of foul dishonor e'er had crossed
the noble name,
Not single scion e'er disgraced the blood
they loved so well,
Until he, the last descendant Of the grand old
family, fell.
Fell he sudden and completely-he, the cashier
From his upright, high position in moment
sad he sank;
Fell as fell SO many others who have met the
selfsame fate
One misstep, and all was over-came repent
ance then too late.
When the fatal step was taken and he'd fallen
from his place,
Grim the shadow was of anger and Of pain
upon his face.
"I'd Just give" he said "a dollar for mo-
ment's forceful talk
With the man who threw that peel Of q banana
on the walk"
New Orleans Times Democrat
MY Little Boy That Died.
Look at his pretty face for just one minute,
I -. .la1.1~
His firm shut hand, the favorite play thing in 1t,
Then tell me, mothers, was it not hard to
lose
And miss him from my side,
My little boy that diedP
How many another boy as dear and charming.
His fathers hope, his mothers one delight,
Slips through strange sicknesses, all fear dis
arming,
And lives long, long life in parents sight.
Mine was SO short pride,
And then-my poor boy died.
see him rocking OH his wooden charger,
hear him pattering through the house all
day,
watch his great blue eyes grow large and
larger,
Listening to stories, whether grave or gay
Told at the bright freside,
So dark now since he died.
But yet often think my boy is living,
As living as my other children are.
When good night kisses around am giving,
keep ono for him, though he is SO far
Can mere grave divide
Me from him, though he diedP
80, while come and plant it Ger with daisies
Nothing but childish daisies all year round),
Continually Gods hand the curtain raises,
4 1~or ttev niroG md
And feel him at my side,
My little boy that died.
Mrs. Mulock- Craik.
Inspiration.
There was wealth came to the poet,
But his pen was never thrilled;
Though 1t brought him rare possessions,
Yet his dreamy soul was stilled.
Wealth may turn the hand Of Justice