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that gush of human
feeling from the frozen bosom of a corpse! He wiped away the tear,
even with his shroud.
    "Beloved of my youth," said he, "I have been wild. The despair of my
whole lifetime had returned at once and maddened me. Forgive and be
forgiven. Yes; it is evening with us now, and we have realized none of
our morning dreams of happiness. But let us join our hands before the
altar as lovers whom adverse circumstances have separated through
life, yet who meet again as they are leaving it and find their earthly
affection changed into something holy as religion. And what is time to
the married of eternity?"
    Amid the tears of many and a swell of exalted sentiment in those who
felt aright was solemnized the union of two immortal souls. The train
of withered mourners, the hoary bridegroom in his shroud, the pale
features of the aged bride and the death-bell tolling through the
whole till its deep voice overpowered the marriage-words,—all marked
the funeral of earthly hopes. But as the ceremony proceeded, the
organ, as if stirred by the sympathies of this impressive scene,
poured forth an anthem, first mingling with the dismal knell, then
rising to a loftier strain, till the soul looked down upon its woe.
And when the awful rite was finished and with cold hand in cold hand
the married of eternity withdrew, the organ's peal of solemn triumph
drowned the wedding-knell.

The Minister's Black Veil
*
A PARABLE.
[1]
    The sexton stood in the porch of Milford meeting-house pulling lustily
at the bell-rope. The old people of the village came stooping along
the street. Children with bright faces tripped merrily beside their
parents or mimicked a graver gait in the conscious dignity of their
Sunday clothes. Spruce bachelors looked sidelong at the pretty
maidens, and fancied that the Sabbath sunshine made them prettier than
on week-days. When the throng had mostly streamed into the porch, the
sexton began to toll the bell, keeping his eye on the Reverend Mr.
Hooper's door. The first glimpse of the clergyman's figure was the
signal for the bell to cease its summons.
    "But what has good Parson Hooper got upon his face?" cried the sexton,
in astonishment.
    All within hearing immediately turned about and beheld the semblance
of Mr. Hooper pacing slowly his meditative way toward the
meeting-house. With one accord they started, expressing more wonder
than if some strange minister were coming to dust the cushions of Mr.
Hooper's pulpit.
    "Are you sure it is our parson?" inquired Goodman Gray of the sexton.
    "Of a certainty it is good Mr. Hooper," replied the sexton. "He was to
have exchanged pulpits with Parson Shute of Westbury, but Parson Shute
sent to excuse himself yesterday, being to preach a funeral sermon."
    The cause of so much amazement may appear sufficiently slight. Mr.
Hooper, a gentlemanly person of about thirty, though still a bachelor,
was dressed with due clerical neatness, as if a careful wife had
starched his band and brushed the weekly dust from his Sunday's garb.
There was but one thing remarkable in his appearance. Swathed about
his forehead and hanging down over his face, so low as to be shaken by
his breath, Mr. Hooper had on a black veil. On a nearer view it seemed
to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely concealed his
features except the mouth and chin, but probably did not intercept his
sight further than to give a darkened aspect to all living and
inanimate things. With this gloomy shade before him good Mr. Hooper
walked onward at a slow and quiet pace, stooping somewhat and looking
on the ground, as is customary with abstracted men, yet nodding kindly
to those of his parishioners who still waited on the meeting-house
steps. But so wonder-struck were they that his greeting hardly met
with a return.
    "I can't really feel as if good Mr. Hooper's face was behind that
piece of crape," said the sexton.
    "I don't like it," muttered an old woman as she hobbled into the
meeting-house. "He has changed himself into