William S Dye.

Father Penn : a pageant presented by the members of the summer session of the Pennsylvania State College, Monday, August 2, 1915, at 8:30 p.m. online

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Online LibraryWilliam S DyeFather Penn : a pageant presented by the members of the summer session of the Pennsylvania State College, Monday, August 2, 1915, at 8:30 p.m. → online text (page 1 of 2)
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The Book by Professor William S. Dye, Jr., Ph. D.
AND Professor John H. Frizzell, A. M.

The Prologues by President Edwin E. Sparks, L. L. D.
AND Professor William Day Crokett, A. M.

Master of the Pageant, Mary Wood Hinman

Copviieht 1915 by W. S. Dye, Jr. and J. H. Frizzell

AUG -5 1,915


^ . BY

iO President Edwin Erle Sparks


Columbia ^ Mrs. Frank D. Gardner

Penn Mr. William Day Crockett

Indian Dancers .' Camp Fire Girls

Chairman, Mrs. E. R. Smith

Dance trained by Mrs. Florence Deming

Agnes Swarnf Ruth Winter Gladys Alexander Helen Bowersox
Dorothy Crane Grace Winter Mary Emboden Marion Harter

(Tall woman zvitti clear voice dressed as Columbia, bearing
shield of shape of keystone and a zvand.)

Kind friends, thrice welcome all who come
To view our annual pageant here.
Last year you saw the Seasons pass
From Vernal Spring to Winter's cold.
This year we turn from Fancy's dream
To Hist'ry's fact. We here present
In quick review our Keystone State
And show the varied racial stream
Which swept across the sea's expanse
To people Pennsylvania's soil.
Adventurous spirtis all were thev.
Enduring hardship, toil and want,
Intent to found a Commonwealth
Where freedom's blessings might be gained.
Yet here was freedom e'er the white
Man came. Red children roamed at will
Amidst these woods and vales or danced
About symbolic fires. So I,
The spirit of the state, first show
The Indian maidens of the long ago.

(Dance of Camp Fire Girls — from the village.)

(An Indian maiden advances to the dancers and addresses them.)


My children, listen to my prophecy !

Your hours draw to a close. Soon will come

An alien race of white men o'er the sea

In myriad numbers. They shall fell your trees,

Destroy your game and harry you to death.

Your wigwams palaces become ; your trails

With steel relaid; your bark canoes give way

To steam's power. 'Tis nature's law —

The fittest must survive. Depart ! Begone !

(Indian maidens vanish to sides. Spirit of Pennsylvania resumes.)

Alas, 'tis true. These simple folk
Must vanish. Here the white man comes :
First William Penn, intent to found
A refuge from oppression's sway.

r;Cl.D 41515

4 ^ ^

Chairman, Mrs. A. J. Wood


Professor William S. Dye, Jr.


First man Mr. Wyant

Second man Mr. Cole

First woman Miss Schooley

Second woman Miss McCreary

Boy Sidney Grieb

Messenger Miss Dickinson

Penn Mr. Crockett

Columbia Mrs. Gardner


Gotland. . .Miss Pattee, Miss Pancoast, Miss Starrett, Miss Dix,
Mr. Sligh. Mr. Wyant, Mr. Deering, Mr. Barnhart.

Ox Mr. Sligh, Mr. Barnhart. Mr. Wyant and Mr. Gress.

Vingaker. .Miss Dix, Miss McMenamin, Mr. Gress.

Little Man in a Fix

Miss Dix, Miss Pattee, Miss McMenamin, Miss Pan-
coast, Miss Yardley, Mr. Gress, Mr. Sligh, Mr. Wyant,
Mr. Barnhart, Mr. Hall.
The season is that of the harvest on the highlands near the
Delaware at Upland (Chester). A harvest dance is in progress.
Girls and men and are merrymaking on the green. At the conclu-
sion of the dance, the following dialogue takes place:

1. Swede. Nay, do not cease dancing. It will lighten our hearts for
the work that is still to do. Maids and matrons have danced afore
this while the men have worked.

A woman. When, pray tell us?

1. Swede. Most of you do not remember the time we built the ship
to fight the Dutch, the ship that caught at yonder bridge and
burned there.

A woman. Still harking at old times. He is ever thus.

1. Swede. Under three monarchs have I lived since first I came to
this new land. Three flags have I seen floated from yonder staff,
and thrice has the coat of arms on that staff been changed.

2. Swede. 'Tis a goodly land, good father. Here grows the vine ;
here flourishes the corn ; and here in contentment may we sow and
husband our crops.

3. Swede. Peace, too, for a score of years has been our portion.
Under England's beneficient rule, no danger has beset us, save that


now and then, some wandering redskin, driven to desperation by
a fancied wrong, has donned war paint and with bow in hand has
forgot the ancient peace between his tribesmen and us.

1. Swede. Of late, however, this has been rare. The new settlers who

so recently came, the sober men, the demure women whose garb is
plain, whose manner of life and speech is so soft and musical, have
so befriended the neighboring tribes that no longer are the old
grudges against our race remembered.

". Swede. A pleasant people indeed are these men and women who,
in derision, have been called Quakers. 'Twas but a day or two past
that, as I hunted toward the^north, I met one of them, neighbor.
He told me wonderful news of the governor who is daily expected.

All. A new governor.

A woman. Tell us. Tell us.

3. Swede. Gather ye around and I shall recount to you the tidings.
Not more than ten years ago, I am told, the Admiral of England's
Fleet, the great John Penn, died and was gathered to his fathers.
His son, a noble, straight and worthy youth, coming under strange,
dissenting influence, turned his back on the established Church of
England, and for his faith, suffered greatly.

2. Swede. Methought that England, great and wise, would never
dream of forcing on one a belief distasteful to him.

1. Swede. 'Twill take years for such a thing to come.

0. Swede. Perhaps! To return to the story : The King, it appears,
was indebted to the Admiral, and in payment, the son took a grant
of land in this new country. Penn's Woods he called it, and —

Enter a messenger hurriedly.

Mess. A ship in full sail has just come up the river.

2. Swede. Who is she? Whither bound ?

Mess. No sooner did her captain round the bend of the river and see
our little village than up he brought her into the wind, and as the
white sails fluttered in the sunlight over splashed the anchor.

Crowd. Yes. Yes.

Mess. No sooner had she lost headway than a boatload appeared over
her side.

1. Swede. To arms! The Dutch! The Dutch!

Mess. No. No. Alarm yourselves not, my neighbors. 'Twas
William Penn, the new governor, come to take his place in the new
colony. Hearing that you were gathered for the harvest festival,
he said he would come himself to greet you. I ran all the way from
the landing to warn you. I fear they will soon be here. (Looks
off.) See where they come through the parting trees.

Enter Penn and sailors.

Penn. Friends, for so ye be, to thee and thine I come as owner of this
new land. Let no man think I wish to change in any degree his
mode of life so long as he honors God and respects his neighbor.

1 . Swede. My neighbors and I, your Excellency —

Penn (interrupting). Nay, my friend, to thee I am William; none is
excellent but God.

1. Swede. Friend William (Penn nods approvingly), we have but
just learned of your grant. Patient tillers of the soil are we. We
live in peace, and desire nothing better.

Penn. I come to found a city of brotherly love, built on the broad
foundations of freedom and tolerance. Wherever my land extends
every man may worship as it seems good to him.

(Murmurs of approval.)

Penn. Oft have I watched, in my old home over the sea, friends
snatched from friends, men and women, too, thrown into dungeons
dark, because they dared believe otherwise than the king. One
day I caught a glimspe of a time when men's consciences should be
their guides. I looked over the wide trackless billows and beheld
Freedom (Freedom appears at the hack) crowned in glory. Look,
my friends with me (they look to the back of the stage), and pray
(they fall on their knees) that never from this new home we have
carved from these forests, shall the splendor and the blessings and
peace of liberty depart.
(They rise to their feet as the form of Freedom disappears.)

1. Swede. Brother and governor, the hour we have prayed for has
come. We left our homes years ago hoping for this day. We will
hold up thy hands so that liberty may never depart from our midst.

All. Ay ! Ay ! Long live Governor Penn !

Penn. Friends, neighbors, I must haste to Shakamaxon where I am
daily expected. Remember, in the new government all law abiding
citizens shall have a voice. Farewell. (He departs zvith sailors.)

3. Swede. This has indeed been a happy day. Come neighbors, let
us bring it to a fitting close.

They dance and after the dance the stage is cleared.

Chairman, Mrs. Webner.


Professor William S. Dve, Jr.


fohn Mr. Gerheart

William Mr. Smith

Doris Miss Munyon

Margery Miss Shell

First Quaker Mr. Weeks

Second Quaker Mr. Gorhani

Fiddler Mr. O'Brien

Sellencer's Round

Misses Smith, Lyons, Moul, Kelley, Mouer, Markell, Gass,
Sparrow, Noble, Paul, Mackey, Homer, Faloney, Davis,
Mouer, Hoover, Cooley, Critchlow, Miller, Vardly, Boylson,
Stage, Vaughn, Houston

Messrs. Hall, Deering, Sharkey, Keyser, Blackman, Foultz,

Hardy, Titterington, Griffiths, VVyant, Lewis, Neal, Somers,

Barnhart, Gress, Wilde, Sligh

Goddesses. .Mr. Blackman, Mr. Foultz, Mr. Keyser, Mr. Hardy,

Miss Roberts, Miss Roberts, Miss Seeds, Miss Nearhoof

Confess Mr. Hall. Mr. Wilde, Miss Starrett, Miss Foss, Miss

Hamler, Miss Himes
Hunston House. .Mr. Wilde, Mr. Deering, Mr. Sligh, Mr. Hall,

Miss Bressler, Miss Foss, Miss Pattee, Miss Kessler
Parson's Farewell. .Mr. Deering, Mr. Hall, Miss Hamler, Miss

Flamborough Sword Dance. .Mr. William E. Lewis, Swordmaster;
Mr. Foultz, Mr. Gress, Mr. Wyant, Mr. Wilde, Mr.
Griffiths, Mr. Barnhart, Mr. Sligh
Peas Cods. .Mr. Wyant, Mr. Houston, Mr. Deering, Mr, Blackman,
Mr. Gress, Miss Shoemaker, Miss Alexander, Miss
Parker, Miss Sandles, Miss Bair

Quaker Song — By Sidney Batchller

Children from the Observation School
Trained by Laura B. Staley
Committee, Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Smith

Girls — Grace Frye, Mary Kobb, Louise Musser, Eugenia Gravatt,
Pauline Zook, Margaret Resides, Alma Neidigh, Lora Long,
Leota Scott, Janet Long, Lucille Mease, Marjorie Frizzell,
Adelaide Rapeer, Sarah Mallory, Mary Houser, Marie


Boys — Gordon Webner, Spiegel Dotterer, Richard Lehman, James
McCafferty, Herbert Kock, Billie Holmes, Daniel Musser,
John Thompson, Wilbur Resides, Richard Bottorf, Calvin
Shawley, Adrian Murtorff, Edgar Lonberger, Mahlon Robb,
William Jones, Kenneth Bottorf, Charles Williams, Russell

English Song "A Round"

By Children of the Observation School
Trained by Laura B. Staley
Committee, Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Smith

English Song "Boating Song"

By Children of the Observation School
Trained by Laura B. Staley
Committee, Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Smith

Song "Ruben, Ruben"

By Adaline and John Holmes

English Dances "A Hunting We Will Go"

By Children of the Observation School

Girls — Helen Musser, Corinne Holter, Marguerite Hoy, Veda

Shawley, Helen Markley, Florence Garme, Caroline Kess-

inger, Adene Resides, Mary Hoy, Adene Holmes, Millicent


Boys — Frank Resides, Daniel Lonberger, Ned Willard, John

Holmes, Richard Ewing, Sidney Grieb. Claud Kock.
The scene represents a village green at some little village outside of
Philadelphia in the olden time. There is an old Maypole in the
center of the stage. There is a gathering of men and girls on
the green.
Doris. Come, girls, too long have we been ruled over by the dour-faced
Quakers. No pleasures, no dancing, only plain dresses, going to
meeting, and long faces.
Margery. And here it is May Day. Look where the Maypole stands.
Why, I declare it is beginning to bend with sorrow, it has been so
long unused.
John. It is a shame. I remember the day we dragged it from the forest

and set it up there.
William. And I recall most vividly how that same day after we had set
it there and were just about to begin our merry-making, down came
the dour faces and threw several of our number in jail because we
would indulge in innocent pleasure.
Doris. Do you remember, the solemn looking one. (She comes for-
ward and mimics.) "Flee ye from evil pleasures that corrupt the
flesh, lest ye be eternally damned."
(They all laugh.)
William. All you need, Doris, is a gray dress and one of those poke
bonnets and of course a little religion and you would make a beau-
tiful — Quaker.
John. But what do you think I have just heard ?
Margery. Can't guess. What is it?
John. Things have fallen out ill with the zvorthy proprietor, and he

has been called back to England.
All. Fine, good, excellent.


Doris. Then, perhaps, again we may do as we used to do in those good

days beyond the sea ?
John. I am told that there is dissenton in the new government. No

one seems to know what laws are to be enforced. I have even heard

that a place of entertanment was opened on Market Street in

the city.
William. What, do you mean to say that the "lid is off" in Phila-
delphia ?

(John nods his head.)
Margery. The good old days have come again. We may dance, we

may sing. Merrie England will be born again in this new land.
William. Let us begin it. 'Tis May Day. Come, join hands around

the Maypole. Fiddler, strike up Sellenger's Round.

(Fiddler begins to play.)
William. Now !

They all dance around the Maypole. At the conclnson of the dance,
they break up in couples, and breathless shout,

Good! Good!
Doris. Now a song.
John — Let it be a real rollicking one!

One of the group conies forward and sings an old English song and
all join in the refrain.

Applause greets the end of the song.
Doris. Let us dance another.
John. What shall it be ?

Doris. O! let me see. (A slight pause) I know: "Confess."
John. The very thing. Take your places. I'll call the figures ; Fiddler,
strike up the tune.

(They dance. Tozvard the end of the dance two Quakers appear
R. and express their horror at such ungodly proceedings. As
the dancers are about to separate at the end of the dance, one
of the Quakers, followed closely by the other, comes dozvn in
their midst. The group parts quickly to right and left in
apparent consternation.)
Quaker. Hence, ye godless creatures. Know ye not the law against
such worldly actions ?

(By this time they have recovered their senses and laugh at him.)
Quaker. Do ye take advantage of the governor's absence to transform
the liberty he gives you into such unseeming license? On the

John. Do you threaten us ? Too long have we been repressed in our
innocent pleasures by such thees and thous as you. Simple pleas-
ures are as necessary to life as long faces and holy smiles. Come,
my neighbors, too long have we been straightened by such as these.
Let us drive them back to their land.

(The crozvd gathers around the Quakers and with cries of derision
they hustle them off the stage, and the scene ends.)


Chairman, Miss Mary Christ


Professor John H. Frizzell


The father, a Scotch-Irishman Mr. Frizzell

The mother, an Irish woman Miss Mclntyre

The son, a youth of twenty Mr. Keyser

The daughter, about the same age Miss Dewar

Two children, boy and girl eight and eleven, respectively

John and Adeline Holmes

Song— "The Little Pigs Had Done It" Miss Dewar

Trained by Mr. C. C. Robinson

Dublin Jig.. Miss Korb, Miss Rich, Miss Starrett, Mr. Foultz,
Mr. Wilde, Mr. Barnhart.

The scene, a level spot at the edge of a wood, the night camp
of a Scotch-Irish family in ike Cumberland valley. At the left is
a Conestoga zvagon, in the center a campfire at ivhich the Mother
is busy preparing supper. At the right, a large log, on the ground
in front of zvhich is a blanket on which two children, a boy and a
girl, are at play, building a house of sticks. A daughter assists the
mother, bringing plates and a blanket for a table from the zvagon.
As the curtain rises, an older son enters from the rear zvith a pail
of water. As he sets it dozvn, the Mother speaks.

Mother, Saw ye no yer fayther, laddie?

Son. Nay, Mither, but I had thought he would be back e'er now.

Mother. He was to fetch me a bundle of sticks for me fire, but no doot
he has forgot us entirely and is awa' in search of a good place for
the new home we are to mak' here i' th' wilderness.

(Meanzvhile the daughter has gone off to the left and stands
listening intenly. She speaks now.)

Daughter. Hark ! I hear him. Is not that his whistle ?

All listen intently. The strains of "Kathleen Mavourneen" are
heard, at first faintly, and gradually coming nearer.

Mother. Ay, lass, 'tis the fayther. 'Twas ever his favorite tune that.

As she finishes speaking, the father enters carrying a bundle
of sticks and an axe, which he lays down and speaks.

Father. Weel, Mither, A've found the spot. Here in this noble valley
we'll mak' oor bit home, and it's glad ye'll be afther all these weary
miles, A'm theenkin'.


Mother. Thrue for ye Fayther. 'Tis a long way we've come.

As mother and daughter turn to the fire, the father goes to
the log and sits. To him the son speaks.

Son. Father, why have we come all this way ? Ye have told me how
we love the home-land, why then come so far away from it?

Father. That, laddie, I canna rightly say. Yer Scotch-Irishman is an
odd mixture of restless imagination, of day-dreaming, of visioning,
and of shrewd canny practicality. He is ne'er content wi' things
as they are, and least of all wi' himsel' as he is. And yet, lad, I
would not have ye lose the characteristics of the race, but rather be
ever proud of them.

Son. Then tell me, what are these characteristics?

Father. Ye must know first, then, that we Scotch-Irish, fear God and
respect the law. Two things we hold in absolute reverence — re-
leegion and eddeecation. These with an unquenchable love of
leeberty, ceevil and releegious, inhere in the race.

Son : But what will such traits as these do for us, father, in this wild
new land?

Father. Here, lad, as they did at home, they will teach us watchful-
ness, self-control, thrift, caution in word and deed, and a habit of
seeking and knowing the why of things. No race in the warld is
so determined to knozv. We have sma' respect for a belief or a
faith that hasna a reason or a preenciple back of it. 'Tis bred in
the bone, ma lad.

Son. But doesna this breed argument?

Father. Argement? Why, lad, to argue is our sublimest joy, nex' to
going to law, as we say, and a joy shared a like by ploughman and
preacher, for't is our instinct that all must know.

Son. Ay, father, but how are we going to learn ?

(During the progress of this dialogue, the children, tiring of
their play, have run to the fire to see what has been occupying their
mother and sister. Presently, getting in the way of the tzvo zvomen,
they are bundled off and run and hide in the shadows near the

Father. Away back in the sixteenth century, John Knox devised a
system that in every parish there must be a school, and every boy
in the school. That system is as much a part of the race as the
love of argement. It will lead us, here, to build our schools along-
side oor meetin'-houses, and in time, mayhap, to build colleges.
Edeecation means the ladder to success, ma lad, and no sacrifice is
too great to get it.

Son. Aye, father, it is splendid, all this, but do we have these traits,
shall we do these things?

Father. Ay, lad, and more, and we'll put them to use for the welfare
of oor own kind and the upbuilding of this new land. We have
ever led in the cause of leeberty and independence, and have stood


ever for the right and for equal rights to all men. We must never
fail oor new country, lad, be it in peace or in w^ar.

As the father ceases, a whip-poor-will call is heard. All start
and listen. Again it is heard, and the children, frightened, run in
to the mother, crying out:

Children. Mother, mother, what is it?

Mother (gathering the children in her arms). Be not af eared, ma wee
dearies, 'tis but Padraic the Piper piping for the gentle folk to
come and dance.

Children. But, mother, is Padraic over here in this new land, too?

Mother, Ay, Padraic is everywhere the Irish heart goes, and always
he pipes for the gentle people.

Children. Oh, mother, do tell us about him again.

Mother. Come, then, here where the fayther sits, and hearken. (Seats
herself beside the father, the children at her knees looking intently
up into her face. Again the whip-poor-tmll calls, tzvice.) Once
upon a time everybody in Ireland was hungry, for there was neither
stir-about for the childther, nor praties for the elders, nor meal
in the bin. No one knew what to do, and so finally Padraic the
Piper made up his mind to play for the gentle people to dance, and
to ask the granting of a wish as his pay. So he took his pipe —

Children. But you didn't tell us where he got his pipe, mother.

Mother. Och! I forgot that did I no? Well, he cut a reed, not a
common reed, ye mind, but one that grew in the loch, by the side
of a gentle hill, where the wind o' the moorland could toss it by
day, and the feet o' the gentle people brush it o'nights, and where
the throstle sang its sweetest. An' he cut it wi' clean hands and
happy thoughts, while the dew still clung to it, and hung it to dthry
where it could catch the laughter o' little children. And then —

Children. And then he played on it for the fairies, didn't he, mother?

Mother. Ay, afther it was dthry, though. Then he made it into a pipe
and wan night he went out and piped for the gentle people, and
when they came he told his wish — stir-about a-plenty for the chil-
ther, and potatoes and meal in the bin, and then he wint away an'
piped for them.

Children. And didn't he ever come back, mother?

Mother. Nay, for always the fairy folk kept him as their own, and
when at night ye hear him piping, ye may know that he is about
his work of love and sacrifice.

In the momentary silence that, follows, the call is heard again.

Father (to the son). An' there, ma lad, ye have th' ither side of it —
the pathos, th' sentiment o' the race.

Son. Ay, father, I was wondthering about that. I was wondthering if
the solemn things ye've been telling me were all, — if there were no
fun, no music, no poetry, no sentiment.


Father. Aluch, lad, in this warld is too deep for words, and we do
not always wear oor hearts on oor sleeves. But nowhere will ye
find warmer hearts, or truer friends or deeper lovers. Ay, lad, the
sentiment, tho' seldom on the lips, is always there, deep down, ready
at the right touch to show itself forth in blood or life as freely
as ever life or blood were offered.

Daughter. But did ye never dance, father ?

Father. D'ye hear the lass, mither? Did we never dance? Ay, that
we did an' often. Can ye no a'most hear the fiddle, mither ? Hark !
D'ye no hear it? And look — yonder there, can ye no sec the lads
an' lassies as they danced upon the green?

As he speaks, first the fiddle sounds, and tJien the dancers enter

from behind tJie zvagon, and dance before tJie fire

As the dance ends and the dancers go out, the family gaze

intently after them a moment, then all rub their eyes, and look at
one another in amazement.

Father. Did ye see them, mither, or was I dreaming?

Mother (rising with practical houscivifcly manner and tone). Och,
'twas dhreamin' ye were, sure. ,. .but. .. .1 thought I saw them
mesilf . . . . Ochone! But come now, all of ye, for the supper is
near cold, and the wee dears are near noodin'.

As all go tozuard the blanket ivhere supper is laid, the father
halting as if still in a dream, the curtain falls.


Chairman, Mrs. Wilde


Professor William S. Dye, Jr.


Oswald Mr. Bartges

Gretchen Miss Thoman

Jacob, the hired man Mr. White

Heinrich Mr. Yetter

Hans Mr. Skweir

Mina Miss Tennant

Hilda Miss Greene

Two Songs — Die Lorelei, Trene Liebe German Chorus

Trained by Harry T. Collings

The scene represents the outside of a Pennsylvania German
home in Lancaster or Berks or any other Pennsylvania German
community. In the center of the stage is a large cauldron zvith a
fire burning under it and a stirring apparatus fixed on the top.
Several buckets are on the stage and a pile of large bowls for paring
apples are stacked in a corner. In another corner are several bas-
kets full of apples. At the opening of the scene the old farmer
enters from the rght and at Jiis call his wife enters from the left.
Oswald. Gretchen! Gretchen! Wife! Wife! I say, wife!
Gretchen. (Enters L.) Coming, coming.

Oswald. Good wife, is all prepared ? The neghbors will be here shortly.


Online LibraryWilliam S DyeFather Penn : a pageant presented by the members of the summer session of the Pennsylvania State College, Monday, August 2, 1915, at 8:30 p.m. → online text (page 1 of 2)