 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standage on the Hallmark Playhouse. The Hallmark will bring you Hollywood's greatest stars in outstanding stories chosen by one of the world's best-known authors, the disengaged novelist, Mr. James Hilton. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is James Hilton. Tonight, Thanksgiving night on our Hallmark Playhouse, we present our dramatization of a story which is not only part of the early American tradition, but has also, one could say, endeared itself to the American heart. Written by Longfellow about 90 years ago, this story in verse tells of an incident in the early days of the Plymouth Colony and tells it with such grace and charm that it seems especially appropriate for us to enjoy it on the Hallmark Playhouse tonight. And appropriately also, we have that splendid actor, David Niven, not only to play the part of John Aldin, but to read the celebrated lines of the poem. And now a word about Hallmark Cards from Frank Goss before we begin the first act of the Courtship of Miles Standage. At Christmas, as on every memorable occasion, you'll take special pride in sending Hallmark Cards because just as for hundreds of years, the word Hallmark has been the distinguishing symbol of quality. So today, the Hallmark on the back of your greeting cards is your assurance of finest quality and perfect taste. It's a symbol of quality. All who receive your cards will quickly recognize and realize you cared enough to send the very best. Now, Hallmark Playhouse presenting Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standage, starring David Niven. 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 doublet and hose and boots of cordovan leather, strode with a martial air, Miles Standage, the Puritan Captain. Short of stature he was, but strongly built an athletic rod in the shoulders, deep chested with muscles and sinews of iron. Brown as a nut with his face, but his russet beard was already flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. Near him was seated John Aldin, his friend and household companion. Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower. Aldin was writing the speed at a table of pine by the window, writing epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower, 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. Sudden and loud is the sound of a soldier grounding his musket. Thus to the young man's fake Miles Standage, the captain of Plymouth. Something important to tell you. Straight way Aldin 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. A long winter is behind us. Our numbers have dwindled. There are less of us than when we landed. The country and the elements have won that much of a victory over us at any rate. It's a beautiful country. If you look at it now, you'd think it was always quiet and full of peace and gentleness, wouldn't you? She's a beautiful country in any kind of weather. When the wild storm sweeps down inland from the sea, she's magnificent in her power and her wildness. And when she stands on her mountaintops and hurls the lightning in the rains and the sleet, defiantly down on us, she has a glory like no other country I've ever seen. And when she's finally weary of storm and fury and pulls the snow up over her shoulders and goes to sleep, she's so completely beautiful that the heart of man must turn over within him to observe the perfection of the hand of God. Do you think we will ever actually conquer this country? Have you heard anyone say they plan to return to England when the Mayflower sails tomorrow? Not one. Then I do think that we will conquer this country. John, come to the window. Look, over on that hillside, my wife sleeps. She was the first to die of all who came in the Mayflower. I have, Mr. I do miss her. And I shall always miss her. I know. But the scriptures say that it is not good for a man to be alone. Now I've been alone and sick at heart for a long time now. I have been thinking of marrying again. Well, that's splendid news, sir. Well, this is not good, good country for a man to be alone, nor for a woman either. And I've, I've been thinking a good deal about that myself lately. And after all, she is so completely alone, far down a girl to lose her entire family, father, mother and brother in one winter. Yes. What did you say, sir? I saw once kneeling in the snow beside her graves alone, unprotected. One Indian arrow could have finished her off. I stood behind the trees until she'd completed her prayers. And then I followed her home to be sure she arrived safely. She never knew I was there, but she entered my heart that afternoon. And my heart grew warm again because of her presence. You are speaking of Priscilla? Yes. The pure and maiden Priscilla. John, we've been friends a long time. This is not easy to us. And yet I must. I am a maker of war and not a maker of phrases. Will you, in the name of our friendship, go to Priscilla and say that a blunt old captain, a man not of words but of actions, offers his hand in his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. But miles a message such as this should be given in person. One man cannot make love for another. I can march up to a fortress and summon a place to surrender. But march up to a woman with such a proposal, face a thundering no point blank from the mouth of a woman. I could never face that. I could never face it. But you know your own maxim. You say it over and over. If you would have something well done, you must do it yourself. You must not leave it to others. Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship. What do you say, John? What do you say? Then made answer, John Alden. The name of friendship is sacred. What you demand in that name I have not the power to deny you. So the strong will prevailed, subduing and molding the gentler. Friendship prevailed over love and Alden went on his errand. So the strong will prevailed and Alden went on his errand, out of the street of the village and into the path of the forest. Came to an open space and saw the disc of the ocean, sail this somber and cold with the comfortless breath of the east wind. Saw the new built house and people at work in a meadow. Heard as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla singing the 100th Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem. She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, making the humble house and the modest apparel of Homer's fun beautiful with her beauty and rich with the wealth of her being. Right, John Alden. Good afternoon, Priscilla. You know, I was sure you would start by today. I've been thinking of you all this long afternoon while I sat here spinning. Priscilla, I've something of great importance to discuss with you. What is it, John? Well, I, it's a matter of, are you happy in this country, Priscilla? Yes. Although there are times when I can't help longing for England. There are the neighbors and friends I grew up among, while here, oh, it isn't that everyone hasn't been kind to me here, but, Oh, I know that this country has brought much sorrow into your life. Sometimes when I've been wakened in the night by some scream from the wilderness, I've walked the floor and thought, if I live to see the morning, I shall make plans to return on the Mayflower. A hundred times I've decided to return. She sails tomorrow. And then I would remember how my father used to say, we are the first seeds planted in the wilderness. Not all the seeds will sprout and grow, but from those that do will come a new nation. I cannot fail him. I must stay. Oh, I'm glad that you will stay, but, but it's not safe or right for you to live here alone, which brings me to the main object of my visit today. I've come to you with an offer of marriage. John. An offer of marriage made by a good man and true, my old standish, the captain of Plymouth. John, did I understand correctly? You came to offer me. Oh, he's a fine man, the most worthy man in the colony. Indeed. And does this impetuous captain who makes this hardly resistable offer love me? Oh, he's most anxious to make you his wife. Well, if the great captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, why doesn't he knock on himself and take the trouble to woo me? If I'm not worth the wooing, I am surely not worth the winning. Well, it isn't that he isn't eager, Vistula. It's just that he's busy right now. Busy? Well, he has hardly the time for such matters as this. Well, if he has no time now before he is married, do you think he's likely to find more time after he is married? Well, that, of course, is an entirely different matter. And furthermore, do you think a woman's affection can be had merely for the asking? Well, no, but I... Were you seen to think so? You and that clout of a captain? Bracilla, I cannot allow you to speak of captain's standish in such terms. Oh, can't you? Well, he is a clout, or he would never have sent you in such a matter. Now, see here, he sent me because... because I was his friend. And he thought that I might be better able to speak in your presence than he. Bracilla, he begs me to say to you that often during the dark and lonely nights of winter, he has walked the hours with the music of your name pulsing within him. He has dreamed during those hours, as all men dream, who deeply love, of your face turned towards him, of your eyes, of your lips, of your arms. And he has whispered to you during those hours, if you would but put your hand in mine, Bracilla, then loneliness would end for me. And all the happiness that God can give would be within my arms. Oh, you wonder why he never spoke, Bracilla. Some of us have words to give, but some of us have dreams too deep for words, and I'm never able to give voice to them. Believe me, when I tell you he loves you, he loves you deeply, ardently, irrevocably, as any man must who sees you, and any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish. Why don't you? Why don't you speak for yourself, John Old? What did you say, Bracilla? I said, why don't you speak for yourself, John Old? Oh, Bracilla. Good day, Bracilla. In gone I fought ten battles and sacked in demolition city. Tell me, what happened? I spoke as you asked me. I pleaded your cause as best I could, but when I finished, when I finished... Yes, when you finished. What did she say when you finished? She said, why don't you speak for yourself, John Old? She said, why don't you speak for yourself, John? Yes. Then you betrayed me. Nay, I pleaded no cause but yours. You have betrayed me. I whom you called your friend who supplanted the fraud that betrayed me. Yours is the greatest treason in the world, the treason of friendship. You waited my table drank at my cup. Then you're a creep I entrusted my honor my innermost thought. Oh, I know how you must feel, but believe me... Brutus and Caesar's friends, and you are my friend. That's henceforward. Let there be nothing between us save war in implacable hate. The captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, chuffing and choking with rage, like cords with the veins on his temples. But in the midst of his anger, a man appeared in the doorway, bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance. Rumors of anger and war and hostile incursions of Indians. Straightway the captain paused, and without further question of Ply, took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron. Buckled the belt round his waist and frowning fiercely, departed. Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scabbard growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. Then he rose from his seat and looked forth into the darkness, feeling the cool air blow on his cheek that was hot with the insults. Lifted his eyes to the heavens and folding his hands as in childhood, prayed in the silence of night to the father who seeth in secret. And now as the curtain goes down on the first act of the courtship of Miles Standish, I'm reminded of one feature these hallmark plays have in common, however different they may be otherwise. They all share a fundamental understanding of people, a certain sympathy that gives them a warm human contact with reality. What you've just said, Mr. Hilton, is true of certain great artists too. I'm thinking of Norman Rockwell in particular. Norman Rockwell has a genius for painting all sorts of people, and he paints them with such a happy sense of humor, such kindly understanding. That's why his paintings for hallmark Christmas cards carry such a warm Christmas spirit of friendliness and goodwill. Be sure to see the picture of Norman Rockwell in this week's Life Magazine, painting the very cards you now have an opportunity to buy. Stop in tomorrow at the friendly store where you buy hallmark cards to see these Norman Rockwell Christmas cards. There are several ways to buy them. For only one dollar, you can buy a box of 12 selected hallmark Norman Rockwell cards, or you may choose them individually from a wide selection for each one on your list. If you prefer to have your names imprinted, you will also find Norman Rockwell cards in the Hallmark Gallery Artist album. You can be proud to send these cards. Proud of Norman Rockwell's signature? Proud of that hallmark on the back? A symbol of quality that all who receive your cards will quickly recognize, and they will know you cared enough to send the very best. And now here is the second act of the Courtship of Miles Tandish, starring David Niven. Just in the gray of the dawn as the mist uproars in the meadows, there was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth, clanking and clinking of arms and the order imperative forward. Figures 10 in the mitts, marched slowly out of the village. Tandish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army led by their Indian guide by Hobomuk, friend of the white man, northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty man of King David. Giants in heart they were who believed in God and the Bible. Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth woke from its sleep and arose intent on his manifold labors. Sweet was the air and soft, and slowly the smoke from the chimneys rose over roofs of patch and pointed steadily eastward. Then from their houses in haste came forth the pilgrims of Plymouth, men, women and children, all hurrying down to the seashore, eager with tearful eyes to say farewell to the Mayflower, homeward bound o'er the sea and leaving them here in the desert. Oh Richard, I don't think I can bear it. When that ship sails, we will be completely alone here, without one chance of escape, a small handful of it, and the woods full of savages outnumbering us by thousands. The ship's still at anchor, there's time yet to get our things. Do you want to return? No, if we return it is all for nothing. The lives already lost, the work already accomplished, the tears already shed. No, we'll stay Richard. She's a fine sight riding at anchor, isn't she? Yes, but it's sad to see her return. No, I can't agree with you. It's a proud thing to see her return. She'll go back to England with the news that we survived the winter, and we're remaining where we are. We're holding on every last one of us. You have a good day for your journey, Master. Aye, I want to set sail before we lose the tide. Is there a message you'd have me take back to England for you, Tom? Aye, tell them that Plymouth Rock is the doorstep to a new world. Tell them that Plymouth Rock is the cornerstone of a nation. A safe journey to you, Master, and tell my father that things are well with us, will you? Aye, with pleasure I'll tell them. Well, it's your last chance. If any of you want to return with me, this is your last chance. Anyone coming? Sails set to the west wind. The mayfly has sailed from the harbour. Rounded the point of the guernet, and leaving far to the southern, island and cape of sand in the field of the first encounter. Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic. Born on the scent of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the pilgrims. My friends, let us pray. O holy Father in heaven, we thank thee for the strength that has sustained us, and kept us during the long months behind us. We thank thee for the bounty that thou has given us in the wilderness, for food, for shelter, for warmth within our houses, and within our hearts. We thank thee for the sun, and earth, and rain, and the fruits thereof. We thank thee for the bonds of love and friendship that hold us together in one common purpose. We thank thee for thy vision which brought us here, and for thy guidance, and we pray thy continued guidance to us. And to all who come after us. Amen. Lo, as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian watching them from the hill. But while they spake with each other, pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, look, he had vanished. So they returned to their homes, but Alden lingered a little. Then as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside him. John, I had no wish to embarrass you or to anger you. Oh, I'm not angry at you, only at myself. I had no right to speak. But now, having spoken, this I must say. Your friendship is a far more value to me than all the love your Captain Standish could offer me, where he twice the hero you think he is. Priscilla, there is so much I want to say to you, and so much I can never say. Do you understand? I understand. But thank you. Thank you for saying what you have. I will remember your words as long as I live. Villicent! Villicent! Villicent! My old Standish is dead! Do you hear me? My old Standish is dead! John! Standish dead? Come on, Priscilla. Standish is dead! Standish is dead! An Indian just crossed the world. What happened? The Indian said it was a poison arrow. He was shot down in battle. Oh, God, keep him. God, keep him. Good evening, John. Come in. Priscilla, I've come to speak for myself. From the tent of purple and scarlet is used the sun, the great high priest in his garments, resplendent. Holiness unto the Lord in letters of light on his forehead, blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him gleamed like a greater brass, and the sea at his feet was a labor. This was the wedding mourn of Priscilla, the Puritan maiden. As that of Ruth and of Boas, softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of the betrothal, taking each other for husband and wife in the majesties presence, after the Puritan way and the laudable custom of Holland. And when we're ended the troth and the prayer, and the last benediction into the room, strode My old Standish, the captain of Plymouth. Miles, is it really you? I was angry speaking as I did. God grant you both every happiness. Miles, Saint the good Lord, you're safe to receive where you were killed. We thought you were lost to us. We're happy to have you back, Captain Standish. Very happy indeed. I was wounded, but I've recovered now. My friends, please. My friends, it's good to be back. It's good to hear your voices around me again. And I've stories for you. I've seen parts of this country this last trip that no white man has ever seen before. And I tell you truly, this is a beautiful country. And God has been very good in Priscilla, my dear. You have married the finest man in Plymouth. That's what he said about you. I should have remembered my adage. If you would be well-served, you must serve yourself. And moreover, no man can gather cherries in Kent the season of Christmas. Congratulations, my friend. Thank you, my friend. Idol procession now moves to their new habitation. Happy husband and wife and friends conversing together. 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. David Niven and James Hilton will return in a moment. Would you like to have your Christmas cards painted by America's most beloved illustrator? Well, Norman Rockwell has painted a brand new group, especially and exclusively for Hallmark Christmas cards. And a whole box of 12 selected Norman Rockwell cards cost just one dollar. Distinguished cards that are joyous and appealing, with people so real you feel you could talk to them. Painted as only Norman Rockwell can paint them, with warmth and kindness that capture the very spirit of Christmas. There is a card that portrays Dickens' Christmas Carol. Another card shows Santa Claus asleep while his little elves pound and hammer away on his toys. In this week's Life Magazine, you can see Norman Rockwell at work on this very painting. Tomorrow at the friendly store where you buy Hallmark cards, look for the Hallmark box of Norman Rockwell Christmas cards. They have the Hallmark on the back, a symbol of quality that all who receive your cards will quickly recognize and they will know you cared enough to send the very best. Here again is James Hilton. Well, David Niven, you certainly spoke for all of us and helped us celebrate one of the great days of our year. Thank you, Mr. Hilton, and thanks also to Francis Robinson and Ted Osborn for their fine performances of Priscilla and Miles Standish. And may I say that it was a very satisfying thing for me to be able to spend a portion of this traditional holiday in the Hallmark Playhouse, helping add to the satisfaction these programs and your fine Hallmark greeting cards bring to the public not only on holidays, but all year round. Thanks for those words, David. We are happy to know that you feel that way about our Hallmark greeting cards. This day is that great day Thanksgiving and sometimes in our everyday pattern of living we do forget to express our gratitude for the bountiful amount of joy, freedom, and opportunity that is ours here in United America today. So let us observe the tradition of the meaning of Thanksgiving and all that it symbolizes in true warmth and friendliness. There's so much for us to be grateful for and so the makers of Hallmark cards and all of us here in the Playhouse join in the hope that you are having a most enjoyable holiday. May I invite you also to be with us next week when we present Miss Martha Scott, that fine Hollywood star in Miss Bishop by best treater Aldrich, the moving story of a noble woman devoted to her purpose in life that of teaching. Our Hallmark Playhouse is every Thursday. Our director producer is Bill Gay. Our music is composed and conducted by Lynn Murray and our script tonight was adapted by Jean Holloway. Until next Thursday then, this is James Hilton saying, good night. Look for Hallmark cards that are sold only in stores that have been carefully selected to give you expert and friendly service. Remember Hallmark cards when you carry enough to send the very best. David Niven will soon be seen in the forthcoming Alexander Quarter production, the elusive Pimpernel. This is Frank Goss saying good night to you all until next week at this same time when James Hilton returns to present Martha Scott in best treater Aldrich's Miss Bishop and the week following, Christopher N. Columbus starring Dorothy McGuire. And the week after that, Robert Walker in wedding morning on the Hallmark Playhouse.