The Press., 1884-11-20
Issued Every Thursday Evening.

I UuEU0u, Dub Ib WdS DuI10u tuat lOVo uAauc light. Her affection for ssthe child was a l tie to earth which otherwise had but little attraction.
 | She went to the factory again and work ed patiently for years. The hours for la- bor were longer then than now, and wages much smaller. In the summer time, when l the long days work was over, she might have been seen going to my grandfather $ leading her little boy by the hand. There was an oak tree on the hillside half way to the house here she would stop and rest, and while the child played she would look away to the south and ask herself whether she should ever see her childhood's home again.
 There is no portrait of this young wo- man except what tradition has given us. I remember of asking my mether's aunt how Frances De Harte looked. -'sShe was rather .sshort of stature" said she, sand had dark complexion, but her eyes-I shall never forget how they looked they were very dark, and had a deep, and far of lock-" She seemed much affected dur ing thunder storm, usually shedding tears. When asked if she felt afraid, she replied, ''No; but the storm makes we think of home, for we have them every day in Demerara"
 
 tall and handsome boy he had the fine form, blue eyes, and fair complexion of unworthy father, but the pensive smile re- minded the beholder of his mother and her sorrows.
 After several years had passed Frances determined to visit Demerara she had long desired to go. She had now little sum of money, the fruit of her toll and economy. She accordingly prepared to visit her native country, and that father whose strange conduct had made her an exile from her childhood's home. The voyage to Demerara was long and tempestuous, and 1t seemed an age to her before the vessel came in sight of home. With what feelings must she have watch ed the approaching shore There was the familiar trees, the cocoa palms, lifting their stately heads along the coast. Yes, it was home, but would it be home to her. It would be interesting to know the par ticulars of the meeting between this fath- CT and daughter it must have been some- thing like the meeting of Jacob and his son Joseph like them of old, De Harte and his child had been separated by the villainy of man.
 That infamous Capt. B. had told De Harte that his daughters were dead, after first obtaining large sums of money, which he claimed to have spent for them. The father of course believed him, and, like Jacob of old, he mourned for his children as dead. Great was the grief and indignation of De Harte when he learned what cruel i'm position had been practiced upon him and his loved ones. As he looked at his daugh. | T. wondered if she was the lght-hearted girl whom he saw sail away to the United States. And how strangely he looked to her, with his white hair and stoopine form-sorrow had made him prematurely old.
 But what change m his life when this child was restored everything on the old plantation seemed frightened, for he re ceived her as from the dead, believing he1 to have beed dead for years.
 Father, said she, when they had talk ed the subject over, "we will never be separated again while we both live." An6 they never were.
 Years passed away and her friend ir Jewett City heard nothing of her. But one day in tho summer of 1927, as the stage coach stopped in the village, dark eyed woman stepped out and inquired if old MT. B. still lived there; being an. swered in the affirmative, she took her way up the long village street and knocked al my grandfather's door. It was Frances De Harte. -....
 What joyful surprise it was, and how eagerly they listened to what had befallen her since she went away. She was 8 wid ow now, having married after her return to Demerara. Her father died soon after | hooh loov @< her and the children. The two little ones which her husband left were at home in the care of the servants. Her son John M-C-- was with her, now grown up young man.
 l She visited all the familiar places, espec ially the little factory where she labored sc long; walked up the hillside and sat under the shade of the oak tree, where she had so often rested when sad and weary. And John was with her, no longer little child but whose strong arm could now assist hel up the hill.
 But her visit in this country was not long those little ones at Demerara were in her thoughts, and quickened her steps homeward
 Among the gifts left her friends was $ cocoanut shell carved by one of her ser wants. This was given to my grandmoth CT, who kept it carefully during her life it then became my mothers, who was choice of it for grandmothers sake it is now mine, doubly prized for its interest ing history, and its association with the loved ones gone.
 Fifty-seven years have brought great changes. There is probably no one now living here who knew Frances De Harte. If this story were fiction, we could tel the career of Capt. B---- and how ht prospered with his ilgotten gain; wt could tell the subsequent history of tha worthless husband but if We believe tho Lord reigns, we know that justice has beer given them, but when and how it is no for us to know.
 The oak tree mentioned above, is stil growing on the hillside-a beautiful anc noble tree; these tifty-sevens years hay, greatly added to it's beauty and grandeur Houses have been built on the hillside and in summer time groups of children can be seen playing under the tree. Bu of all who have sought it's shade, whicl one has more romautic history than tn, subject of this story? R. B. D. Il Wilmington, Coun. sNs g
 EEKEzp. IN THE FASHION The Diamon1 Dyes always do more than they claim to do Color over that old dress. ] It will look lk