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.