The Life of the Custom House

The life of the custom house lies like a dream behind me. The old inspector was overthrown and killed by a horse some time ago. He and all those other venerable personages who sat with him at the receipt of custom are shadows in my view. It is with an effort that i recall the figures of these few. My good townspeoplei not much regret me. I shall do better amongst other faces. And these familiar ones, it need hardly be said, will do just as well without me. How ver, oh, transporting and triumphant thought that the great grandchildren of the present race may sometimes think kindly of the scribbler of bygone days.