A PARABLE
The sexton stood in the porch of Milford meetinghousepulling lustily at the bell-rope. The old peopleof the village came stooping along the street. Childrenwith bright faces tripped merrily beside their parents ormimicked a graver gait in the conscious dignity of theirSunday clothes. Spruce bachelors looked sidelong at thepretty maidens， and fancied that the Sabbath sunshinemade them prettier than on week-days. When the thronghad mostly streamed into the porch， the sexton beganto toll the bell， keeping his eye on the Reverend Mr.
Hooper’s door. The first glimpse of the clergyman’s figurewas 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 andbeheld the semblance of Mr. Hooper pacing slowly hismeditative way toward the meeting-house. With oneaccord they started， expressing more wonder than if somestrange minister were coming to dust the cushions of Mr.
Hooper’s pulpit.
“Are you sure it is our parson？” inquired Goodman Grayof the sexton.
“Of a certainty it is good Mr. Hooper，” replied thesexton. “He was to have exchanged pulpits with ParsonShute of Westbury， but Parson Shute sent to excuse himselfyesterday， being to preach a funeral sermon.”
The cause of so much amazement may appear
sufficiently slight. Mr. Hooper， a gentlemanly person ofabout thirty， though still a bachelor， was dressed withdue clerical neatness， as if a careful wife had starched hisband 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 hisface， so low as to be shaken by his breath， Mr. Hooper hadon a black veil. On a nearer view it seemed to consist oftwo folds of crape， which entirely concealed his featuresexcept the mouth and chin， but probably did not intercepthis sight further than to give a darkened aspect to all livingand inanimate things. With this gloomy shade beforehim good Mr. Hooper walked onward at a slow and quietpace， stooping somewhat and looking on the ground， asis customary with abstracted men， yet nodding kindly tothose of his parishioners who still waited on the meetinghousesteps. But so wonder-struck were they that hisgreeting hardly met with a return.
“I can’t really feel as if good Mr. Hooper’s face wasbehind that piece of crape，” said the sexton.
“I don’t like it，” muttered an old woman as she hobbledinto the meeting-house. “He has changed himself intosomething awful only by hiding his face.”
“Our parson has gone mad！” cried Goodman Gray，following him across the threshold.
A rumor of some unaccountable phenomenon had
preceded Mr. Hooper into the meeting-house and set allthe congregation astir. Few could refrain from twistingtheir heads toward the door； many stood upright andturned directly about； while several little boys clamberedupon the seats， and came down again with a terribleracket. There was a general bustle， a rustling of thewomen’s gowns and shuffling of the men’s feet， greatly atvariance with that hushed repose which should attend theentrance of the minister. But Mr. Hooper appeared not tonotice the perturbation of his people. He entered with analmost noiseless step， bent his head mildly to the pews oneach side and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner， awhite-haired great-grandsire， who occupied an arm-chairin the centre of the aisle. It was strange to observe howslowly this venerable man became conscious of somethingsingular in the appearance of his pastor. He seemed notfully to partake of the prevailing wonder till Mr. Hooperhad ascended the stairs and showed himself in the pulpit，face to face with his congregation except for the blackveil. That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn.
It shook with his measured breath as he gave out thepsalm， it threw its obscurity between him and the holypage as he read the Scriptures， and while he prayed theveil lay heavily on his uplifted countenance. Did he seek tohide it from the dread Being whom he was addressing？
Such was the effect of this simple piece of crape thatmore than one woman of delicate nerves was forced toleave the meeting-house. Yet perhaps the pale-facedcongregation was almost as fearful a sight to the ministeras his black veil to them.
Mr. Hooper had the reputation of a good preacher，but not an energetic one： he strove to win his peopleheavenward by mild， persuasive influences rather thanto drive them thither by the thunders of the word. Thesermon which he now delivered was marked by the samecharacteristics of style and manner as the general seriesof his pulpit oratory， but there was something either inthe sentiment of the discourse itself or in the imaginationof the auditors which made it greatly the most powerfuleffort that they had ever heard from their pastot’s lips. Itwas tinged rather more darkly than usual with the gentlegloom of Mr. Hooper’s temperament. The subject hadreference to secret sin and those sad mysteries which wehide from our nearest and dearest， and would fain concealfrom our own consciousness， even forgetting that theOmniscient can detect them. A subtle power was breathedinto his words. Each member of the congregation， themost innocent girl and the man of hardened breast， felt asif the preacher had crept upon them behind his awful veiland discovered their hoarded iniquity of deed or thought.
Many spread their clasped hands on their bosoms. Therewas nothing terrible in what Mr. Hooper said—at least，no violence； and yet with every tremor of his melancholyvoice the hearers quaked. An unsought pathos came handin hand with awe. So sensible were the audience of someunwonted attribute in their minister that they longed for abreath of wind to blow aside the veil， almost believing thata stranger’s visage would be discovered， though the form，gesture and voice were those of Mr. Hooper.
