“’Tis not good for 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, 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 heaven, 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, but 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.” Poor John Alden, the fair-haired, timid youth, was aghast, overwhelmed with anguish. He tried to smile, but the nerves of his face twitched with painful convulsions. He endeavored to excuse himself, but his impetuous friend, whose commanding mind overawed him, would listen to no excuse. To all John’s remonstrances he replied: “I was never a maker of phrases. I can march up to a fortress, and summon the place to surrender; But march up to a woman, with such a proposal, I dare not. I am not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, But of a thundering ‘no!’ point blank from the mouth of a woman, That I confess I’m afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it.”