Nor think ye, young ones, that they are the happiest, even in ourlifetime of a moment, who mis-spend it in dancing round a Maypole!"And Endicott, the severest Puritan of all who laid the rockfoundation of New England, lifted the wreath of roses from the ruin ofthe Maypole, and threw it, with his own gauntleted hand, over theheads of the Lord and Lady of the May. It was a deed of prophecy. Asthe moral gloom of the world overpowers all systematic gayety, even sowas their home of wild mirth made desolate amid the sad forest. Theyreturned to it no more. But as their flowery garland was wreathed ofthe brightest roses that had grown there, so, in the tie that unitedthem, were intertwined all the purest and best of their early joys.
They went heavenward, supporting each other along the difficult pathwhich it was their lot to tread, and never wasted one regretfulthought on the vanities of Merry Mount.
NOTE. There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance inthe curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston, orMerry Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted, the facts,recorded on the grave pages of our New England annalists, have wroughtthemselves, almost spontaneously, into a sort of allegory. Themasques, mummeries, and festive customs, described in the text, are inaccordance with the manners of the age. Authority on these pointsmay be found in Strutt's Book of English Sports and Pastimes.
THE END
.
1836
TWICE-TOLD TALES
THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL
A PARABLE
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
THE SEXTON stood in the porch of Milford meeting-house, pullingbusily at the bell-rope. The old people of the village came stoopingalong the street. Children, with bright faces, tripped merrilybeside their parents, or mimicked a graver gait, in the consciousdignity of their Sunday clothes. Spruce bachelors looked sidelong atthe pretty maidens, and fancied that the Sabbath sunshine made themprettier than on week days. When the throng had mostly streamed intothe porch, the sexton began to toll the bell, keeping his eye on theReverend Mr. Hooper's door. The first glimpse of the clergyman'sfigure was the signal for the bell to cease its summons.
"But what has good Parson Hooper got upon his face?" cried thesexton in astonishment.
All within hearing immediately turned about, and beheld thesemblance of Mr. Hooper, pacing slowly his meditative way towardsthe meeting-house. With one accord they started, expressing morewonder than if some strange minister were coming to dust thecushions of Mr. Hooper's pulpit.
"Are you sure it is our parson?" inquired Goodman Gray of thesexton.
"Of a certainty it is good Mr. Hooper," replied the sexton. "He wasto have exchanged pulpits with Parson Shute, of Westbury; but ParsonShute sent to excuse himself yesterday, being to preach a funeralsermon."The cause of so much amazement may appear sufficiently slight.
Mr. Hooper, a gentlemanly person, of about thirty, though still abachelor, was dressed with due clerical neatness, as if a careful wifehad starched his band, and brushed the weekly dust from his Sunday'sgarb. There was but one thing remarkable in his appearance. Swathedabout his forehead, and hanging down over his face, so low as to beshaken by his breath, Mr. Hooper had on a black veil. On a nearer viewit seemed to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely concealedhis features, except the mouth and chin, but probably did notintercept his sight, further than to give a darkened aspect to allliving and inanimate things. With this gloomy shade before him, goodMr. Hooper walked onward, at a slow and quiet pace, stooping somewhat,and looking on the ground, as is customary with abstracted men, yetnodding kindly to those of his parishioners who still waited on themeeting-house steps. 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 was behind thatpiece of crape," said the sexton.
"I don't like it," muttered an old woman, as she hobbled into themeeting-house. "He has changed himself into something awful, only byhiding his face.""Our parson has gone mad!" cried Goodman Gray, following him acrossthe threshold.
A rumor of some unaccountable phenomenon had preceded Mr. Hooperinto the meeting-house, and set all the congregation astir. Fewcould refrain from twisting their heads towards the door; many stoodupright, and turned directly about; while several little boysclambered upon the seats, and came down again with a terribleracket. There was a general bustle, a rustling of the women's gownsand shuffling of the men's feet, greatly at variance with thathushed repose which should attend the entrance of the minister. ButMr. Hooper appeared not to notice the perturbation of his people. Heentered with an almost noiseless step, bent his head mildly to thepews on each side, and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner, awhite-haired great-grandsire, who occupied an arm-chair in thecentre of the aisle. It was strange to observe how slowly thisvenerable man became conscious of something singular in the appearanceof his pastor. He seemed not fully to partake of the prevailingwonder, till Mr. Hooper had ascended the stairs, and showed himself inthe pulpit, face to face with his congregation, except for the blackveil. That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn. It shook withhis measured breath, as he gave out the psalm; it threw itsobscurity between him and the holy page, as he read the Scriptures;and while he prayed, the veil lay heavily on his uplifted countenance.
Did he seek to hide it from the dread Being whom he was addressing?
Such was the effect of this simple piece of crape, that more thanone woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meeting-house.
Yet perhaps the pale-faced congregation was almost as fearful asight to the minister, as his black veil to them.
