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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 ! But with the air of a man whom nothing can

turn from his purpose, Gravely shaking his head, made answer the

Captain of Plymouth : “ Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean

to gainsay it; But we must use it discreetly, and not waste

powder for nothing. Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of

phrases. I can march


to a fortress and summon the

place to surrender, But march up to a woman with such a propo

sal, I dare not. I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the

mouth of a cannon,


But of a thundering “No!” point-blank from


houth of a woman, That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed

to confess it! So you must grant my request, for you are an

elegant scholar, Having the graces of speech, and skill in the

turning of phrases. Taking the hand of his friend, who still was

reluctant and doubtful, Holding it long in his own, and pressing it

kindly, he added : “ Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep

is the feeling that prompts me; Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the

name of our friendship!” Then made answer John Alden:

The name of friendship is sacred ; What you demand in that name, I have not the

power to deny you!”


So the strong will prevailed, subduing and

moulding the gentler, Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went

on his errand.



So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went

on his errand, Out of the street of the village, and into the

paths of the forest, Into the tranquil woods, where blue-birds and

robins were building Towns in the populous trees, with hanging

gardens of verdure, Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and

freedom. All around him was calm, but within him com

motion and conflict,

Love contending with friendship, and self with

each generous impulse. To and fro in his breast his thoughts were

heaving and dashing, As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the

vessel, Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge pf

the ocean !

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"Must I relinquish it all,” he cried with a wild

lamentation, “ Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the

illusion ?

Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and

worshipped in silence ? Was it for this I have followed the flying feet

and the shadow Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of

New England ? Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its

depths of corruption

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