ALICE FELL; Or, Poverty. THE post-boy drove with fierce career, As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound-and more and more; At length I to the boy called out; The boy then smacked his whip, and fast Forthwith, alighting on the ground, "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan?" And there a little girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise, alone. "My cloak!" no other word she spake, But loud and bitterly she wept, As if her innocent heart would break; And down from off her seat she leapt. "What ails you, child ?"-She sobbed, "Look here !" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scarecrow dangled. There, twisted between nave and spoke, "And whither are you going, child, Insensible to all relief; Sat the poor girl, and forth did send Sob after sob, as if her grief Could never, never have an end. "My child, in Durham do you dwell?” I'm fatherless and motherless. "And I to Durham, sir, belong." Again, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong; And all was for her tattered cloak ! The chaise drove on; our journey's end Up to the tavern door we post; "And let it be of duffil grey, As warm a cloak as man can sell !" WE ARE SEVEN. A SIMPLE child, That lightly draws its breath, I met a little cottage girl : She was eight years old, she said; That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad : Her eyes were fair, and very fair; "Sisters and brothers, little maid How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, And in the churchyard cottage, I "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell, Then did the little maid reply, "You run about my little maid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit— "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, |