each side,and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner,a whitehaired great-grandsire,who occupied an armchair in the center of the aisle.It was strange to observe how slowly this venerable man became conscious of something singular in the appearance of his pastor.He seemed not fully to partake of the prevailing wonder, till Mr.Hooper had ascended the stairs,and showed himself in the pulpit,face to face with his congregation,except for the black veil.That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn.It shook with his measured breath,as he gave out the psalm;it threw its obscurity between him and the holy page,as he read the Scriptures;and while he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? 11 Such was the effect of this simple piece of crepe,that more than one woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meetinghouse.Yet perhaps the pale-faced congregation was almost as fearful a sight to the minister,as his black veil to them. Mr.Hooper had the reputation of a good preacher,but not an energetic one;he strove to win his people heavenward by mild,persuasive influences,rather than to drive them thither by the thunders of the 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 sit,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 theireach side, and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner, a whitehaired great-grandsire, who occupied an armchair in the center of the aisle. It was strange to observe how slowly this venerable man became conscious of something singular in the appearance of his pastor. He seemed not fully to partake of the prevailing wonder, till Mr. Hooper had ascended the stairs, and showed himself in the pulpit, face to face with his congregation, except for the black veil. That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn. It shook with his measured breath, as he gave out the psalm; it threw its obscurity 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? 11 Such was the effect of this simple piece of crepe, that more than one woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meetinghouse. Yet perhaps the pale-faced congregation was almost as fearful a sight to the minister, as his black veil to them. Mr. Hooper had the reputation of a good preacher, but not an energetic one; he strove to win his people heavenward by mild, persuasive influences, rather than to drive them thither by the thunders of the 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 sit, 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