word. The sermon which he now delivered was marked by the same
characteristics of style and manner as the general series of his
pulpit oratory, but there was something either in the sentiment of the
discourse itself or in the imagination of the auditors which made it
greatly the most powerful effort that they had ever heard from their
pastor's lips. It was tinged rather more darkly than usual with the
gentle gloom of Mr. Hooper's temperament. The subject had reference to
secret sin and those sad mysteries which we hide from our nearest and
dearest, and would fain conceal from our own consciousness, even
forgetting that the Omniscient can detect them. A subtle power was
breathed into his words. Each member of the congregation, the most
innocent girl and the man of hardened breast, felt as if the preacher
had crept upon them behind his awful veil and discovered their hoarded
iniquity of deed or thought. Many spread their clasped hands on their
bosoms. There was nothing terrible in what Mr. Hooper said--at least,
no violence; and yet with every tremor of his melancholy voice the
hearers quaked. An unsought pathos came hand in hand with awe. So
sensible were the audience of some unwonted attribute in their
minister that they longed for a breath of wind to blow aside the veil,
almost believing that a stranger's visage would be discovered, though
the form, gesture and voice were those of Mr. Hooper.

At the close of the services the people hurried out with indecorous
confusion, eager to communicate their pent-up amazement, and conscious
of lighter spirits the moment they lost sight of the black veil. Some
gathered in little circles, huddled closely together, with their
mouths all whispering in the centre; some went homeward alone, wrapped
in silent meditation; some talked loudly and profaned the Sabbath-day
with ostentatious laughter. A few shook their sagacious heads,
intimating that they could penetrate the mystery, while one or two