History of Reynoldsville
Chapter VI - Unclassified

Poetry. The four poems which immediately follow were written by ex-Congressman William Orlando Smith and were published at different times in The Punxsutawney Spirit which he has edited for many years. Mr. Smith, son of John S. and Susann Smith, was born in Reynoldsville and lived here until he arrived at early manhood.

Archie Campbell and Jimmy Kyle

Archibald Campbell and his friend Jimmy Kyle
Were sturdy old gents from the Emerald Isle.
Jimmy lived on a farm below Prospect Hill,
And Archie kept tavern in old Reynoldsville,
Now this was long since, perhaps during the war,
And possibly even a few years before.
Both were thrifty and close, and knew to the cent
Precisely the quantum of money they spent
It happened one day, In the course of affairs.
That the old Prospect graveyard needed repairs.
It had grown up with briars, bushes and trees;
The fence was quite rotten and weak in the knees;
And tombstones that ought to be standing erect
Were prone from a true, upright course to deflect
Now this was a shame, the good citizens said,
For they ought to show more respect for the dead.
And so they agreed, to accomplish their ends,
To raise a subscription amongst their good friends.
Tom Dolan, Ed. Seeley, Ben Haugh and Pete Brown,
George Sprague and Wash Fuller all put their names down.
But still they were short, and to increase the pile
They handed the paper to old Jimmy Kyle.
For a ten-dollar bill he wrote down his name,
And said he'd make Campbell contribute the name.
Then forth with his paper friend Kyle did essay,
Talking thus to himself as he wended his way:
"Sure Archie is ruch; he culls whusky and ale,
An' a paltry tin dollars he never would Yale."
And thus with himself he debated the case
Till firmly convinced, when he reached Archie's place,
He knocked at the door of the old Sandy Lick
When Archie hopped up and opened It quick.
"God mornin'," said Jimmy, all wreathed in a smile,
"An' how's Muster Cummell" "Quite wull, Muster Kyle,
Except fer me legs, for yes know how it is
Fm bothered a gud bit with ould rheumatic.
In a gineral way me health's gad enough,
An' I'd be all right if I wasn't an stuff?
"An' how's Mary Ann?' "She Is gud-very gad;
She's out in the back yard spluttin' some wud."
"Muster Cummel," said Jimmy, "I'u sthate what I want;
We're fixin the cemetery over beyant.
I've a subscruptilon papur I'd like yea to sign:
Just put down yer name for a tin below mine."
"Egad!" exclaimed Archie, "not a cint will I guv
I won't be buried there, sir, as long as I luv"
We duffen on that pint," said Kyle, "be me s'uy
If I luv an' kape me health, Archie, I wull"

Fishing In Sand Lick

I remember in the spring time
Some thirty years ago,
The little kids In Reynoldsville
Would oft a fishing go.
Down to the mouth of Soldier Run-
Right there below the chute
With cotton lines and bobbins red,
Bare-footed they would scoot.
Tommy Green and Johnny Consor,
Sam Sprague and Harry Doyle,
Julius Caesar Ferris,
Bob Clark and Mauris Coyle,
Tom Reynolds and Clint Reichard, too,
Bid Smith and Jim McCreight,
As anglers were regarded then
As simply "out of sight"
If the Babes would not bite well
That day below the chute,
To "Strouse's Landing" they would hie,
Or down to the "Elm Root"
If still the fish evaded them
Their pockets they would cram
With lines and hooks and bait boxes,
And strike for Gould Scott's dam.
And there upon the old platform,
Just where the boom was tied,
They'd sit and Bob in sun or storm.
All eager, side by aide.
"Don't make a noise," Tom Greene would may,
"Ain't you got any sense?
You'll scare the sunfish all away
And drive the suckers hence!"
Now Caesar Ferris gets a bite;
"Whoop-ee! Just see 'Im rush!"
"Gosh blame the luck!" cries Mauris Coyle,
"My line's fast on some brush!"
Then Caesar pulls-a mighty jirk
His fish-line goes "kerswish!"
"Don't swear! Don't swear!" says Harry Doyle,
You'll never catch a fish."
And there the boys would sit and fish
Until the day was done.
Drowning the angle worms by scores
And having barrels of fun.
Man's cup of joy will never be
As full and as complete
As In those happy days when he
Went fishing with bare feet.

"Daddy" Aber

In Reynoldsville, long years ago,
When Caesar Ferris wore knee breeches,
When L. P. Seeley's name was "Lo;'
And Hannah Fry believed in witches,
There lived In that sequestered town
A fat, smooth-faced, bald-headed cobbler,
Who seemed halt bogy and half clown
A short, round-bellied, blunt-ring wabbler.
The boys were all afraid of him
Because he was so very fussy.
They seemed to think him strong of limb
As he was ponderous and pussy'
And yet they loved to make him mad,
And badger him till he would chase them,
Using his knee-strap for a gad
With which he often sought to lace them.
This funny cobbler hated noise
And loved Platonic contemplation,
But people thought he hated boys
With fierce and bitter execration.
And yet he was a gentleman,
A kind, accommodating neighbor.
Built on a comprehensive plan,
And known to all as "Daddy" Aber.
The boys for half a mile around,
Who loved to pester and harrass him,
By Aber's shop were often found
To pelt his windows and to "sass" him.
Then the old man would sally out
And chasethem like a lot of rabbits,
And froth and fume and rave about
Their manners and their nasty habits.
One morning down the dusty road
He chased a crowd of little ruffians;
Bare-headed, swelling like a toad,
Pursued the dirty ragamuffins
When suddenly Bid Smith tell down
And bumped his head upon the bottom!
Then Tommy Greene and Billy Brown
Yelled lustily: "Old Aber's got him!"
And Caesar Ferris looked askance
From his retreat behind some lilacs.
While Cal Fye mourned the luckless chance
That brought about this awful climax!
Tom Reynolds thought Bid's time had come,
And turned to watch old Aber smash him;
And Johnny Connor scooted home
For fear he'd also catch and thresh him.
On came Old Aber, puffing red
A real Bosbastes Furioso
While Sidney's nose It freely bled,
Which made him yell and sniff and blow so.
When Aber reached the prostrate youth
He raised the strap as if to smite him!
But when he new the blood-good sooth
It seemed to soften and affright him.
Then with the gentlest kind of grace
He stooped to life the young offender.
And wiped the warm blood off his face,
And spoke most soothingly and tender.
He brushed the dust from Sidney's clothes,
Then waddled back into his shoe shop
And something trickled down his noee
Sam Saxton said looked like a dew dren,
From that day forth no boy was known
To vex or trouble the old shoe man,
Because the cobbler thus had shown
That he was tender as a woman.
The boys became his firmest friends.
And he the kindest, gentlest neighbor,
And after that to make amends,
They always called him "Uncle" Aber.

The Old Sugar Camp,

In childhood's awe-inspired days,
When forests teem with elfs and tars,
When darkness has a mystic dread And bogies lurk beneath the bed,
There's always some enchanted spot
Some woodland nook or sylvan grot
O'er which the fancy casts a spell
And spooks and sprites and fairies dwell.
The Sugar Camp behind the hill
North of the town of Reynoldsville,
Where ev'ry Spring the village boys
Spent the glad hours in rampant joys,
Was such a fairyland to ma
We knew each shrub and sugar tree,
Each towering oak or poison vine,
Each "sad hemlock and solemn pins"
And when the maples were on tap
We carried wood and gathered sap.
The old-time "cplle" and sugar-trough.
The eager Joy of "stirring off,"
The fire round the kettle glowing,
The "speck" to make It quit o'er-flowing.
The "skimmer" and the old sap-yoke
The ghosts of perished youth invoke.
With sugar water half boiled down,
Like imps and satyrs we eat round
On loge and stumps, with old tin cups,
Sipping the sweets In soulful sups,
Or with a self-complacent grin
We'd drop the "spots" in a tin.
Then twist it up in funny shapes
And munch it like a lot of apes.
A score of boys was always there
The labor and the fun to share.
A more uncouth or savage band
Could not be found in Zululand.
Of leather-wood we made us whips.
Tobacco plugs of birch-bark chips;
And oft with shouts of impish glee
We'd skin the slippery elm tree.
Along the side-hill plenteous grew
The "ramp" and "inJun turnip" too.
Of all vile roots and plants accurst
The "iniun-turnip" Is the worst
how It thrilled us with delight
When some poor kid would take a bite
Then yell and spit and snort and blow
In agonies of grief and woe!
But we were heartless Vandals then
All boys are savages at ten
And worse, for anything that we know,
Than any naked Filipino.
They crave excitement-anything
To make time speed on swifter wing.
But old age cries, "Alas, alacki
Our childhood days, they come not back!'
Yet all of us may live again
The Jocund days of youth, for when
We want a taste of childhood's Joys,
The happy time when we were boy.,
We conjure up within our brains
The bliss of youth without its pains.
Old times and scones we may revamp
And reconstruct our Sugar Camp.

The following was written by Mrs. Margaret Goreline, daughter of Thomas Reynolds. The schoolhouse referred to stood from 1855 to 1870 on the west bank of Cold Spring Hollow near the Reynoldsville borough line and north of the turnpike.

The Cold Spring Hollow School

I often sit a-musts' and dreamin' dreams agin,
A-bringin' back the happy days with childhood's pleasure in;
Bringin' back the winter time-how dreams contrive to fool
And sturdy young-uns trudgin' of to the Cold Spring Hollow school.
Back they come a-trampin' through fancy's magic stride
I seem to see them gatherin' and crowdin' side by side,
To get the nearest to the stove and then, upon my soul.
Through all the years theta vanished
I hear Abner Briggs calling the roll.
David, Reynolds, Harrison Rea, Tilton Reynolds, Albert Reynolds, Thomas Tapper,
Clarinda Reynolds, Jane Howlett, Lucinda Rea.
I hear it just as plain as in the long past day
Washington Fuller, Joseph Green, Esther Green, Christiana Tapper,
Melissa Ferris, Mary Jane Reynolds.
And ringing loud and clear
I hear an answer to each name: 'tis the simple word, "Here"
And later on a teacher speaks of Joan Reynolds;
Oh, I remember well
The sad faces, the teacher's tears, and than
We knew too well we'd never see our dear school mate again.
Now preacher Johnson calls the roll:
Mary Johnston. Julia Howlett, John Howlett, William Reynolds,
John Andrew Huntington, Martha Johnston, Harriet Reynolds,
Sarah Johnston, Alex Yohe, Julia Rea, John Rea, Maraba Ferris, May Howlett
They answer one and all, but
Flora Yohe and Nerve Reynolds come in a little late
They're not excused for distance come, and so it to their fate
To be kept in at recess and miss our games of ball.
Each filled a place and no one could be spared at all.
For 'Nerve was champion striker
Our best runner was Jane Ann,
Who could make as fine a home run as any modern fan,
Then 'tie Harry McClelland calls the roll:
John D. Reynolds, Hannah Miles. Ines Scott, John Conser, Thomas Green,
Susan Reynolds, and her sisters Ide and Lide, with Rose Prescott and
Nettie Test sitting side by side, then Flora Doyle and Settle Smith,
William Orlando Smith, Allan Prescott, too.
Though many years have come and gone from the first roll to the last
My memory juggles them all in and they crowd It thick an fast
The roll's still going on, and now 'tis Brewer's voice.
Julius C. Ferris, Kate Rhodes, Robert Cathers, many more: each answers to their name.
Does each one answer? Well not exactly all.
Since most of them have answered to the Heaven Teacher's call.
'Twill not be long till all are gone that met here year by year; John Howlett, Thomas Reynolds, John IL Reynolds-I awaken with a start.
And something keeps a-swelling and tugging at my heart;
My eyes are opened, can it be that here are our school boys and girls
With hair quite gray In place of raven locks and golden curls.
What did you say-that they are parents and grandparents, too,
Some one, I'm sure, has just been foolin' you.
I'm wide awake: Alan, 'tis true, I know It now too well;
I've just been dreamin' a sweet dream of the past.
We have our dreams, but waken-for dreams cannot last.

A Sketch of Archibald Campbell. The most peculiar character that ever lived in, Reynoldsville and perhaps in this part of the State was Archibald Campbell. Few as eccentric persons ever lived anywhere. He made Reynoldsville his home for over a quarter of a century. His remains lie buried in Beulah Cemetery directly across from the entrance and east of the driveway. A slender shaft marks his grave and that of his wife who lies buried by, his side. On it are inscribed "Archibald Campbell, died July 5, 1876, age 78 years, 9 mo. and 19 days," and "Mary Ann Campbell, Died May 7, 1881. age 78 years, 6 mo. and 27 days." Mr. Campbell for years was landlord of The Sandy Lick Hotel, southeast corner of Main and Seventh Streets. For a long time after they lived in a house on the upper side of Main about 160 feet west of Seventh Street. Archie was so peculiar that the older residents never tire talking about him. In appearance he was comical in the extreme and homely is too mild a word to describe his physiognomy. He was heavy, rather short, had a smooth face, white hair, round shoulders, peculiarly shaped feet, short legs which were crippled by rheumatism, a long body, large abdomen, and every part sadly out of shape. He walked with his left hand under his coat tall and with a cane in his right.
Campbell was a Republican and sometimes attended the Presbyterian church. He was vain, egotistical, loud-spoken, grossly illiterate, not noted for his honesty, close fisted to business transactions, yet liberal occasionally, rather temperate, fun loving, somewhat sociable, enjoyed telling stories, and was not at all cleanly in his personal habits. His wife's maiden name was Mary Ann Kyle and he first met her in the Beechwoods. They had no children. His marked Irish brogue and queer sayings continually provoked laughter. Yet, with all of his odd ways, he was generally shrewd in business and is said to have become worth $5,000 or $10,000. Numerous anecdotes have been told of him.
One Hallowe'en the boys completely whitewashed his buggy. But this could not have greatly disturbed him for he continued using it without removing the whitewash.
One time while in church the contribution box was passed to his wife Mary Ann but she had no money. Archie saw this and, after the box was taken forward, he walked across the church and gave her a one cent piece. Next he went to an usher who, at his request, went to the pulpit, got the contribution box and walked over to Mrs. Campbell who put the money In lt. Mr. Campbell then knew that the entire congregation was aware that Mrs. Campbell had contributed that Sunday.
When he wished to appear generous with a customer while he was keeping store he would turn to his wife and say: "Hey, Mary Ann, guv the gintleman three or tew cigars." He never said two or three. Then in a whisper which could be heard by his customer he would add, "Make It wan."
"Guv the guy a cracker," says Archie to his wife, he wishing to appear open-hearted. Then the boy, peeping over his shoulder, sees Archie nodding to Mary Ann not to do it.
"This lumber which you sold me as nearly all clear stuff is very knotty," angrily declared a customer. "Egad, and it is nearly all clear stuff," answered Campbell, picking up a board. "It's clear from here to here," be continued, "and from here to here and from here to here." It was clear between the knots!
His business dealings were not always shrewd. One time Archie had a friend bid for him when a horse was being auctioned by the sheriff. "I bid $25," began his friend. "I bud $40,' shouted Archie. "You must not bid," remonstrated his friend. "Bud, bud," Archie commanded. "I'll make it $60," his friends announced. "I'll bud $-66, the old Irishman said and, turning to his representative, again told him to "bud." Thus the bidding continued until Campbell got the beast at his final bid of $175 which he might have had for $25 as there were no other bidders.
"Good morning, Mr. Dromedary," said a wag. "Me name is not Dromedary, its Cummell," he answered indignantly.
"What's a peg betwixt friends," said Archie in a soothing manner to a neighbor whom he had cheated out of a porker. He wanted to make up with the fellow but said nothing about the $2.75 due him for the animal.
While talking with anyone he would pound the floor with his can and, at frequent intervals, when endeavoring to make a point, would hit the person to whom he was conversing on the legs or body often so hard that it hurt.
He always had suspicions concerning the honesty of others.
Once when he was about to sell a piece of land to the congregation of the Presbyterian church, to be added to their holdings on the corner of Main and Seventh Streets, he secured the services of a trusted friend who was not as lacking in education as he to consummate the deal. He was very much afraid that the congregation would cheat him out of his property.
"What per cent profit do you make on your goods?" inquired a Pittsburgh wholesaler of Campbell when he was making purchases for his little store. The dealer wished to know whether to extend credit. "Wan per cint," he replied. "We would not care to extend credit on such a small margin of profit," he was told. "Egad;' said Archie, "I know nothin' about yer per cint, but of I buy an article fur wan duller and sull it fer tew I don't thunk I will loose very much money." He got the goods.
Campbell's money loving spirit was manifested to the last. When, on his death bed, he called an old friend to his side and said: "Yes now hav hod a watch in yer possession whuch I guy yes fur safe kapin' a long long time ago. I wull soon die. Yes hov been a good frind 'en, egad, to show me appreciation, if yes wull pay me $60, I wull make yes a prisent of the watch, so I wull." But as $40 would have been an exorbitant price for the old time piece the good friend refused the offer with thanks
One of his greatest delights was to buy almost any kind of second hand or other old article for as near nothing as possible and then sell it for as good a profit as he could, or trade it for something of considerable value. Many of the things be bought in this way appeared. to most people as worthless, and yet he invariably succeeded In making money. Probably the oddest and, apparently, the most useless purchase he ever made was a well built hardwood comn which he got for a fraction of its real worth because no one wanted it. But even that proved to be a good bargain-at least for his widow. He was buried in it.
When death was very near two neighbors were at Archie's bedside. One was wrapped in fervent prayer when Mary Ann, who could not have been deeply Impressed with the spiritual offering at that solemn hour, stepped into the room and, with a wave of the hand, said: "Wait a moment Mr. Prescott-"Say, Archie, did yes return Miles Huntington's cross-cut saw?"
A few stories told of Archie Campbell were of such a nature that even the most credulous might doubt them. However, one will be given for what it is worth and the reader will be left to accept or reject it. The old man was dying. His affairs had just been settled when it was found that a $50 bill was missing. He halted in his death struggles, so the story goes, until the money was found. Then he passed quietly away.

SOURCE:  Pages 86-94, History of Reynoldsville and Vicinity Including Winslow Township by Ward C. Elliott. Punxsutawney, Spirit Publishing Company, 1922