"EARTH HAS NO PLACE OF REST."

BY MRS. M. M. WEBSTER.

WHEN we're weary of pleasure, or languish in painWhen we find even Hope has been cherished in vain— When "dark days" are many, and friendships decay, And the hearts that were dearest are passing away,— Do we still seek for peace, or for "rest" here below? The bosom oft stricken will answer, Ah no!

I said to the bird as he caroled along,

And echo flung back the last notes of his song,
If thy joys are so many when springtime is here,
Wilt thou warble as sweetly when winter is near;
When the sear leaf is falling and bareing thy nest,
Oh where wilt thou find thee a haven of "rest?"

I said of the bee, as he hummed in the bower,
Is the nectar he sips, then, the life of the flower
Which withers so soon on the stalk he has left,
Already of beauty and fragrance bereft?
And I thought in my heart that the sorrows of earth
Were a heritage sure-a dark pledge of our birth.

And though warned by experience, which bids us beware,

Still we trust our frail barques on the ocean of care,

When the billows are raging, and whirlpools are nigh, And the tempest is urging its course through the sky: Though a voice in soft whisperings speaks to the breast, “On earth, there is nothing that savors of rest.”

I'm weary in spirit—oh, would I could meet
In the home of my childhood communion sweet,
But a change has come o'er it, 'tis desert and lone,
Its inmates all scattered, its cheerfulness gone:
But the loved ones of youth have a haven of "rest,"
For the grass waves in spires on each mouldering
breast.

I sought 'mid the halls of the wealthy and great, But I found not a balm for my woes—in their state; It was emptiness all-not a shadow of "rest"

For the hearts that seem lightest are not the most

blest:

And I turned to commune in silence and love
With the fair face of nature-around, and above.

When the Sun, as he bade the high zenith to blaze,
Was paled in a moment and shorn of his rays,
An eclipse had come o'er him, and silence and gloom
Let fall a thick curtain-a type of the tomb.

O how then I sighed, can a mortal be blest,

How seek 'mid this chaos a mansion of "rest?"

But he sprang from his thraldom more gorgeously bright,

E'er his glories were quenched in the shadows of night, And the stars as they hung out their sparkles on high Seemed like portals of radiance oped in the sky.

Then my spirit becalmed, caught the hope that was

given

That promise of "rest" for the faithful, in Heaven.

Transported, I gazed on the wonderful whole,
Then, there's refuge I said for the sin-darkened soul;
When the clouds of ambition and envy shall cease
And the tumults of passion are hushed into peace-
Then, then shall the "rest" we now sigh for, be known,
In the presence of God, and the light of his throne.

Virginia.

THE EARLY CALLED:

OR, THE VICTIMS OF THE CHOLERA.

BY MRS. LUCY C. DIGGES.

"Therefore, be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh."-Matt. xxiv. 44.

In one of the most fertile of our happy States, is a flourishing village, which for the present, we will call Western View. It is situated on one of our finest rivers, and is of course much frequented by steamboats; and consequently affords every facility for trade. And often are passing travelers tempted to stop awhile; or emigrants from some of the older States seen there, either to settle there, or in its yicinity, or going on to that yet undefined spot, “the West." In this busy collection of bustling mortals, there was one mansion, where on a fine morning in the Spring of 1833, all was preparation and cheerfulness. Alas! they little knew what a day was to bring forth.

Before the sun, in more than wonted splendor, had gilded with his first rays the forest on the opposite shore, or tinged the hill-tops whence he made his appearance, all was life and animation in this cheerful dwelling.

For on this bright day, an affectionate father, and a devoted mother, were about to bestow the hand of one fair girl, upon the youth of her chosen affection,

and of her parents' warmest approbation. The fond parents looked forward with pleasure, to the time when their three daughters would be happily settled in worldly comfort; and doubtless, hoped to find in their old age, affectionate sons in their partners: for she whom we shall call Ellen, was to precede her sisters to the sacred matrimonial altar, and no doubt, each was anxious to render to this dear sister, those services she would so soon require for herself. The eldest, whom we shall call Eliza, and the youngest sister Julia, were busily assisting their mother in superintending the cooking, and preparing the confectionary. Cakes of every description and size, were to be seen in every place where they could be conveniently put, to dry the icing, or to decorate them for the evening. And where was the "fair young bride?” After wearying herself in assisting to fix the rooms in appropriate order, we will suppose her retired to her chamber, to finish the trimming of a cape, which she might want the next morning—or to lay out in readiness, (and perhaps admiring for the fiftieth time) her bridal attire! A wise man of ancient days, said, "no man can be accounted happy before he dies." Such has been the experience of persons without number since his day; and yet we still go on, each in our turn, until we feel its truth, and are constrained to say, we might have known this before, had we not been so thoughtless. It is for us to say how we shall live, but for our Creator to say when we shall die. For oh," in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of man cometh!" Death is his messenger, and ready or not ready, we must obey his call. After having concluded some of the most