The Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1845, 1839-07-31
. sTrI FToN m EVERY HOUSE.

own distresses, whether thsy ae VI is5
Continuance. or have come up OF sudden
we are apt 70 imagine that no Individual IN
the surrounding world is so fortunate as We
or perhaps, that we stand altogether by our
selves In the calamity, or, al the most, De-
long TO a small body of unlortunates, forming
an exception to all the rest OF mankind, We
look TO neighbor, and seeing that he Is not
afflicted with any open or palpable grievance,
and makes no complaint OF any which are
hidden from our eyes, we conclude that he is
man entirely fortunate and happy, while we
are never free from trouble of one kind or an
other and in fact, appear as the very STEP
children of Providence. For every particu-
lar evil which besets us, we find contrast IN
the exactly opposite circumstances OF some
other person. and by the pains Of envy, per-
haps, add materially to the real extent oil our
distresses, Are we condemned to a severe
toll for our daily bread, then we lookup to
him who gains it by some means less labo-
rious. Have we little Of worldly wealth,
then do we compare ourselves with the aiflu-
ent man, who not only commands all these
necessities of which we can hardly obtain
sufTiciency, but may luxuriate besides, which
we only know by name. Are we unblessed
pOooCoSlOu
see the superabundance which characterizes
another family, where they are far less ear
nestly desired Are we bereft of success
sion of tenderly beloved friends or relatives,
we wonder at the felicity Of certain persons
under our observation, who never knew what
It was to wear mourning. In short, no evil
falls to our lot but we are apt to think our
selves its almost sole victims, and, we either
overlook great deal of the corresponding
vexations of our fellow creatures, or think in
our anguish, that they are far less than ours.
We remember story in the course of our
reading, which illustrates this fallacy in very
striking manner. A widow OF Naples,
named, if we recollect rightly, the Countess
Corsins, had but one son remaining to give
her an interest in the world and he was
youth so remarkable for the elegance Of his
person, and every graceful and amiable quail
ty, that even if he had not stood in that situ-
alton of unusual tenderness towards his
mother, she might well have been excused
for beholding him with an extravagant degree
of attachment. When this young gentleman
grew up, he was sent to pursue his studies at
the University of Bologna, where be so well
improved his time, that he gained the afiec-
ton of all who knew him, on account of his
singularly noble character and pleasing man
ner. Every vacation he returned to spend
few months with his mother, who never fail
ed to mark with delightSthe progress he had
made, if not in his literary studies, at least in
the cultivation OF every personal accomplish
ment. Her attachment was thus prevented
from experiencing any abatement, and she
was encouraged to place always more and
more reliance upon the hopes of his future
greatness, which had induced her at first to
distant University, and had hitherto sup
ported her under his absence Who can de-
scribe the solicitude with which mother
and /" she widow" TO use the language of
Scripture,) regards last surviving son -
His every motion-his every wish-she
watches with attentive kindness He cannot
BIO absent few, minutes longer than his wont
but she becomes uneasy; and whatever be
the company in which he sits at the moment,
permits her whole soul to be distracted in a
reverie, from which nothing can rouse her but
his return Ii he comes on horseback, she
hears the football of the animal while il is as
yet beyond the ken Of ordinary ears if he
be walking, she knows the sound of his foot
upon the Threshold, though COMPOUNDED to all
other listeners, amidst the throng Of his com.
paniOns. Let him come into her room on
ordinary occasions ever so softly. she dis
tinguishes him from his very breathing-his
lightest respiration-and knows it is her son.
Her entire being is bound up in his, and the
soul gorson thought at which she dare not
look, is the idea Of his following the goodly
and pleasant company with whom she had
already parted for the grave. Such, exactly,
were the feelings Of the Neapotan mother,
ho~ l. 4 u
son
1t CHANGED, however, that Just when he
was about to return to Naples, perfected in
all the instructions which could be bestowed
on him, he was seized suddenly by DANCE
rous sickness, which Notwithstanding the
efforts of the best Physicians in Bologna,
brought him in three days to the brink of the
grave. Being assured that he could not sur
vive, his only care, so far as concerned the
living world, was for his mother, who, he
feared would suffer very severely from her
loss, if not altogether sink under it. 1t was
his most anxious wish that some means should
be used to prevent her being overpowered by
grief: and an expedient for that purpose at
length suggested itself TO him. He wrote
letter to his mother, informing her of his i'll
ness, but not Of its threatening character.
and requested that she would send him a
shirt made by the happiest lady in all Naples,
or she who appeared most free from the cares
and sorrows Of this world, for he had taken
fancy for such an article, and had notion
that by wearing it he should be speedily
cured. The Countess thought her sons re-
quest rather odd, but being 10th to refuse any
thing that would give him even visionary
satisfaction, she instantly set about her inquiry
after the happiest lady in Naples, with the
view Of requesting her kind offices after the
manner described. Her inquiry was tedious
and difficult; every body she found, on
searching nearer, to have her own share of
troubles. For some time she almost despair