BIO: Sally Boyles, Tillard Pen Pictures, 1911, Blair County, PA Contributed April 2003 for use in the USGenWeb Archives by Judy Banja Copyright 2003. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/blair/ _________________________________________ Pen Pictures of Friends and Reminiscent Sketches by J. N. Tillard Altoona, PA: William F. Gable & Co., Mirror Press, 1911 Sunny, Cheery Nature "AUNT SALLIE" BOYLES, Once Queen of Social Circle, Still Remembers Old Friends WHEN a Mirror representative called at 119 Fourth Avenue and was ushered into the presence of "Aunt Sallie" Boyles, now within a step or two of the century mark of her life's journey, he began to realize how swiftly the years of a busy life slip away, when, in tones of gentle reproach, this venerable lady told him that he had not been to see her in twenty-five years. And what memories these well remembered tones aroused. Associated with them he heard other voices long since silent. Forty-five years ago the social centre, at what is now called Greenwood, for the female portion of the population, was "Boyle's Spring." This refreshing fountain of cool crystal water and neighborhood intelligence was presided over by "Aunt Sallie." Her brother, George Pottsgrove, held the men of the community at the same time at the old grist mill in the thrall of his fiddle and recitals of the adventures of his far back boyhood, when he came with his father through the "Kettle" from Frankstown to establish the mill at the foot of Brush Mountain. The boys in the evening time accompanied their fathers to the mill to listen to the bear stories and be thrilled by the "call of the wild," as the cry of the catamount rang along the mountain side. The girls in the summer evenings, after the sun had gone down, followed their mothers to "Aunt Sallie's" shrine. But there was at least one shy, dreamy boy, who, forsaking for the nonce the exciting attractions of the mill, somewhat shamefacedly took up the trail of his mother to the spring. Lying by himself in the waving grass of the great yard he listened to the whip-poor-will song, the gurgling of the water as it escaped in a little cascade over the rough stones to the rushing stream from the mill race. He watched the fleecy clouds floating across the moonlit sky, inhaled the perfume of the old fashioned flowers that grew about him, and thought it a beautiful world in which he lived. There was but little flippancy or idle gossip in this assemblage of God fearing, industrious women. They were too busy ordering their households, and in many cases, keeping the wolf from the door, to have much time for trivial things, for all husbands, fathers and sons physically able to carry a musket, had marched away to the south land, and the chief topic in all gatherings of the waiting women were apt to be tidings or possible tidings of the absent, the loved and lost. It was a sad time for the weary waiters, and the innate cheerfulness of "Aunt Sallie's" sunny nature was a loadstone that drew her neighbors about her. Her gentle, cheery voice always had in it the evidence of a calm spirit that has no doubt contributed largely to her longevity. Always quiet, even and unobtrusive, her sympathetic nature was quick to catch the sound of sorrow, or the note of fear in the conversation, and her power to soothe and brighten was marvellous. Many a weary soul drank of other draughts than the cool water of the spring and carried home with her more than the pail of sparkling fluid for her household needs. Ministering to the afflictions of others, her own have been many. Many years to the rearward, her pioneer father walked out the lonely path that leads to the life beyond. Her mother did not go until she had reached the years now attained by her sole surviving daughter. Four brothers and six sisters have fallen through the passing years. Of her own family, both her daughters are dead, and her husband who was one day brought home from the railroad yards with a missing arm, has joined the silent majority. Plaintively she said to the writer, "they are all gone but me." But she still preserves her characteristic cheerfulness, and her mental powers are also marvellously preserved. She has not forgotten a single old friend. Generation by generation, she picks them out with an accuracy and precision that is startling. And she longs for their companionship and is delighted to have old acquaintances visit her. "I wonder if they still remember me," she said, when some old friends were spoken of. Mrs. Boyles was the daughter of George and Sarah Pottsgrove and was born at Water Street, Huntingdon County, on May 11, 1811. Her father was a mill wright and after following his trade at Williamsburg and Frankstown he came to Tuckahoe Valley when his daughter Sallie was about ten years old, and erected the grist mill where the lower railroad reservoir now is at the foot of Brush Mountain. His descendants have called the place "Highland Park." Here Sallie was married to Henry Boyles on May 15, 1833. Building a house close by, they lived there for more than half a century. Two daughters were born to them, who grew to womanhood and leave children. "Aunt Sallie" now makes her home with one of her granddaughters and her son-in- law, Mr. Scott Williamson, at 119 Fourth Avenue, this city. There are a great many people scattered about the earth, who will still hold her in kindly remembrance and be glad to know that her old age is peaceful and serene. #