The Factory Girl | Page 3

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 mutually given, think you not, dear
reader, an emotion thrilled the heart of Marcus, whose very nature
forbid aught but constancy and fidelity to its sacred trust? The pledge
was given the solemn vow was sealed, and registered, we fancy, in the
sanctum of virtue, for future reference.
They parted but think you, fair reader, it was not with mutual
satisfaction? Though they were to be separated for a season, yet they
were blest with the anticipation of a future meeting, under more
pleasant circumstances. Hope cheered their hearts, and the last embrace
and adieu found a charm from the light of that blessed beacon which is
the joy of the mind. They parted -- Marcus to resume his studies, and
Calliste to leave the home of her childhood, with all its endearing
scenes, to take up her abode among strangers, in a distant location. Ye
who have tried the experiment, know what it is to commit yourselves to
the mercies and sympathies of an unfriendly world to leave the scenes
of home, for a residence amid the noise and jar of a bustling town, and
confined to the hours designated by the rattling bell. You know the
difference between this and the associations, and familiar faces of
"Sweet Home." This was the chosen lot of Calliste, for a laudable
purpose; and the morrow was the day appointed for her departure. Yet
she dreaded it not, for she was prepared by virtue for the task, and she
had an important object in view. Whatever may be the character of
present cir cumstances, however painful our situation, we can bear,
with fortitude, each burthen, if we have the satisfaction that the future
will bring relief. Hope, the day-star of our life, cheers us under every
trial, and we trust to its anchor for a happy termination of pain or
sorrow, and a safe deliverance from the frowns of adversity. The heart
would sink in despondency, were not this animating principle firmly
planted in the human breast. We need its salutary influence,
To cheer the soul, when fortune frowns,
And feed the sinking vital flame;
To give new life where sorrow drowns,

And shine with beauty in a name!
We find Calliste, now, in her own private apart ment, and there, in
humble devotion, she pours out her soul to the Giver of every good, to
ask His protection and continued blessing, and from a sincere heart that
evening, arose her fervent petition to the Throne of Grace, for, to the
other beauties of her character was added the crowning excellence of
true and ardent piety. A book was upon the small table near her, and it
was that blessed volume, which, if rightly improved, "is able to make
us wise unto salvation." As she rose and resumed her seat, a calm
serenity of countenance indicated the approval of conscience, and this
is the richest blessing which is within our reach.
She was indeed beautiful, and however rare the union, her mind was no
less attractive.
Tho' beauty, in its ev'ry grace,
Rested upon her form and face,
The mind contained the priceless gem
E'en virtue's richest diadem.
How truly beautiful the scene, when the youthful heart surrenders itself
to the service of its Creator! and what more pleasing and truly
interesting object can you name, than a "pious youth?" Angels may
well rejoice, and saints be glad, when the young, in all the bloom and
activity of the spring time of life, yield to God, and unite with God's
people to serve Him. Calliste was one of that happy number whose God
is the Lord.
As she sat thus, alone in her room, meditating, perhaps, upon the scene
which had transpired, or anxiously contemplating the future, through an
open window, the gentle breeze of evening bore to her ears the notes of
music at a distance, each note echoing in the silence of the night with a
peculiar sweetness of tone which only the rural seclusion affords. It
was the flute of Marcus, which had so often accompanied her voice in

the songs which fill the heart with emotion; and the thought that she
heard the welcome sound for the last time, at least for a season, for a
moment caused her countenance to bear an expression of sorrow. But it
was of short duration. And as the last note of one of her favorite