The Hillsdale standard. [volume] (Hillsdale, Mich.) 1851-1909, 1855-11-06
Written for the STANDARD.
THE FATAL ERROR.
A Story Leaf from Gra LdmOther L0vejOys
Album.
BY MARY TURNER BEERS.

Just where the breezes of Lake Ontario
blew the gentlest, and the light of the glori-
ous orb of day fell softly and sweetly upon the
rich dark foliage, surrounding neat white
cottage which seemed the very picture of love
and contentment, once lived my Grandmoth-
er. She was woman of the old school, pre-
ferring to lead life of usefulness to one of
idle pleasure; ever happy and contcnted in
sphere which it had been her fortune to fill.
Sometimes, It's true, in the well remembered
pages of the past, there were exposed TO view
sad regrets, which found their origin in cir
cumstances beyond her control; yet she was
ever hopeful and trustful in the future. 1t
was my delight to visit her in this shady re-
treat, and while mere child was never
wanting in sources of amusement and ENJOY
ment. With an almost idolatrous love for
children, and withal possessing fertile mag-
ination, many were the cunning devices and
innocent gaieties she brought before us. As
| older grew (ike most of Misses Just entering
their teens,) found myself exceedingly fond
of romance, and as my Grandmother had had
some heart experience, besides possessing de-
cided cali for story telling, was never wea-
ricd of plying my fingers in honest industry,
provided | could sit by her side, and listen to
some charming incident of which she or some
of her associates was the heroine. On one of
these joyous visits, / had lain my work upon
the SHELF it having lost its peculiar charm (as
my Grandmother did not that day appear as
lively as usuaD and approaching the table
took from it an old and time worm album,
precious relic of the past. My attention was
soon arrested by the following, which / in
voluntarily read aloud.
"Sept. 10th, 18-. Amy, my earliest and
dearest friend, how can / express to you the
JOY which fills my soul at this moment. So
long has the deep gloom of hopclessness and
dependency enveloped my soul that the new
light of hope, which so suddenly revealed it.
self this morning, has almost overpowered
me, and nearly obscured my vision. am
mad, delirious, intoxicated with JOY, and to
whom can | unburden myself but to thee,
Amy, my more than sister? In the sunny
days of the past have we passed delightful
hours; but what are they in comparison to
the many happy ones in store for us in the
not distant future? We are young; our
years full of bright promise, and fond expec-
fancy. Together are we about to embark up
on the ocean of new life; our fairy barques
to be guided by those who have won our
hearts first affections. A calm sea is spread
lovingly before us; clear sky and favora-
bic breeze is becoming us on to unspeakable
bliss, and nothing is wanting to render our
happiness complete. Oh, Amy, may you be
as blest in the prospect before you, as | am
happy in anticipation Cora"
At its conclusion my Grandmother uttered
deep, long drawn sigh, and tear silently
coursed down her check. felt that she had
something sorrowful to relate of the authors
history, and without endeavoring to stihe my
impatience, l abruptly enquired, "were her
anticipations realized, Grandmother ~
"Alas," said she, "our dearest joys are fol-
lowed by the deepest grief; but bring your
knitting work and sit here by my side, and
I'll give you sketch from memory"
"Cora Inglesby and were playmates from
early childhood. For many years we resided
in the flourishing little village of 0. George
brother some three years her senior, and
Cora, were the only children of wealthy
and influential merchant, who, having lost
his wife when young, had resolved for the
sake of his children to form no second connex-
ion. He was devotedly attached to his chill
dren, and was universally esteemed good
citizen; but his greatest fault consisted in too
strict regard for the almighty dollar
Wealth was the ruling passion of his life, and
to that object all the energies of a vigorous
mind were directed, and every will subscrvi-
ent.
1t is not surprising that living in close
proximity, and by daily association, the at
tachment of Cora and myself should have be-
come almost sisterly in its character, though
two years her senior, there was strange sim
iarity in our tastes and dispositions, and as
she had no mother or sister, into whose ear
she could pour her childish gricfs and girlish
sympathies, had become not only conf
dent, but a ready counsellor. We shared the
same seat in the school room, studied from
the same books, and recited the same lessons
Our separations were few and far between, as
she rarely left O., though she would OCCASION