All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the

Lord, and took courage.

Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre

of terror,

Thanking God in her heart that she had not

married Miles Standish;

Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home

from his battles,

He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valor.

VIII.

THE SPINNING-WHEEL.

MONTH after month passed away, and in Au

tumn the ships of the merchants

Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the Pilgrims.

All in the village was peace; the men were

intent on their labors,

Busy with hewing and building, with gardenplot and with merestead,

Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the

grass in the meadows,

Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the All in the village was peace; but at times the

rumor of warfare

Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehen

sion of danger.

Bravely the stalwart Miles Standish was scouring the land with his forces,

Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien

armies,

Till his name had become a sound of fear to

the nations.

Anger was still in his heart, but at times the

remorse and contrition

Which in all noble natures succeed the pas

sionate outbreak,

Came like a rising tide, that encounters the

rush of a river,

Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter

and brackish.

Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a

new habitation,

Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from

the firs of the forest.

Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered with rushes;

Latticed the windows were, and the window

panes were of paper,

Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain

were excluded.

There too he dug a well, and around it planted

an orchard:

Still may be seen to this day some trace of the

well and the orchard.

Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure from annoyance,

Raghorn, the snow-white steer, that had fallen

to Alden's allotment

In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the

night-time

Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant

by sweet pennyroyal.

Oft when his labor was finished, with eager

feet would the dreamer

Follow the pathway that ran through the woods

to the house of Priscilla,

Led by illusions romantic and subtile decep

tions of fancy,

Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship.

Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of his dwelling;

Ever of her he thought, when he delved in

the soil of his garden;

Ever of her he thought, when he read in his

Bible on Sunday

Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is de

scribed in the Proverbs,

How the heart of her husband doth safely trust

in her always,

How all the days of her life she will do him

good, and not evil,