[Illustration: Priscilla and John Alden] THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH I In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, Clad in [v]doublet and hose, and boots of [v]Cordovan leather, Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. Buried in thought he seemed, with hands behind him, and pausing Ever and anon to behold the glittering weapons of warfare, Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,-- Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty [v]sword of Damascus. Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron; Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companion, Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion. Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May Flower. (Standish takes up a book and reads a moment.) Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. "Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons that hang here Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection! This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate, Well, I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish; Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet. Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish Would at this moment be mold, in the grave in the Flemish morasses." Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: "Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet; He in his mercy preserved you to be our shield and our weapon!" Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling: "See how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging; That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others. Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent [v]adage; So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn. Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock, Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!" All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading. Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling Writing epistles important to go next day by the May Flower, Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing,