An Old Politician and a Young Politician
were travelling through a beautiful country, by the
dusty highway which leads to the City of Prosperous
Obscurity. Lured by the flowers and the shade
and charmed by the songs of birds which invited to
woodland paths and green fields, his imagination
fired by glimpses of golden domes and glittering
palaces in the distance on either hand, the Young
Politician said:
“Let us, I beseech thee, turn
aside from this comfortless road leading, thou knowest
whither, but not I. Let us turn our backs upon duty
and abandon ourselves to the delights and advantages
which beckon from every grove and call to us from
every shining hill. Let us, if so thou wilt,
follow this beautiful path, which, as thou seest,
hath a guide-board saying, ’Turn in here all
ye who seek the Palace of Political Distinction.’”
“It is a beautiful path, my
son,” said the Old Politician, without either
slackening his pace or turning his head, “and
it leadeth among pleasant scenes. But the search
for the Palace of Political Distinction is beset
with one mighty peril.”
“What is that?” said the Young Politician.
“The peril of finding it,” the Old Politician
replied, pushing on.