The Ebensburg Alleghanian. (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1865-1871, December 24, 1868, Image 1

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in. JAMES, i
rLLIAM KITTELL, Attorney at
Law, Ebensburg, Pa.
August 13, 18G8.
JOHN IENL.U.N, Attorney at xaw,
Ebensburg, Ta.
jw Uluce on mgn street. ,nugi.
nKOKUJi 31. KrJAJJU, Attorney at
IT Law, Ebensburg, Pa.
Othce in Uolonuacie now. augio
-rrriLLIAM II. SECULER, Attor-
ney at Law, Ebensburg, Pa.
Office in Colonnade Row. LugJU
TTrTr.V. V O TM A T. Attornpv at
(JT Law and Claim Agent, and United
;;,ite3 Commissioner for Cambria county, Jii
ssburg.Pa. augl3
JTOilNSTON & SCANLrAN, Attorneys
I.i i T T?l. .-Vn rrr "Pa
Omce opposite the Court House.
L3 Law, Ebensburg, Pa.
C'-i?" Office on High street, west of ! os-
-r s Hotel. augl3
TAMES C. EASLY, Attorney at Law,
3 r.-irrolltown. Cambria county. Pa.
'"" Architectural Uruwings ana specul
ations maue. IIUIB'J
J. WATERS, Justice of the Peace
f Office adjoining dwelling, on ilign St.,
isb urg, l'a. LauP 13-6m.
fn A. SHOEMAlvKK, Attorney at
Law, Ebensburg, Pa.
Particular attention paid to collections.
rti" OCice on High street, west of the Di-;-j0nl.
T. w. DICK,
YMH'ULIN & DlUlv, Attorneys at
i Law, Ebensburg, Pa.
tiT Office in Colonade Row, with m.
Esq. Oct. 22.
the Peace, Johnstown, Pa.
tr" Office ou Market street, corner of Lo-
.st street extended, and one door south of
Tt hue office of m. M'Kee. augl3
Pl)EVlHAUX, M. D., Physician
ii, and Surgeon, Summit, Pa.
tJ Oflice east of Mans'on House, on Rail
road street. Night culls promptly attended
;o, at Lii ofiice. auglS
IJ lUvintr permanently located in Ebens-
bunr, ofers his professional services lo the
cit'iiens of town and vicirity.
Tectb extracted, uilhout pain, with JSttrous
0t. or Laughing Go..
J-r!looma adjoining U. liunuey s store,
'iteitreet. inugi
J The undersigned. Graduate of the Bal-
re College of Dental Surirery, resnectfuL'y
!eri his professional services to the citizens
: Kbrnsburg. lie has spared no means to
ijrouhly acquaint himself with every lm
ivtuient in hia art. To many yearn of per
oaal experience, he has sought to add the
parte J experience of the highest authorities
i Dental ydence. lie simply asks that an
lortunity may be given for his work to
-i'.uk. its own praise.
Ssr'Yill be at Ebensburg on the fourth
ih..J;iy of each month, to stay one wjek.
August ::, 1808.
T 1.0 Y D & CO., Bankers
fciTGohl, Silver, Government Loans and
her Securities bought and :old. Interest
v!?wc! ou Time l'eposits. Collections made
'3 all hccessible points in the Urited States,
:1 a! liauhiug Eusiuesd tranaacted.
August 13, !;.
7 LLOYD & Co., BnnJctr
' ' Altoona. Pa.
Iir.uvi cr. the nriucinal cities, and Silver
v.lV)M for E.ile. Collet tinns made. Mon
eys rectivei oi dennit ..nvntilp nn dm:inil.
uIio!it, or unon ti'me. with interest
i t fo:r rues. faiiQ-13
f , Of Jounstowx, Penxj
''l up Capit a $ CO.000 00
cd'-ie to incr'tisf .- l nn f.nfi (i.)
we buy iin.l sell Inland and Foreign Drafts,
liin t Silver, nnd all classes of Govern-
"L-'i .V-CUn tip.- : i-.nilfR rnl!(rtifin nt Virmi
do a general Banking business. All
-H entrusted til na will rprfivo nrnmnt
a"u cart, at moueraic prices, uive
-'atrial. .
Directors :
Jo is' DiBEP.r,
ur t. . , ...
, r 'I . '
Jacob Levkegood,
! " ' AMl'BELL,
'lj;s Fhitz.
Euw'd. Y. Townsend.
liVTPr t rnnnrtT.
J1- J- r.oismiTS. Cashier. rseo3l v
t '
ii.o vo, i'r jouv lloyd, Cashier.
hui national bank
co vrnxMEXT a gexcy,
iTt r rner Yirgiuia and Annie sts., North
l toona Pa.
rm c "D Capital $300,000 00
' a'''Ta l Pah, 1s 150,000 00
All 1
" Miies3 pertaining to Banking done on
j, terms.
t ',Ual J' venue Stamps of all uenomina-
T ,V'"RJ'3 011 hand.
x0 tin l-,. l ...
'.amr(' ', rs ot h-a"'pF, percentage, in
5i0; allowed, as foil
ows : $.10 to
o7r!rr tent'5 510C to $200, 3 per cent.;
'" upwards. 4 ner cent. rnnn-13
M'KL SINGLETON,' Notary Pub-
fJ2"-co on li- ' Ebensb"'g, Pa.
Ul. n 11 igh Etreet, west of Foster's IIo
vjj LaugI3
J TllP0lJ"an kinds done at
lliGu St., Ebkxsbcrg, Pa.
Cbrhtmas llells.
The bells the bells tne Christmas bells 1
How merrily they ring !
As if they felt the joy they tell
To every human thing.
The silvery tones, o'er vale and hill,
Are swelling soft and clear,
As wave on wave the tide of sound
Fills the bright atmosphere.
The bells th-j merry Christmas bells I
They're ringing in the morn !
They ring when in the Eastern sky v
The golden light is born ;
They ring when sunshine tips the hills,
And gilda the village spire "
When, through the sky, the sovereign Bun
Rolls his full orb of fire.
The Chiistma3 bells the Christmas bells,
How merrily they ring I
To weary hearts a pulse of joy,
A kindlier life they bring.
The poor man on his couch of straw,
The rich on downy bed.
Hail the glad sounds, aa voices sweet
Of angels overhead.
The bells the silvery Christmas bells,
O'er many a mile they sound !
And household tones are answering them
In thousand home3 around.
Voices of childhood, blithe and shrill,
With youth's strong accents blend,
And manhood's deep and earnest tones
With woman's praise ascend.
The bells the solemn Christmas bells,
They're calling us to prayer;
And hark 1 the voice of worshipers
Floats on the morning air.
Anthems of noblest praise ascend,
And glorious hymn3 to-day,
In honor of a Savior born
Come to the church away !
I am an old man; so old am I that,
looking back, life seems very long, and yet
so short, that I do not know whether many
things did not happen in dream. I am
hale, and hearty, and merry, for the mat
ter of that; and when I laugh, my laugh
rings out clearly and loud, they say; so
much so, that it makes the peopla around,
especially my grandchildren, and nephews
and nieces, laugh too. And when I laugh
the old times come back when others, who
are silent now, laughed with me, and then
I am suddenly still, and the laugh dies
away; and when I think of it, ita empty
echoes fill my brain just as it it were sleep
lauirhter in a dream.
When I stop laughing so suddenly, for
the merriment and enjoyment, and, for the
mattCi of that, the grief and pain of old
men, are short and sudden, like those of
children my grandchildren, cud nephcvs
and nieces have a great difficulty to stop
too; and they choke and nudge each oth
er, and say that is a good gtory, uncle;
almost as good as the story you told us
Told yesterday; let me see what it was
I told yesterday. How long ago it seems ;
it must be longer ago than the time whea
I was only twenty years old, a. stalwart,
brave fellow, in Tellow brcechas, black
leggings, a heavy, brass bound, leather
helmet, with a plume tipped with red, and
a clanking sword, which I now could not
lift with my two hands. I was a royal
volunteer then, prepared to resist the
French ; and I and some of my companions
were encamped in white tnts oa the coast
of Kent.
Yes, people think me very merry. And
so, thank, heaven, I am ; for I try to
stand upright, four-square to the world, as
a man should ; but being an old man, I
have blaok places in my heart now, where
no love grows ; barren spots in my memo
ry, and chilled and numbed parts in my
feelings whereto I cannot look back, and
whereon I dare not tread and touch lest
sudden pain should come back, like the
shooting of an old, old wound.
Ueen iu love ? Yes, I should think I
have ; how else could I have grandchildren,
those people who laugh so heart when I
laugh, and make me tell how old I am a
score of times, and say how well I am
Been in love ? I think I was talking
of that, was I not ? Yes, been in love !
Well, wc did love when I was a young
fellow, and I recollect my Alice, and I re
collect her as I loved her when she was
very young, and as I love her now. I
think she could do anything but drink and
smoke or tell an untruth, or do a wrong
action. Her face was a sweet oval ; her
hair a very dark brown, nearly black ; and
her eyes were a deep blue, full of merri
menc at one moment, aye, at all moments,
except when she heard a sad story or was
touched with pain for any one else, and
they grew deeper and deeper as they filled
with tears. Not for herself. She never
cried for herself that I know of, for she
never had a day's illness. But she was
terribly cut up when her brother died, and
that you sec was how I knew her. Her
brother was my right-hand man in my
company. Many's the time lie stood
shoulder to shoulder to me, good at drill,
good at song good at anything. He
used to live near the coast ; and, indeed,
he joined us, and I was one of his tent
fellows, and his chum.
YVell, he knew people that I knew, and
we were soon friends ; and he took me
home to show me Alice. He was always
talking about her, and she about him ; and
when he was there, scarce a look did she
give me. Her brother his name was
Joe, and mine loo could do everything,
and was the be-all and end-all of the world,
I used to think ; and so one day I tried to
run with Joe, and Joe beat me, and Alice
laughed; and then I shot against Joe, and
he beat me too, and she laughed the more;
and I wrestled with him and threw him;
she didn't laugh then, but ran to see
whether he was hurt, and said it wasn't
fair for Joe to tackle a big fellow like me,
although he was nigh' an inch taller. In
short, I could not please her anyhow.
Well, it was one day when we heard
that the flat-bottomed boats of old Boney
were not coming over, and that the army
of Boulogne had melted, bit by bit, away
like a snowdrift, that we made a night of
it. Ay, it was a night, too ! and, being
hot and in the summer, we must need keep
up the fun till the sun came up over the
seacoast, looking red and angry at our fol
ly. Well, Joe and I, the two Joes, as
they called us, ran down to the beaeh and
washed our hot faces, and plunged in the
fresh, salt waves, and were m a minute as
fresh and merry as larks. And after
dressing, Joe must needs take a walk with
me, who was nothing loath, you must know,
along the edge of the cliff. The seas for
centuries have been washing that chalk
bound coast, and at intervals there stand
up pillars of chalk, with seas around them.
The people call such a place "No Man's
Land," and no man can own it, truly.
Well, Joe came to one of those within a
few feet, say twelve, from the cliff, and
turning to me said, --Joe, Junior," said he,
I think I see his bright face now, :L chal
lenge you to jump on that 'No Man's Land,'
I do."
"Joe," said I, hurriedly, "don't b.e a
fool ? It maybe would give way at the
top, and if it did not, how could you jump
back without a run. You'd be struck on
the top like a mad sentinel or a pillar
saint. I'm not going to jump it."
"But I am," said he. And before I
could stop him, if needed I had tried, he
took a run and jumped.
It was so sudden that I could ony stand
aghast when I saw him there. He stood,
inden'd, for a moment, and then he took a
back step, and would have jumped back
when I heard a rumbling sound, and half
the top of the "No Man's Land" part, and
the chalk and earth, and Joe, too, fell
down with a crash oa the rocky coast be
low. I raa round the little creek to the other
side of a small bay, and throwing myself
down on tne turr, str; iched my neck over,
looked over and cried out, "Jce ! Are you
hurt, Joe !"
A faint -oice came up, and I could see
the poor fellow struggling under a iuigo
piece of chalk which seemed to hold him
down in aony. He smiled in a ghastly
way, and said, "itun
run ! the tide's
Well, I did run, and we got ropes from
the tents, aud a few strong fellows hold
them as I twung over the cliff, just reach
ing poor Joe as the cold water was lap,
lap, lapping up to his mouth, taking away
his breath and then running back, crawl
ing over him and leaving bubbles of salt
foam, as if iu sport. I got him out, but he
could not stand. Some bones were broken
and he was badly bruised, so that I was
forced to tie him to a rope, and they hauled
him up, and we took him home.
Well, well, Lo make a long story t-hort,
poor Joe died, with my praise en Lis lips,
and Alice bowed her head like a broken
lily. It was a long time before she got
over it, and summer had grown into win
ter, and winter to summer, to autumn, and
to winter again. The threatening inva
sion was all over; our swords were getting
rusty, our uniforms dirty, and when the
holidays came I left the firm in which I
was a partner, and went to spend a fort
night at my old friend's in Kent.
Alice was there, well and cheerful now,
and reconciled to her loss, though we often
talked of poor Joe, and as the days wore
on we grew closer together, and she called
me by name, and seemed to have trans
ferred her brother's love to me. She nev
er told me so or let others see it, till one
merry Christmas night, when she rejected
all her cousins and her other friends, and
would only dance with me.
We had the mistletoe too. At last, one
madcap fellow proposed that the ladies
should kiss the gentlemen all around when
and how they could; and Alice should play,
too; and she, in a solemn, quiet way, smil
ing sadly, and yet sweetly, too, took me
beneath the Christmas bough, and kissed
me on the lips.
Ay, it's many years ago, but I feel it
now. My heart beat so fast that I hardly
dared return it; but I put my arm around
her and took her gently by -the bay win
dow of the old hall, saying, as I pressed
her hand, "Alice, dear Alice, did you mean
that kiss?"
Well, I need not tell you what she an
swered. 'Tis fifty years ago, fifty years
ago ! and I am surrounded by Alice's dear
grandchildren, and there is one, a little
thing with light and golden hair that will
deepen into brown, who plays around my
knees and tells me her little stories, her
sorrows, and her joys; so quick, so hur
ried in their coming and their going that
they aro like mv own. and n? wo tnR- w
grow quite friends and companions, as my
Alice; was to me.
Bless you, she understands it all. She
is a woman in her pretty ways; her pout
ings, pettings, and quarrelings. She man
ages her household of one wax-doll and two
wooden ones, and tells me, for the wax
doll is the lady and the two wooden ones
are the servants in mob caps and stuff
gowns, Vhen they gossip with a wooden
policeman, who belongs to her brother,
little Joe.
So we are fast friends, little Alice and
I; anc to-night, on Christmas night,!: no
tiei.y hat she Wjuuld notdance or play with
the pink and shiny-faced little boys who
were unnaturally tidy and clean in their
new knickerbockers, with red stockings;
but she came and set by me, and talked
softlj in the firelight as Alice did, and
made me think of fifty years ago. And only
think how old times come back and new
times, like the old; only just think, that
when her mother told her she should
choose a sweetheart, she got a little bit of
mistletoe, and cliuibiiig slily on my knee,
and holding me in talk, as if to hide her
purpcic, though I guessed it soon. J tell
you, sli put her little doll-like arm around
my neci, ana noiaing tne mistletoe above
my head, she kissed me again and again,
and said I was her sweetheart.
So this child-sweetheart brought the old
times h.irk tlio timrs thnf nw cfill o lia.
taut and so near; and the sweet kiss 'neath j
tne rustling leaves made me think ot my
dead Alice in the grave.
Retta's Ciarlslmas Eve.
"Writing to-day, Retta ?" The question
came in a tone of surprise, as Mr. Saun
ders saw pen, ink, and paper placed u;.on
the little table at his bedside.
"Yes, indeed, papa. Why not ?"
"Wrhy, you told me yesterday of wonder
ful preparations for my Christmas dinner,
all to be made to-day; of turkey to stuff,
chicken pie to manufacture, pies to bake,
and pudding to boil, sauce to sweeten, and
gravies to spice "
"Stop! stop! Allow me to remark, sir,
that I am afraid your exalted ideas will
have to come down before your dinner !
But all is done. Was I not up before tho
peep of day, baking and preparing, i:i or
der to have time to spare for the editor of
tho " iX''y fjtn, , -who wants, if you
please, something ani? Funny! My
brains are baked as dry as a chip, and my
head would certainly rattle if anybody
would take the trouble to huko it ! Now,
papa, here is tho pen, thare the ink. xnd
under my hand the paper; only one thing
is wanted I haven't the ghost of an idea."
"It is nil some writers ever do have, and
dreadful hard it seems to be to raise it."
"Do you mean to be personal, Mr. Saun
ders V
"Not at all, Mis Retta. But what are
you going to write, and must il be done to
day ! x ou look tired.
1 am aot very tired, only rather weary
of pots and pans. Literature vil! make
an agreeable variety. Ain't it ninny,
p.;p:-.. to come from tu-;h direfully matter-of-fact
top'i.3 as roast meat snd applo pies
to the 'Sorrows of Soruphina' or the 'wails
of a broken spirit?' But this won't v. rite
my f"iii;y article. Oh dear ! WThat is
ibany'i I ain't. I feel as solemn as that
historical animal, a church owl, though,
r-.ind you, papa, I am by no means prepar
ed to grant that an owl is r:iy more solemn
in a church than he is out of it."
..-Where are all the unfinished articles
you were talking about the other Jay ?"
"Oh, those are my heroics ! They aiu't
funny. They arc the wonderful produc
tions that are one day to place me at the
head of American authoresses, and scud
my name, wreathed in laurel-, down to
posterity. They are to be the evidences
of the 'startling original genius' of our tal
ented contributor, Retta Somers, the highly-finished
artistic finish of which, etc., etc.
You know all about it."
"Well, why don't you finish them ?"
"Because whisper, pupa ; walls have
ears I cannot, if my life depended ou it,
thiuk of a single 'startling original' line
for onft of them."
"Won't any of them do for this emer
gency V
"Well, thero is the young man who fell
ia love with the young lady "
"My 'dear, can you complain of want of
originality V
"Don't be sarcastic, sir. And the young
lady drives him to despair by flirting with
young man number two, and I stopped
there, and have not decided whether it
shall be suicide or pistols for two. 'I hen,
there is my mysterious murder, but I have
made the mystery so deep that I don't see
how in the world I can ever explain it
and anyhow it isn't funnjT."
"Couldn't you introduce a comic song ?"
"Now, papa ! As if bringing one's
muse down to a caterer for bread and but
ter was not sufficiently aggravating with
out being made fun of ! Come, sir, I'll
forgive" you if you tell me soniethiug to
write about."
"Put away your pen, then, and come
here, close to me. Lay your hand in
mine, and now listen. Once upon a
time "
: "Now, papa, you are going to make fun
of me." -
. "You asked me , to make fun for you,
but you must not interrupt me. Once
upon a time, not many years ago, there
lived iu the pleasant city of Y a gen
tleman, who had one little daughter.
May years before, whea this little girl
was a wee babv in hU nmid li I.-.,!
j - j UUU I
his wife in her long, narrow heme, and
taken this tiny pledge of her love into his
inmost heart, lie loved the child fondly,
yet in his love he was blind to many
things that might have made her happier.
As he loved books, music, and painting, he
made her life one round of study and sweet
sounds and sights, neglecting those little
feminine pursuits a woman loves and
craves. , She was his scholar and compan
ion, trained to masculine tastes, yet gentle
and womanly by' nature arid a higher" in
stinct than her father could teach. As
she passed from child to woman, her father
read upon her broad white brow aud in
her clear blue eyes a talent he had never
possessed, and by gentle urging he trained
the gitt till his eyes were gladdened by
reading all the pure outpourings of his
child's genius. A poet born, her prose
was full of geins, and her pen became her
dearest treasure."
"Papa !"
"Listen, llctva. One day, tiprtn all this
dreaming life of pleasant inLorc-ourse taore
came a blow, sudden as tin; iMumk-r in a
sunny summer day. The cii-.-tf-c-i who
held the wealth that had made this iiio an
c:--:y one to indulge in, failed, and swept
oil at ouce the whole fortune upon which
those two depended. This was not all; a
fall upon the ice crippled the father so in
curably that he was i hained by his injuries
to his bed, depend nt for actual bread upon
his child, who:' eighteenth summer had
just opened a fair, loving blossom, train
ed to a life of Insurious ease. It was then
he learned his mistake ; when watching
the noble nature that conquered all diffi
culty, he saw Low the fastidious taste
shrank from such domestic labors as most
women love. With many a paug of bitter
self reproach, he saw the most common
place duties of a poor house fulfilled by
fingers trained to glide over the ivory keys
of a grand piano, saw thejbusy little hands
he had so often watched guiding the pen
now roughened and soiled by cooking,
dusting, and sweeping, and kLew his fair
child a martyr in every detail."
"No, ro ! Love made the tasks easy.
What could rep iy the years of care such a
father had lavished ? She were a disgrace
to her sex if suc-a memory did not gild the
most menial task."
"Hush, lletta, listen. When the little
ready money that had served at first was
gone, the talent that had been the father's
pride became his support. Other eyes
than his loving ones learned to scan and
grew to praise his child's works, and day
after day piles cf neatly written sheets
were transformed into food, medic Ios, and
clothing. Perhaps this might have become
the life of these two, content to always
continue all each other; but odo was a
woman, with a loving heart and noble
womanly nature. Visiting this pair, pas
sing whole hours by the bedside of the in
valid, was a young doctor, whose love for
his profession at fir&t drew him often to
ttudy an interesting case, but who came
soon from a deeper motive. The father,
from his prison Led, had grown to watch
his child's face so closely that evry tho't
of her hear was transparent to him, so he
soon read in her eyes the secret the tried
to hide, aud knew that those two, both
dear to him, were ill more dear each to
the other, ltetta, v. hy do you weep '!
There was no shaae in such love; it was
sought with manly frankness by one worthy
to Avin it. Still, there was a bar. The
young doctor was poor, and when he told
his love, the maiden would not burden him
with a helpless invalid, neither would she
leave her father."
"Oh, papa, how did you know ?"
"The lover himself told the invalid, who
then wrote to see if a hospital could not
afford him a home."
"Never ! Papa, you break my heart."
"Not yet, for the story docs not end so.
Christmas was coming, and the day before,
while the child was busy iu the kitchen at
her distasteful work, the young doctor
came to pay his daily visit. II is story
was worthy of a nov I, for he had received
a legacy from an aunt sufficient to kcer'
him in luxury. He hud purchaed a house,
and a deed of gift iiirtie it his Christmas
present to the father of the w .'nan he
loved. To-nirht, Retta, this iir'tv :t arid
lover move into their new domieih. :u-d
the child, tho loving girl who has so p.i-
tientlv borne dark days, will she not cotue
to trla
icti bright ones r
It was evening when the f;ittinjr was
made, and in the new home the loving
father gave away his treasure to stronger
protection, while there was no happier
heart in that large city, t'aan little Retta's
on that Christmas Eve.
The first traces of Christinas observance
fv-and i.i ancient history are early in the
second century, at Ic."-5t prior to A. D.
138. In some churches, the Epiphany
and Christmas were celebrated as one fes
tival. In the fourth century, after an
claborato investigation, the 25th of De
cember was agreed upon as Christmas, and
has ever since been observed throughout
Christendom. There may still be unbe
lievers, but the historical and astronomical
evidences in favor of this day amount to
alsaost a demonstration, if such language
I vi.oy iar advance.
can ever be applied to that class of testi
mony. We derive our Christmas customs more
immediately from oil England, where it
was a religious, domestic, and merry-making
festival for every rank and age.
On Christmas Evo the beils were rung
On Christmas Eve the :naj was sung ;
That only night in all the year,
Saw the stolid priest, the chalice rear.
Then opened wide the Baron's hall, !
To vassal, tenant, serf and all ;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And ceremony doffed hi3 pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose.
All hailed witli uncontrolled delight
And general voice, ti c happy night
That to the cottage as the crown, - ,
Brought tidings ot salvation down.
England was merry England when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twa3 Christmas broached the mightiest ala
'T was Christmas told the merriest tale ;
A Christmas gambol olt would cheer
A poor man's nean through half tho year.
The custom was to deck houses and
churches with evergreens, to remain until
Candlemas day, (Feb. 2d.) An English
suusutution, alluded to by Shakspeare, de
clared that on Christmas eve no evil spirit
stirred abroad, no witch or fairy had power
to charm, so hallowed was the time. And
a famous hawthorn in the churchyard of
Glaftonbury always budded on the "lAvx
and blossomed on the 25th of December,
and refused, ou the reformation of the cal
endar, to change from the old to the :r
style. All our standard Christmas hymn.-?,
criminate warfare upon the usag . f
Christmas, good and bad. Its pieaousu
and sacred institutions, however, were too
deeply imbedded in the popular heart to
allow them to be set aside by the logic cf
these cold, stern men. Even the women
and children around their own hearth
stones, would celebrate Christmas in spite
of theit frowns. It has become a legal
holiday in most of the States is observed
by giving presents, and is ushered Ia by
religions service.
rlounf aiEieer Case Ball
Ebexsbuuo, Dec. IS, 1SG8.
To the . rs oj The All-... ' wf.i-i
The b ,-" ball sea-ior: h,aT:ng closed, I
propose, -vlth your permission, to briefly
review the phiy of the Mountaineer Club
during the summer just past.
! firing the season, the Club r!aycd nino
' t class gain' s, eight of which it wen,
and l-.-st one.
Th first game of the season was played
w:ai thy Mountain Stars of Altoona, in
Ebensburg, June 20th. Score:
Inn.ngs 1345 0 789
Mountaineers ) 4 0 2 1 14 19 V! 6 57
Mountain Stars 1 0 0 0 0 1 3 3 0 20
The second game was with the Ioniaus
of Chest Springs, i.t Cl.ost Spriugs, Juno
27th. Score :
Innings 123456789 ,
Mountaineers 3 8 3 7 9 7 J G 013
Io.nans G 0 3 0 4 0 4 2 221
TI - third game was with the St. Au
gustines, of St. Augustine, at Chest
Springs, June 27th. Score :
Innings 1 2 3 4 5
St. Aujrustiue
5 12 7 737
I 3 17 2 124
The fourth g.uuo was ti.3 return game
with the Mountain Stars Altoona, at
Altoona, July -ith. Score :
Innings 1 "? 3 4 5
Mountaineers 11 V I 17 2 42
Mountain Starts 0 1 i 2 o 'j
The fifth game was the return game
with the St. Augustine club, at 11 ocas
burg, August 1st. Score :
In,iirgs 1 2 3 4 5 G 7
Mountaiueers 4 7 3 21 10 0 5 5;
St. Augustines 0 0 0 o J 0 0 3
The sixth game was with, the Kickena
pawiings of Johnstown, at Ebensburg,
August 7th. Score :
Innings 1 2 3 4 5 G 78 9
Mountaineers 4 2 5 2 4 5 0 5 f 27
.5 4 3
0 1
0 1
The seventh game wa3 with the Muffins
of Cresson, at Ebensburg, August 12th.
Score :
Innings 1 2 3 4 5 G 7 8 9
Mountaineers 9 G 2 11 10 12 3 8 4 -05
Muffins ...7 2 1 1 2 14 0 0 3 3u
The eighth game was the return game
; with the Ionians of Chest Springs, at Eb
ensburg, August 22d. bcore :
Innings 1 2 345G7 8,9
Mountaineers 2 10 9 7 2 9 13 1071
j lonins. 2 7 1 3 0 3 3 0 1 20
i The ninth irame was the return tranio
vith the Kiekcnamwlings of Johnstown,
; at Johnstown, August 28th. Score :
Innings-- 12 3 456789
Mountaineers 4 3 2 1 0 0 2 0 1 19
Kicks 1 3 3 3 7 3 3 0 427
It will be seen by the above that tho
Mountaineers won eight out of the nino
games played, making a grand total of
423 runs, against 17'J runs by all oppo
nentsor two to one in favor of tha
Mountaineers, and G5 runs over.
The Mountaineer Club was organized in
1SGG, and has played, in all, 20 match,
games. Of these, it won 17 and lost 3..
making a grand total of 088 runs, to -1G4
by all opponents or over two to cue in
favor of the Mountaineers. - '
This is a record of which our Club haa
just reason to bo proud. Probably uu
club in the western parf cf the State can
match it, either in the number of games
played, the number of games won, or in
the. preponderance of runs made over op
some oi them the best m language, aio
of English origin. In this country, ths
New England Puritans made an indis
i .