The Scarlet Letter

"Were it not better," said he, "that you use my poor skill

tonight? Verily, dear sir, we must take pains to make you strong

and vigorous for this occasion of the Election discourse. The

people look for great things from you, apprehending that another

year may come about and find their pastor gone."

"Yes, to another world," replied the minister with pious

resignation. "Heaven grant it be a better one; for, in good

sooth, I hardly think to tarry with my flock through the

flitting seasons of another year! But touching your medicine,

kind sir, in my present frame of body I need it not."

"I joy to hear it," answered the physician. "It may be that my

remedies, so long administered in vain, begin now to take due

effect. Happy man were I, and well deserving of New England's

gratitude, could I achieve this cure!"

"I thank you from my heart, most watchful friend," said the

Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale with a solemn smile. "I thank you, and

can but requite your good deeds with my prayers."

"A good man's prayers are golden recompense!" rejoined old Roger

Chillingworth, as he took his leave. "Yea, they are the current

gold coin of the New Jerusalem, with the King's own mint mark on

them!"

Left alone, the minister summoned a servant of the house, and

requested food, which, being set before him, he ate with

ravenous appetite. Then flinging the already written pages of

the Election Sermon into the fire, he forthwith began another,

which he wrote with such an impulsive flow of thought and

emotion, that he fancied himself inspired; and only wondered

that Heaven should see fit to transmit the grand and solemn

music of its oracles through so foul an organ pipe as he.

However, leaving that mystery to solve itself, or go unsolved

for ever, he drove his task onward with earnest haste and

ecstasy.

Thus the night fled away, as if it were a winged steed, and he

careering on it; morning came, and peeped, blushing, through the

curtains; and at last sunrise threw a golden beam into the

study, and laid it right across the minister's bedazzled eyes.

There he was, with the pen still between his fingers, and a

vast, immeasurable tract of written space behind him!