AN Office Seeker whom the President had ordered out of Washington
was watering the homeward highway with his tears.
Ah, he said, how disastrous1 is ambition! how unsatisfying its
rewards! how terrible its disappointments! Behold2 yonder peasant
tilling his field in peace and contentment! He rises with the
lark3, passes the day in wholesome4 toil5, and lies down at night to
pleasant dreams. In the mad struggle for place and power he has no
part; the roar of the strife6 reaches his ear like the distant
murmur7 of the ocean. Happy, thrice happy man! I will approach him
and bask8 in the sunshine of his humble9 felicity. Peasant, all
hail!
Leaning upon his rake, the Peasant returned the salutation with a
nod, but said nothing.
My friend, said the Office Seeker, you see before you the wreck10
of an ambitious man - ruined by the pursuit of place and power.
This morning when I set out from the national capital -
Stranger, the Peasant interrupted, if you're going back there
soon maybe you wouldn't mind using your influence to make me
Postmaster at Smith's Corners.
The traveller passed on.
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