Puk-Wudj'ies, Puk-Wudj-In-in'ees, little wild men of the woods; pigmies. Shahbo'min, the gooseberry. Shaugoda'ya, a coward. Shawgashee', the craw-fish.. Shawonda'see, the South-Wind. Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in the Shin'gebis, the diver, or greebe. Shuh'shuh'gah, the blue heron. Ona'gon, a bowl. Unktahee', the God of Water. Onaway', awake. Opechee', the robin. Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star. Ozawa'beek, a round piece of brass or Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yena- Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo Wabas'so, the rabbit; the North. Wa'bun, the East-Wind. Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star. Wahono'min, a cry of lamentation. Waw-be-wa'wa, the white goose. watha's mother; daughter of Nokomis. Yenadiz'ze, an idler and gambler; an Indian dandy. The Courtship of Miles Standish. I. MILES STANDISHI. IN the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, 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 Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May-Flower. 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; Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero. Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish Would at this moment be mould. in their grave in the Flemish 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!" purpose, Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible logic, Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians; Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better,— Let them come, if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow, Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon!" Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape, Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapoury breath of the east wind, Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded: Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding; Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Cæsar, Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London, And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort, Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans, Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. II. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. NOTHING was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, Or an occasional sigh from the labouring heart of the Captain, Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Cæsar. After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand palm downwards, Heavily on the page, "A wonderful man was this Cæsar! You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful!" Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful: "Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. Somewhere I have read, but where I forget, he could dictate Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs." "Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, "Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Cæsar! 66 Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. FF There was no room for their swords? Why, he seized a shield from a soldier, Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains, Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns; Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons; So he won the day, the battle of Something-or-other. That's what I always say; if you wish a thing to be well done, You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!" 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, Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla; Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret, Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla ! Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover, Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket, Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth : "When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you. Be not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impatient!” Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters, Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention: 'Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen, Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish." Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases: ""Tis not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. |