Now it happened that poor John Alden was himself enamoured of the lovely Puritan maiden, and he listened to this request aghast. But Standish, unaware of this fact, urged the unwelcome mission on his blushing scribe, and demanded his acceptance of it in the name of friendship. Alden determined to perform the mission, and to do it faithfully; so he hied him through the forest to Priscilla’s dwelling. Entering without ado, he at once broached the subject, and flung forth a glowing record of his master’s virtues. Priscilla heard him awhile in ominous silence, and then interrupted him by this query: “‘If the great captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning.’” Alden tried to explain and smooth the matter; “But as he warmed and glowed in his simple and eloquent language, Quite forgetful of self, and full of 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?’” The bewildered but happy secretary at once took the hint. Returning to Standish, he reported his failure. Then he _did_ “speak for himself,” and to such purpose that he was soon married. There were no horses in the wilderness; so after the nuptials, “Alden, the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, Brought out a snow-white bull, obeying the hand of his master, Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday; Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac; Old, and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, Love immortal and young, in the endless succession of lovers. So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession.”[733]