Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1856-07-30
THE HAPPIEsT WOMAN III THE
WORLD.

with youth. beauty and accomplish
ments sharing the throne of power
full empire; with child, born TO bril-
liant destiny, and husband, who, they
say, is devotedly attached to her; with
all France bowing in homage at her
shrine, and shouting Justify, 'Vive 7
LnlperGt,ice;;' with every wish gratifed,
nay, anLicipated-what can she ask
more? Certainly she must be the hap
piest woman in the wide world %
Do you believe it, dear reader ? Tell
US, fair lady of the cloudless brow, on
whose cheek blush the roses of dawning
wcmanhood, in whose soft blue eyes
shines the light of JOY, in whose clear
and silvery laugh we hear the echo of
the pleasant thoughts within-do you
believe this
To-day, as YOU busy yourself about
the preparations fer the bridal on the
morrow, now fitting into the pantry to
lift the spOtless napkins, and peep at the
wedding cake" so temptingly ar
ranged beneath; now picking up here
and there some trife of your own, and
laying it in your already closely packed
trunks now stealing into the garden to
see if the white flowers will blossom for
your bridal boquet; now Crying on"
the snowy robe and veil, and smiling as
you mark the crimson that breaks over
your cheek, neck and forehead, while
gazing at yourself in the old mirror; and
now looking over the neat cards, and
half timidly repeating the new name,
that will be yours-do you believe that
Eugenie of France is the happiest wo-
man in the world ? We fancy we hear
the "nO," so firmly spoken by your
sweet lips, and the words breathed in a
softer tone perhaps, "Surely, I am hap
pier !''
Young mother, whom we saw not
long ago, moving so cheerfully around
your quiet, rural cottage, we ask you
the same question.
Your home has not the magnifcence
of Versailles, St. Cloud, or the Tuil-
leries; ii can boast of no fretted dome
no long vistas of splendor, opening on
every hand, till the eye is weary of ga
zing no broad palace gardens, whose
glories rival those of Babylon, the fallen.
You have but a lowly cot, with vines
weaving their green drapery over its
walls in summer, ard trees rising tall
and graceful around it. Your garden is
only a small enclosure, where there are
plenty of useful vegetables, and a few
beds. rich in brig ht-hued flowers.
Your husband has no proud heritage,
no royal robes, no jeweled crown. He
comes in fiom his toll in his coarse gar
ments, with his sleeves rolled up, and /
his straw hat set jauntily--o on his damp
locks. To him you might ftly apply !
this description of Longfellow's evil
lage Blacksmith"
"His hair is crisp and dark, and long,
His cheek is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what'er he can;
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man"
He never raised you to seat on a
throne, but he sits with you
at eyenide, in the cool shadows which
gather about your cottage door, and
alks to you so tenderly, that you forget
your weariness and your cares. He
owes you with all the devotion of his
noble heart, and you know that if sor-
-ow should come. his strong right arm
would be raised for your support.
The boy who lies in yonder cradle,
las no pillow of down. no cloud of Va
enciennes swee, Ing against his brow, no
-elvet drapery folded over him. He
las no high-soundiDg title. no sceplre
'ut the rattle, which pleased his childish
ancy. There were no pompous cere-
Monies at his christening, but the old 8
astor said with solemn earnestness, Z" =,
aplze thee in the name of the Father, :
be Son, and the Holy Ghost" and low
lg hearts reyerentially responded !.
Amen !'' to the simple and touching :,
rayer for Gods blessing, which fol- J
,wed the rite. The world does not !
now that there is such child as your ;,
tile pet, and wise men hare not yet be- =
un to prophecy about his future. Il
But il by some magic, you could ex- 4
hange places with Eugene. would you r
i've up your lot and take hers? "No,"
Q think you answer with strong empha- :,
$, and We are not at loss to :" guess"
by. You like your humble home bet v ',
II than the palaces of France, your sim
e pleasures better than royal pageanIs. ::
Ie will venture to say that you would
ot barter your kind, honest husband for =, n
Ouis Napoleon, lucky man as be seems
be, nor your baby for the Imperial in :
mt, whose birth has set all France crazy
it'll delight. =
Perhaps you remember reading in "
me by-gone hour, as YOU sat rocking di
'ur boy to sleep, about the beautiful III