The Custom House Marker

Naval officer, an excellent fellow, would often engage me in a discussion about one or the other of his favourite topics. A young gentleman occasionally covered a sheet of uncle sam's letter paper with what looked very much like poetry. This was my oll ofe lettered intercourse, and it was quite sufficient for my necessities. No longer seeking nor caring that my name should be blazoned abroad on title pages. I smiled to think that it had now another kind of vogue. The past was not dead. Once in a great while, the thoughts that had seemed so vital and so active, yet had been put to rest so quietly revived again. One of the most remarkable occasions when