The afternoon service was attended with similar circumstances. At
its conclusion, the bell tolled for the funeral of a young lady. The
relatives and friends were assembled in the house, and the more
distant acquaintances stood about the door, speaking of the good
qualities of the deceased, when their talk was interrupted by the
appearance of Mr. Hooper, still covered with his black veil. It was
now an appropriate emblem. The clergyman stepped into the room where
the corpse was laid, and bent over the coffin, to take a last farewell
of his deceased parishioner. As he stooped, the veil hung straight
down from his forehead, so that, if her eyelids had not been closed
forever, the dead maiden might have seen his face. Could Mr. Hooper be
fearful of her glance, that he so hastily caught back the black
veil? A person who watched the interview between the dead and
living, scrupled not to affirm, that, at the instant when the
clergyman's features were disclosed, the corpse had slightly
shuddered, rustling the shroud and muslin cap, though the
countenance retained the composure of death. A superstitious old woman
was the only witness of this prodigy. From the coffin Mr. Hooper
passed into the chamber of the mourners, and thence to the head of the
staircase, to make the funeral prayer. It was a tender and
heart-dissolving prayer, full of sorrow, yet so imbued with
celestial hopes, that the music of a heavenly harp, swept by the
fingers of the dead, seemed faintly to be heard among the saddest
accents of the minister. The people trembled, though they but darkly
understood him when he prayed that they, and himself, and all of
mortal race, might be ready, as he trusted this young maiden had been,
for the dreadful hour that should snatch the veil from their faces.
The bearers went heavily forth, and the mourners followed, saddening
all the street, with the dead before them, and Mr. Hooper in his black
veil behind.