TO THE TIGER FLOWER.

BY MISS LETITIA JERMYN.

PRIDE of an hour! alas, too soon
Thy transient glories fade;
Thy blossoms grace the radiant noon,
But wither in eve's shade.

In the full blaze of mid-day sun,
With tints all rich and bright,
Thy spotted petals, one by one,
Ope on the ravish'd sight;

But as his golden beams decline,
As evening gray draws nigh,
They close, and all their charms resign-
Their vaunted beauties die.

Choice flower! while thus I weep thy fate,

Thy blossoms, frail as fair,

Are symbols of how brief a date

Awaits Creation's heir.

THE ALARM.

JOHN WHEELER was an honest boy, but he was very ignorant, and, unfortunately, he lived with a farmer, whose wife told him a great many frightful stories. He was naturally strong and bold, but he had heard so many monstrous accounts, in which there was not one word of truth, that he was literally afraid of his own shadow. John's elder brother had gone to sea; and at home he had two sisters, Peggy and Sally.

The farm where he lived was at some distance from his father's house, and was separated from it by a small forest. John had promised his sisters that he would spend a certain evening with them, while his parents had gone to a wedding in a neighbouring town. It was late before he completed his day's work, and the moon was shining bright when he entered the wood. It was beautiful to see the old trees all clothed in