The Scarlet Letter

Again, a third instance. After parting from the old church

member, he met the youngest sister of them all. It was a maiden

newly-won--and won by the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale's own sermon,

on the Sabbath after his vigil--to barter the transitory

pleasures of the world for the heavenly hope that was to assume

brighter substance as life grew dark around her, and which would

gild the utter gloom with final glory. She was fair and pure as

a lily that had bloomed in Paradise. The minister knew well that

he was himself enshrined within the stainless sanctity of her

heart, which hung its snowy curtains about his image, imparting

to religion the warmth of love, and to love a religious purity.

Satan, that afternoon, had surely led the poor young girl away

from her mother's side, and thrown her into the pathway of this

sorely tempted, or--shall we not rather say?--this lost and

desperate man. As she drew nigh, the arch-fiend whispered him to

condense into small compass, and drop into her tender bosom a

germ of evil that would be sure to blossom darkly soon, and bear

black fruit betimes. Such was his sense of power over this

virgin soul, trusting him as she did, that the minister felt

potent to blight all the field of innocence with but one wicked

look, and develop all its opposite with but a word. So--with a

mightier struggle than he had yet sustained--he held his Geneva

cloak before his face, and hurried onward, making no sign of

recognition, and leaving the young sister to digest his rudeness

as she might. She ransacked her conscience--which was full of

harmless little matters, like her pocket or her work-bag--and

took herself to task, poor thing! for a thousand imaginary

faults, and went about her household duties with swollen eyelids

the next morning.

Before the minister had time to celebrate his victory over this

last temptation, he was conscious of another impulse, more

ludicrous, and almost as horrible. It was--we blush to tell

it--it was to stop short in the road, and teach some very wicked

words to a knot of little Puritan children who were playing

there, and had but just begun to talk. Denying himself this

freak, as unworthy of his cloth, he met a drunken seaman, one of

the ship's crew from the Spanish Main. And here, since he had so

valiantly forborne all other wickedness, poor Mr. Dimmesdale

longed at least to shake hands with the tarry black-guard, and

recreate himself with a few improper jests, such as dissolute

sailors so abound with, and a volley of good, round, solid,

satisfactory, and heaven-defying oaths! It was not so much a

better principle, as partly his natural good taste, and still

more his buckramed habit of clerical decorum, that carried him

safely through the latter crisis.

"What is it that haunts and tempts me thus?" cried the minister

to himself, at length, pausing in the street, and striking his

hand against his forehead.