Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1856-06-26
THE HAPPIFsT WOMAN.

| ~ Ue.ieNe EuSenle uc -MOutlD - lS LHe uap-
piest woman in the world !" said friend to
us the other day; "Gifted with youth, beauty
and accomplishments; sharing the throne of
a powerful empire; with child, born to a
brilliant destiny, and husband, who, they
say, is devotedly attached to her; with all
France, bowing in homage at her shrine,
and shouting lustily, "VIve FLnpcroIrce;"
with every wish gratified, nay, Anticipated
what can she ask morc9 Certainly she must
be the happicst woman in the wide world ="
DO you believe it, dear reader? Tell US,
fair lady Of the cloudless brow, on whose
check blush the roses of dawning woman
hood, in whose soft blue eyes shines the light
of Joy, in whose clear and silvery laugh we
hear the echo of the pleasant thoughts with
in-do you believe this?
To-day as you busy yourself about the
preparations for your bridal on the morrow,
now fitting into the pantry to lift the spot
less napkins, and peep at the wedding cake,
so temptingly arranged beneath; now pick
ing up here and there some trihc 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 'trying 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 Eugene Of France is the happiestwom
in the world? We fancy wehear the "no,"
so firmly spoken by your sweet lips, and the
words brcathcd in softer tone perhaps,
"Surcly l am happier"
Young mother, whom we saw not long ago,
moving so cbeerfully around your quiet, ru-
raj cottage, we ask you the same question.
Your home has not the magnifcencc of
Versailles, St. Cloud, or the Tuillcrics; it
can boast of no frctted dome no long vistas
Of spleudor, opening on every hand, till the
eye is weary Of gazing; no broad palace
gardens whose glories rival those of Babylon,
the fallen. You have but loWly cot, with
vines weaving their green drapery over its
walls in summer, and 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
bright-hued flowers.
Your husband has no proud heritage, no
royal robes, no jeweled crown. He comes
in from his toll in his coarse garments, with
his sleeves rolled up, and his straw hat set
jauntily on his damp locks To him you
might ftly apply this description of Long
fellows "Village Blacksmith
ellis 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 mon
arch's throne, but he sits with you at even
tide, in the cool shadows which gather about
your cottage door, and talks to youso tender
ly, that you forget your WEAKNESS and your
cares, He loves you with all the devotion
of his noble heart, and you know that if sor-
Tow should come, his strong right arm would
be raised for your support.
The boy who lies in yonder cradle, has no
pillow of down, no cloud of Valenciennes
sweeping against his brow, no velvet drapery
folded over him. He has no high.sounding
title, no sceptre but the rattle, which pleases
his childish fancy. There were no pompous
ceremonies at his christening, but the old
pastor said with solemn earnestness, ri bap-
tie thee in the name of the Father, the Son,
and the Holy Ghost" and loving hearts rev.
erently responded 'Amen ! to the simple and
touching prayer for Gods blessing, which
followed the rite. The world does not know
that there is such child as your little pet,
and wise men have not yet begun to prophesy
about his future.
But if by some magic, you could exchange
places with Eugenie, would you give up your
lot and take hers .? "No," we think you an
swer with strong emphasis, and we are not
at a loss to 'guess' why. You like your
humble home better than the palaces of
France, your simple pleasures better than
royal pageants. Wewill venture to say that
you would not barter your kind, honest hus-
band for Louis Napoleon, lucky man as he
seems to be, nor your baby for the Imperial
infant, whose birth has set all France crazy
with delight
Perhaps you remember reading in some
by gone hour, as you sat rocking your boy to
sleep, about the beautiful but ill-fated Marie
Antoinette, whose hair bleached in one night
from intense agony, whose children were torn
from her, and whose graceful head was doom
ed to the "busy guillotine." Itmay be that
you also remember how Josephine, the di'
vorced wife of Napoleon, the conqueror, sor,
rowed in her latter years, and how Louis
Philippe and his family fed to save them
selves from the infariated populace. Think