Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters,Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases, But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a schoolboy;

Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder,

Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her speechless;

Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence : "If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo

me?

If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!"

Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter, Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy,Had no time for such things ;-such things! the words grating

harshly

Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she made

answer :

"Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is

married,

Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding? That is the way with you men ; you don't understand us, you

cannot.

When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this one and that one,

Choosing, selecting, rejecting, oomparing one with another, Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden avowal,

And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a

woman

Does not respond at once to a love that she never suspected,
Does not attain at a bound the height to which you have been

climbing.

This is not right nor just for surely a woman's affection
Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the asking.
When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it.

Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that he loved me, Even this Captain of yours-who knows?-at last might have

won me,

Old and rough as he is; but now it never can happen."

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding; Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in Flanders, How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction, How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Captain of Plymouth;

He was a gentleman born, could trace-his pedigree plainly
Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, Eng-

land,

Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de
Standish;

Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded.
Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest1 a cock argent
Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon.

He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature;
Though he was rough, he was kindly; she knew how during the
winter

He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman's;
Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong,
Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always,
Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of
stature;

For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous;
Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England,
Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish !

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language,

Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival,

Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter,

Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John ?"

1 Crest, argent, gules, and blazon, are terms of heraldry.

IV.

JOHN ALDEN.

INTO the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered,
Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the seaside ;
Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east-

wind,

Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within him.
Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splendors,
Sank the City of God,' in the vision of John the Apostle,
So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire,
Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted

Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city.

66

"Welcome, O wind of the East!" he exclaimed in his wild exultation,

Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic!

2

Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows of seagrass,

Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens of ocean! Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me !

Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and tossing, Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea-shore. Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending;

Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding,

Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of duty! "Is it my fault," he said, "that the maiden has chosen between

us?

Is it my fault that he failed,-my fault that I am the victor?" Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet:

1 Rev. xxi. 2,10, ff.

Dulse, a sea weed.

"It hath displeased the Lord!"-and he thought of David's transgression,1

Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle!

Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-condemnation,

Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the deepest contrition :

"It hath displeased the Lord! It is the temptation of Satan !"

Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there Dimly the shadowy form of the May Flower riding at anchor, Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow; Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cordage Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors' "Ay, ay, Sir !"

Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the twilight. Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the

vessel,

Then went hurriedly on, as one whq, seeing a phantom,

Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning shad

ow.

"Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured ; "the hand of the

Lord is

Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around me, Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pursue

me.

Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon,

Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has offended. Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard in England,

Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kindred; Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonor! Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow chamber With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and darkness,

Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter !"

1 2 Samuel xi.

Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong resolution, Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twilight, Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre, Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth, Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the evening. Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Cæsar, Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant or Flan

ders.

"Long have you been on your errand," he said with a cheery demeanor,

Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the issue. "Nor far off is the house, although the woods are between us; But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and

coming

I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a city. Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has happened."

Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened; How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his court

ship,

Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal.

But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, Words so tender and cruel: "Why don't you speak for yourself,

John ?"

Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his armor

Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion,

Even as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. Wildly he shouted, and loud: "John Alden! you have betrayed me!

Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed me !

One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat

Tyler ;1

'See biographical sketch.