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, per

suading, 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, England,

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

crest a cock argent

Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon.

He was a man of honor, of noble and gen

erous 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?"

IV.

JOHN ALDEN.

INTO the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered,

Rushed like a man insane, and wandered

alone by the sea-side;

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.

"Welcome,

wind of the East!" he ex

claimed in his wild exultation,

"Welcome, O wind of the East, from the

caves of the misty Atlantic!

Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless

meadows of sea-grass,

Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos

and gardens of ocean!

Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning fore

head, 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,