The Scarlet Letter

An effect--which I believe to be observable, more or less, in

every individual who has occupied the position--is, that while

he leans on the mighty arm of the Republic, his own proper

strength departs from him. He loses, in an extent proportioned

to the weakness or force of his original nature, the capability

of self-support. If he possesses an unusual share of native

energy, or the enervating magic of place do not operate too long

upon him, his forfeited powers may be redeemable. The ejected

officer--fortunate in the unkindly shove that sends him forth

betimes, to struggle amid a struggling world--may return to

himself, and become all that he has ever been. But this seldom

happens. He usually keeps his ground just long enough for his

own ruin, and is then thrust out, with sinews all unstrung, to

totter along the difficult footpath of life as he best may.

Conscious of his own infirmity--that his tempered steel and

elasticity are lost--he for ever afterwards looks wistfully

about him in quest of support external to himself. His pervading

and continual hope--a hallucination, which, in the face of all

discouragement, and making light of impossibilities, haunts him

while he lives, and, I fancy, like the convulsive throes of the

cholera, torments him for a brief space after death--is, that

finally, and in no long time, by some happy coincidence of

circumstances, he shall be restored to office. This faith, more

than anything else, steals the pith and availability out of

whatever enterprise he may dream of undertaking. Why should he

toil and moil, and be at so much trouble to pick himself up out

of the mud, when, in a little while hence, the strong arm of his

Uncle will raise and support him? Why should he work for his

living here, or go to dig gold in California, when he is so soon

to be made happy, at monthly intervals, with a little pile of

glittering coin out of his Uncle's pocket? It is sadly curious

to observe how slight a taste of office suffices to infect a

poor fellow with this singular disease. Uncle Sam's

gold--meaning no disrespect to the worthy old gentleman--has, in

this respect, a quality of enchantment like that of the devil's

wages. Whoever touches it should look well to himself, or he may

find the bargain to go hard against him, involving, if not his

soul, yet many of its better attributes; its sturdy force, its

courage and constancy, its truth, its self-reliance, and all

that gives the emphasis to manly character.

Here was a fine prospect in the distance. Not that the Surveyor

brought the lesson home to himself, or admitted that he could be

so utterly undone, either by continuance in office or ejectment.

Yet my reflections were not the most comfortable. I began to

grow melancholy and restless; continually prying into my mind,

to discover which of its poor properties were gone, and what

degree of detriment had already accrued to the remainder. I

endeavoured to calculate how much longer I could stay in the

Custom-House, and yet go forth a man. To confess the truth, it

was my greatest apprehension--as it would never be a measure of

policy to turn out so quiet an individual as myself; and it

being hardly in the nature of a public officer to resign--it was

my chief trouble, therefore, that I was likely to grow grey and

decrepit in the Surveyorship, and become much such another

animal as the old Inspector. Might it not, in the tedious lapse

of official life that lay before me, finally be with me as it

was with this venerable friend--to make the dinner-hour the

nucleus of the day, and to spend the rest of it, as an old dog

spends it, asleep in the sunshine or in the shade? A dreary

look-forward, this, for a man who felt it to be the best

definition of happiness to live throughout the whole range of

his faculties and sensibilities. But, all this while, I was

giving myself very unnecessary alarm. Providence had meditated

better things for me than I could possibly imagine for myself.