The Factory Girl | Page 2

rich perfume in a sweet murmur, save which, with the gentle rolling of the pellucid stream, silence reigned. The earth was clothed in her richest garments, and dame Nature seemed to smile with satisfaction at the faithful accom plishment of her work, and the beauty of each object which her pencil had touched, or her magic wand animated. Then Solitude lent her charm, and Devotion her power to the virtuous mind.
On such an evening as this, at a short distance from a small, yet beautiful village of the "Granite State," upon the banks of a stream tributary to the noble river that washes the western boundary of that State, might have been seen, apparently in deep and interesting, if not anxious conversa tion, a lady and gentleman, whose appearance would have particularly engaged your attention. They were both young, and the lady at least was peculiarly beautiful and lovely.
"When shall you return, Calliste?" inquired the gentleman. "That is uncertain," was the reply. "We shall miss you," continued the first speaker, "but I hope we shall hear from you often." "Most certainly I shall write," she replied. But we have traced their conversation far enough to open to the minds of our readers the characters which we have introduced; and as the companion of Calliste, at the present time, permit us to introduce MARCUS HARTWELL, of whom the reader will hear more as we proceed. Suffice it to say, that he was a very dear friend of Calliste, and that they were about to part for a season.
Long did they converse, seated upon the mosscovered bank, beneath the shade of a majestic elm, whose towering trunk had bid defiance to the storms of many a rolling year, ere those beneath its boughs had commenced the journey of life. The subject of their present conversation will be readily guessed by our readers. Theirs, gentle friends, were hearts swayed by reciprocal feelings by deep, pure, fervent, and devoted affection. They had- not learned to trifle with the brightest, sweetest, and purest feelings of which our nature is susceptible. They had received this precious gift from the hand of Virtue, and her kiss as the signet of her approval aroused confidence to act in mutual harmony and they were happy. This, indeed, is the only source to the fountain of happiness, and all the pranks of Cupid upon hearts really unworthy to bear the gem of true affection, are but impulses that lead to evil, rather than the attainment of lasting good.
There is an hour, in which the heart can truly realize the extent of its attachment to any object when it can truly feel the worth of a soul possessing feelings congenial to its own. There is a time that severs kindred spirits, and plants their destiny in remote climes from each other, to wander alone among strangers, with no friend to soothe the aching head, or cheer the hour of sorrow and gloom, by a kind word and an ever-welcome smile. Yes,
The parting hour, to kindred hearts,
Truly is ever fraught with pain;
For who can tell, when once we part,
If we shall ever meet again?
We love the endearing associations that cluster around Home, and from the scenes of our child hood, hallowed by so many interesting names and scenes all dear to our heart it is indeed hard to part; but there is one association that binds us still stronger to its object, and that is true affec tion. This, this, we say, draws the cords of the heart, and touches a vibrating string, the music of which strikes upon the soul in tones sorrowful, yet sweet, as in the low and hallowed cadence the last adieu falls upon our anxious ear with a magic spell.
Such was the scene which we have introduced to our readers, and the time and place were favorable to the parting, for a calm and holy influence seemed to fall around them, as if angels were at their devotions near, and the harmony of Nature, as exhibited in the material universe, seemed also to render a tribute of praise to the Architect Divine. But in the hearts of Marcus and Calliste, nothing but unfeigned affection touched the strings; and though that passion so sacred, so holy was mutual, yet, up to the present time, had it remained unconfessed.
From early years they had associated with each other, and that attachment which had existed be tween them, had gradually ripened into mutual love, pure and ardent. And now, for the first time, did they realize the extent of that passion, which had so long been cherished, behind the veil of the heart. This was the scene of the confession and the declaration of affection. And as he clasped Calliste to his bosom, and the first holiest kiss of love was