this woman's soul lies greatly with you.
It behoves you; therefore, to exhort her to
repentance and to confession, as a proof and
consequence thereof."
The directness of this appeal drew the eyes
of the whole crowd upon the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale—young
clergyman, who had come from one of the great
English universities, bringing all the learning
of the age into our wild forest land. His
eloquence and religious fervour had already
given the earnest of high eminence in his
profession. He was a person of very striking
aspect, with a white, lofty, and impending
brow; large, brown, melancholy eyes, and a
mouth which, unless when he forcibly compressed
it, was apt to be tremulous, expressing both
nervous sensibility and a vast power of self
restraint. Notwithstanding his high native
gifts and scholar-like attainments, there
was an air about this young minister—an
apprehensive, a startled, a half-frightened
look—as ofa being who felt himself quite
astray, and at a loss in the pathway of human
existence, and could only be at ease in some
seclusion of his own. Therefore, so far as
his duties would permit, he trod in the shadowy
by-paths, and thus kept himself simple and
childlike, coming forth, when occasion was,
with a freshness, and fragrance, and dewy
purity of thought, which, as many people said,
affected them like the speech of an angel.
Such was the young man whom the Reverend Mr.
Wilson and the Governor had introduced so
openly to the public notice, bidding him speak,
in the hearing of all men, to that mystery
of a woman's soul, so sacred even in its pollution.
The trying nature of his position drove the
blood from his cheek, and made his lips tremulous.
"Speak to the woman, my brother," said