By the aid of his mysterious emblem- for there was no other apparentcause- he became a man of awful power over souls that were in agonyfor sin. His converts always regarded him with a dread peculiar tothemselves, affirming, though but figuratively, that, before hebrought them to celestial light, they had been with him behind theblack veil. Its gloom, indeed, enabled him to sympathize with all darkaffections. Dying sinners cried aloud for Mr. Hooper, and would notyield their breath till he appeared; though ever, as he stooped towhisper consolation, they shuddered at the veiled face so near theirown. Such were the terrors of the black veil, even when Death hadbared his visage! Strangers came long distances to attend service athis church, with the mere idle purpose of gazing at his figure,because it was forbidden them to behold his face. But many were madeto quake ere they departed! Once, during Governor Belcher'sadministration, Mr. Hooper was appointed to preach the electionsermon. Covered with his black veil, he stood before the chiefmagistrate, the council, and the representatives, and wrought sodeep an impression that the legislative measures of that year werecharacterized by all the gloom and piety of our earliest ancestralsway.
In this manner Mr. Hooper spent a long life, irreproachable inoutward act, yet shrouded in dismal suspicions; kind and loving,though unloved, and dimly feared; a man apart from men, shunned intheir health and joy, but ever summoned to their aid in mortalanguish. As years wore on, shedding their snows above his sableveil, he acquired a name throughout the New England churches, and theycalled him Father Hooper. Nearly all his parishioners, who were ofmature age when he was settled, had been borne away by many a funeral:
he had one congregation in the church, and a more crowded one in thechurchyard; and having wrought so late into the evening, and donehis work so well, it was now good Father Hooper's turn to rest.
Several persons were visible by the shaded candle-light, in thedeath chamber of the old clergyman. Natural connections he had none.
But there was the decorously grave, though unmoved physician,seeking only to mitigate the last pangs of the patient whom he couldnot save. There were the deacons, and other eminently pious members ofhis church. There, also, was the Reverend Mr. Clark, of Westbury, ayoung and zealous divine, who had ridden in haste to pray by thebedside of the expiring minister. There was the nurse, no hiredhandmaiden of death, but one whose calm affection had endured thuslong in secrecy, in solitude, amid the chill of age, and would notperish, even at the dying hour. Who, but Elizabeth! And there laythe hoary head of good Father Hooper upon the death pillow, with theblack veil still swathed about his brow, and reaching down over hisface, so that each more difficult gasp of his faint breath caused itto stir. All through life that piece of crape had hung between him andthe world: it had separated him from cheerful brotherhood andwoman's love, and kept him in that saddest of all prisons, his ownheart; and still it lay upon his face, as if to deepen the gloom ofhis darksome chamber, and shade him from the sunshine of eternity.
For some time previous, his mind had been confused, waveringdoubtfully between the past and the present, and hovering forward,as it were, at intervals, into the indistinctness of the world tocome. There had been feverish turns, which tossed him from side toside, and wore away what little strength he had. But in his mostconvulsive struggles, and in the wildest vagaries of his intellect,when no other thought retained its sober influence, he still showed anawful solicitude lest the black veil should slip aside. Even if hisbewildered soul could have forgotten, there was a faithful woman athis pillow, who, with averted eyes, would have covered that aged face,which she had last beheld in the comeliness of manhood. At lengththe death-stricken old man lay quietly in the torpor of mental andbodily exhaustion, with an imperceptible pulse, and breath that grewfainter and fainter, except when a long, deep, and irregularinspiration seemed to prelude the flight of his spirit.
The minister of Westbury approached the bedside.
"Venerable Father Hooper," said he, "the moment of your releaseis at hand. Are you ready for the lifting of the veil that shuts intime from eternity?"Father Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motion of hishead; 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 wearinessuntil that veil be lifted.""And is it fitting," resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark, "that a man sogiven to prayer, of such a blameless example, holy in deed andthought, so far as mortal judgment may pronounce; is it fitting that afather in the church should leave a shadow on his memory, that mayseem to blacken a life so pure? I pray you, my venerable brother,let not this thing be! Suffer us to be gladdened by your triumphantaspect as you go to your reward. Before the veil of eternity belifted, let me cast aside this black veil from your face!"And thus speaking, the Reverend Mr. Clark bent forward to revealthe mystery of so many years. But, exerting a sudden energy, that madeall the beholders stand aghast, Father Hooper snatched both hishands from beneath the bedclothes, and pressed them strongly on theblack veil, resolute to struggle, if the minister of Westbury wouldcontend with a dying man.
