The Scarlet Letter

On emerging from the Old Manse, it was chiefly this strange,

indolent, unjoyous attachment for my native town that brought me

to fill a place in Uncle Sam's brick edifice, when I might as

well, or better, have gone somewhere else. My doom was on me. It

was not the first time, nor the second, that I had gone away--as

it seemed, permanently--but yet returned, like the bad

halfpenny, or as if Salem were for me the inevitable centre of

the universe. So, one fine morning I ascended the flight of

granite steps, with the President's commission in my pocket, and

was introduced to the corps of gentlemen who were to aid me in

my weighty responsibility as chief executive officer of the

Custom-House.

I doubt greatly--or, rather, I do not doubt at all--whether any

public functionary of the United States, either in the civil or

military line, has ever had such a patriarchal body of veterans

under his orders as myself. The whereabouts of the Oldest

Inhabitant was at once settled when I looked at them. For

upwards of twenty years before this epoch, the independent

position of the Collector had kept the Salem Custom-House out of

the whirlpool of political vicissitude, which makes the tenure

of office generally so fragile. A soldier--New England's most

distinguished soldier--he stood firmly on the pedestal of his

gallant services; and, himself secure in the wise liberality of

the successive administrations through which he had held office,

he had been the safety of his subordinates in many an hour of

danger and heart-quake. General Miller was radically

conservative; a man over whose kindly nature habit had no slight

influence; attaching himself strongly to familiar faces, and

with difficulty moved to change, even when change might have

brought unquestionable improvement. Thus, on taking charge of my

department, I found few but aged men. They were ancient

sea-captains, for the most part, who, after being tossed on

every sea, and standing up sturdily against life's tempestuous

blast, had finally drifted into this quiet nook, where, with

little to disturb them, except the periodical terrors of a

Presidential election, they one and all acquired a new lease of

existence. Though by no means less liable than their fellow-men

to age and infirmity, they had evidently some talisman or other

that kept death at bay. Two or three of their number, as I was

assured, being gouty and rheumatic, or perhaps bed-ridden, never

dreamed of making their appearance at the Custom-House during a

large part of the year; but, after a torpid winter, would creep

out into the warm sunshine of May or June, go lazily about what

they termed duty, and, at their own leisure and convenience,

betake themselves to bed again. I must plead guilty to the

charge of abbreviating the official breath of more than one of

these venerable servants of the republic. They were allowed, on

my representation, to rest from their arduous labours, and soon

afterwards--as if their sole principle of life had been zeal for

their country's service--as I verily believe it was--withdrew to

a better world. It is a pious consolation to me that, through my

interference, a sufficient space was allowed them for repentance

of the evil and corrupt practices into which, as a matter of

course, every Custom-House officer must be supposed to fall.

Neither the front nor the back entrance of the Custom-House

opens on the road to Paradise.