The Devoted Widow

　　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.