Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, Twelve men,' all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,

Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,

And, like Cæsar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!”
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sun-

beams

Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued: "Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose,

Steady, straight-forward, and strong, with irresistible logic,
Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen.
Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians;
Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the
better,-

Let them come if they like, be it sagamore," sachem, or pow-
Wow,

Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon !"

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the land

scape,

Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east

wind,

Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean, Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the land

scape,

Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was subdued with emotion,

Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded :

"Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish; Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside !

should make and mend his own pens. The ink-horns were, like powder-horns, made

of horns of cattle.

1 This was about the number of men in Captain Standish's "army."

Sagamore, sachem,-two grades of chiefs. The pow-wow was the medicine man or conjurer.

She was the first to die1 of all who came in the May Flower! Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown

there,

Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, Lest they should count them and see how many already have

perished!"

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful.

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them

Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding;
Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Cæsar,
Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London,
And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the

Bible.

Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful

Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort,

Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans,

Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman, Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence

Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks thick on the margin,

Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the

stripling,

Busily writing epistles important, to go by the May Flower,
Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing!
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter,
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla.2
Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla !

She died about six weeks after landing.

Her surname, variously spelled, was Molines, Mullines or Mullins.
Historically this should be Pilgrim, not Puritan. So throughout the poem.

D

II.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

NOTHING was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling,

Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Cæsar.

After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards,

Heavily on the page : A wonderful man was this Cæsar!

You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow

Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful!"

Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful:

Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his

weapons.

Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs." "Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the

other,

"Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Cæsar!

Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village,

Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it.

Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after;

Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he con

quered;

He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded;
Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus !

Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flan

ders,

When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way

too,

And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely to

gether

There was no room for their swords? Why, he seized a shield

from a soldier,

Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains,

Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns;
Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weap-

ons;

So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other.

That's what I always say; if you wish a thing to be well done, You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!"

All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading. Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling

Writing epistles important to go next day by the May Flower, Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Pris

cilla;

Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla,

Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret, Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla !

Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover, Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket, Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth :

"When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you.

Be not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impatient!"

Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters,
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention:
"Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen,
Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish."
Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his

phrases:

"Tis not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it ;

Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it.
Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary;
Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship.
Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla.
She is alone in the world; her father and mother and brother
Died in the winter together; I saw her going and coming,
Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dying,
Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever
There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heavens,
Two have I seen and known and the angel whose name is
Priscilla

Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it,

Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part.
Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth,
Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions,
Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier.
Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning;
I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases.

You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language,
Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of

lovers,

Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden."

When he had spoken, John Alden, the fairhaired, taciturn

stripling,

All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with light

ness,

Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom,

Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning, Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than

answered:

"Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it ; If you would have it well done,-I am only repeating your

maxim,

You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!"