time
from eternity?"
Father Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motion of his head;
then—apprehensive, perhaps, that his meaning might be doubtful—he
exerted himself to speak.
"Yea," said he, in faint accents; "my soul hath a patient weariness
until that veil be lifted."
"And is it fitting," resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark, "that a man so
given to prayer, of such a blameless example, holy in deed and
thought, so far as mortal judgment may pronounce,—is it fitting that
a father in the Church should leave a shadow on his memory that may
seem to blacken a life so pure? I pray you, my venerable brother, let
not this thing be! Suffer us to be gladdened by your triumphant aspect
as you go to your reward. Before the veil of eternity be lifted let me
cast aside this black veil from your face;" and, thus speaking, the
Reverend Mr. Clark bent forward to reveal the mystery of so many
years.
But, exerting a sudden energy that made all the beholders stand
aghast, Father Hooper snatched both his hands from beneath the
bedclothes and pressed them strongly on the black veil, resolute to
struggle if the minister of Westbury would contend with a dying man.
"Never!" cried the veiled clergyman. "On earth, never!"
"Dark old man," exclaimed the affrighted minister, "with what horrible
crime upon your soul are you now passing to the judgment?"
Father Hooper's breath heaved: it rattled in his throat; but, with a
mighty effort grasping forward with his hands, he caught hold of life
and held it back till he should speak. He even raised himself in bed,
and there he sat shivering with the arms of Death around him, while
the black veil hung down, awful at that last moment in the gathered
terrors of a lifetime. And yet the faint, sad smile so often there now
seemed to glimmer from its obscurity and linger on Father Hooper's
lips.
"Why do you tremble at me alone?" cried he, turning his veiled face
round the circle of pale spectators. "Tremble also at each other. Have
men avoided me and women shown no pity and children screamed and fled
only for my black veil? What but the mystery which it obscurely
typifies has made this piece of crape so awful? When the friend shows
his inmost heart to his friend, the lover to his best-beloved; when
man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely
treasuring up the secret of his sin,—then deem me a monster for the
symbol beneath which I have lived and die. I look around me, and, lo!
on every visage a black veil!"
While his auditors shrank from one another in mutual affright, Father
Hooper fell back upon his pillow, a veiled corpse with a faint smile
lingering on the lips. Still veiled, they laid him in his coffin, and
a veiled corpse they bore him to the grave. The grass of many years
has sprung up and withered on that grave, the burial-stone is
moss-grown, and good Mr. Hooper's face is dust; but awful is still the
thought that it mouldered beneath the black veil.
The Maypole of Merry Mount
*
There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance in
the curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston,
or Merry Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted the facts
recorded on the grave pages of our New England annalists have
wrought themselves almost spontaneously into a sort of allegory.
The masques, mummeries and festive customs described in the text
are in accordance with the manners of the age. Authority on these
points may be found in Strutt's
Book of English Sports and
Pastimes
.
Bright were the days at Merry Mount when the Maypole was the
banner-staff of that gay colony. They who reared it, should their
banner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New England's rugged
hills and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom
were contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come, bringing deep
verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap of a more vivid hue than
the tender buds of spring. But May, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all
the
from eternity?"
Father Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motion of his head;
then—apprehensive, perhaps, that his meaning might be doubtful—he
exerted himself to speak.
"Yea," said he, in faint accents; "my soul hath a patient weariness
until that veil be lifted."
"And is it fitting," resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark, "that a man so
given to prayer, of such a blameless example, holy in deed and
thought, so far as mortal judgment may pronounce,—is it fitting that
a father in the Church should leave a shadow on his memory that may
seem to blacken a life so pure? I pray you, my venerable brother, let
not this thing be! Suffer us to be gladdened by your triumphant aspect
as you go to your reward. Before the veil of eternity be lifted let me
cast aside this black veil from your face;" and, thus speaking, the
Reverend Mr. Clark bent forward to reveal the mystery of so many
years.
But, exerting a sudden energy that made all the beholders stand
aghast, Father Hooper snatched both his hands from beneath the
bedclothes and pressed them strongly on the black veil, resolute to
struggle if the minister of Westbury would contend with a dying man.
"Never!" cried the veiled clergyman. "On earth, never!"
"Dark old man," exclaimed the affrighted minister, "with what horrible
crime upon your soul are you now passing to the judgment?"
Father Hooper's breath heaved: it rattled in his throat; but, with a
mighty effort grasping forward with his hands, he caught hold of life
and held it back till he should speak. He even raised himself in bed,
and there he sat shivering with the arms of Death around him, while
the black veil hung down, awful at that last moment in the gathered
terrors of a lifetime. And yet the faint, sad smile so often there now
seemed to glimmer from its obscurity and linger on Father Hooper's
lips.
"Why do you tremble at me alone?" cried he, turning his veiled face
round the circle of pale spectators. "Tremble also at each other. Have
men avoided me and women shown no pity and children screamed and fled
only for my black veil? What but the mystery which it obscurely
typifies has made this piece of crape so awful? When the friend shows
his inmost heart to his friend, the lover to his best-beloved; when
man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely
treasuring up the secret of his sin,—then deem me a monster for the
symbol beneath which I have lived and die. I look around me, and, lo!
on every visage a black veil!"
While his auditors shrank from one another in mutual affright, Father
Hooper fell back upon his pillow, a veiled corpse with a faint smile
lingering on the lips. Still veiled, they laid him in his coffin, and
a veiled corpse they bore him to the grave. The grass of many years
has sprung up and withered on that grave, the burial-stone is
moss-grown, and good Mr. Hooper's face is dust; but awful is still the
thought that it mouldered beneath the black veil.
The Maypole of Merry Mount
*
There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance in
the curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston,
or Merry Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted the facts
recorded on the grave pages of our New England annalists have
wrought themselves almost spontaneously into a sort of allegory.
The masques, mummeries and festive customs described in the text
are in accordance with the manners of the age. Authority on these
points may be found in Strutt's
Book of English Sports and
Pastimes
.
Bright were the days at Merry Mount when the Maypole was the
banner-staff of that gay colony. They who reared it, should their
banner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New England's rugged
hills and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom
were contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come, bringing deep
verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap of a more vivid hue than
the tender buds of spring. But May, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all
the
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