THE RECRUIT.

BY MRS. C. BARON WILSON.

TAKE, take these flaunting streamers hence!
They mock my pale and saddened brow;
Remorse, too late, and 'wakening sense,
Disclose their fearful honors now.
In fatal hour, when jealous pride
Rushed, whirlwind-like, across my brain,
Maddened by rage and wine, I hied
To join the wily sergeant's train!

Mother, farewell!- thy truant son
No more his village home may see;
Where lives are lost, or honors won,
My home of strife henceforth must be.
Farewell, the cottage in the glade,
That made my boyhood's earliest home;
Farewell, still dear, though faithless maid,
Whose scorn thus dooms my steps to roam.

Hark! 't is the far-resounding drum,
And thrilling fife, whose martial tone
Proclaim the hour "to march" is come,
And visions of the past are flown!

The notes of fame, and glory call

They weave around my heart their spell; The banner waves! - adieu to all!

Home, mother, faithless love - farewell!

5

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THE SECRET.

BY CAMILLA

TOULMIN.

Thy heart! I would I could command

Thy heart to open on my sight.

- I'll trust those stars of blue."

Yet no

Barry Cornwall.

PART I. -THE MARRIAGE.

To the astonishment of "the world" Sir Percy Borrowdale had remained for ten years a widower, though left such, and without children, at the age of five-and-twenty. Possessed of a princely fortune-tracing his descent through a noble ancestry for five hundred years, and himself more than commonly handsome, there is no wonder that he was looked on as an excellent "match" among the fairest and noblest in the country. His first and very early marriage had been in compliance with his father's wishes; but though the chosen bride was young and beautiful, and though on her death every mark of respect was paid to her memory, Sir Percy never affected to be inconsolable for her loss. And yet for ten years he did not wed again! Did he prefer the freedom of a single life or could he not find one of woman-kind to reach the standard of his fastidious taste? At last, when that bun