The vulgar, who, in those dreary old times, were always

contributing a grotesque horror to what interested their

imaginations, had a story about the scarlet letter which we

might readily work up into a terrific legend. They averred that

the symbol was not mere scarlet cloth, tinged in an earthly

dye-pot, but was red-hot with infernal fire, and could be seen

glowing all alight whenever Hester Prynne walked abroad in the

night-time. And we must needs say it seared Hester's bosom so

deeply, that perhaps there was more truth in the rumour than our

modern incredulity may be inclined to admit.




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