Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1859-01-27
CHAPTER VI.


That the heart of the minstrel is breaking"
CHAPTER VI.
Let US go back to the time of Harry
Wentworth departue from L., and trace
briefly, the course of his life for the last three
years. When he arrived at n, the day
after leaving L., he found the vessel in
which he was to take passage, already in
port, and making preparations to sail. He
had little time for the indulgence of melan-
choly reflections for no sooner had he made
all the necessary preparations fol- his depar,
ture, AMI gone on board, than the vessel
weighed anchor, and stood out to sea. With
what feelings he found himself upon the broad
breast of the Atlantic, while the shores ofhis
native land were lessening in the distance, it
is difficult to describe. They were far from
being such as are embodied in the Corsair' S
exulting song
''O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls rs free,
Far as the breeze can bear the pillows foam,
Survey our empire and behold our hone!"
His thoughts were intensely fixed upon
that delightful day-dream. that had thrown
its short "enchantment around him." ard
whose joys had now vanished forever. The
voyage was short and pleasant one. The
weather was beautiful throughout, and not
an incident occurred to mar the pleasure of
those on board. Every evening just as the
sun was sinking beneath the western waves,
Wentworth would sit alone upon deck, in
order to hold communion with his own
thoughts. 1t was at such times that turn
ing from the contemplation of his present
sorrow, his mind would be drawn back by
memory's silver chain, to the graveyard at
Woodlawn, and all its delightful associations.
Even now, the memory of those joys that
were past, threw transient sunshine upon
his pathway of pain, and he was ready 10
exclaim.
'Let fate do her worst there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot des.
troy;
That come in the nighttime of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that JOY used to wear
It would be useles to dwell upon all the
events of Wentworth's life while in Europe.
Suffice it to say, that after wandering from
place to place for some time, he took up his
residence at Gin Switzerland, and hav.
ing engaged himself in business, he deter.
mined to make it his home for several years
at least. He had been residing at C.
more than year, when he unexpectedly met
one of his old college friends, who had just
completed an European tour, and was now
returning home. At the earnest solicitation
of his friend, Harry consented to accompany
him IN his return to his native land. In a
few weeks, he found himself again at tn,
where, just three years before, he had en-
barked for Europe.
The morning after his arrival, Wentworth
received note from friend residing in
N, enclosing an invitation to a soiree,
which was to take place on that evening"
Although he was impatient to proceed i'm
mediately to l., he consented to prolong
his stay at N for a short time, and &C.
cept his friends invitation. 1t was not
with the expectation of finding any pleasure
in such amusements that he consented to
remain, but he felt that society had claims
upon him that could not be cast lightly
side, for the indulgence of his private sor-
rows.
1t was late when he arrived at the party,
and his friend had been for some time, anx.
iously expecting him. He had Just entered,
and was exchanging greetings with some
of his old friends and acquaintances, when
suddenly there arose above the noise of con.
versation, the clear, sweet tones of a female
voice. Wentworth started as if pierced by
an electric shock. He had heard that voice
before! Yes be had often heard it when
love and hope and happiness were his; but
pever before had it sunk SO deep into his
soul; never before had it thrilled him with
such unutterable joy. Making his way, al
most unconscious of what he was doing,
through the crowd that surrounded the piano
at which the singer was sitting, he beheld
Alice Vernon. Pale, thin, emaciated, the
shadow of her former self, with death
stamped upon every liueament Of her beauti-
full face, it seemed as if the lay that she was
singing, might be her own funeral dirge.-
Leaning upon the instrument for support,
Wentworth stood like one in trance, and
the palor of death overspread his counte-
nance, as she sang in voice that pierced
his very soul with anguish, the beautiful
and touching lines Of Sheridan
81 have o silent sorrow here,
A grief I'll ne'er impart;
1t breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,
But it CONSUMES my heart
Tb;s cheris shed wo ths loy'd de snair