I wonder if it's the wisest or the kindest thing to do - this paying homage to the memory of a select few out of Saltsburg (and Eldersridge) just because they had endeared themselves to me. It's like making public your invitation of a few notables to a banquet, and letting other folks know they are left out. But please bear with me, because my acquaintanceship has been limited - and just let these few delegates represent a sterling little town, that has turned out more worthwhile people than any other of its size. I think of the fine integrity of its bankers, of the merchants that I knew, like Mr. McNeil, Mr. Allison, and Mr. Alex Beatty, of the ministers, like Rev. Ryall and Rev. Copeland, of the fine and understanding school directors, Like Messrs. Albert Smith and Ernest Kelly, of the impeccable character of Dr. Ansley, and our pharmacists, Messrs. Joe and Rome McClaran, and Mr. Goodlin. I like to recall the snow-white-haired patriarchs - the Robinson men - Mr. A.J.W., Mr. "Jim" and Mr. "Ed," all of whom Saltsburg is proud to claim. I dare not delve so deep into the past, as to write at length about the Nowrytown Robinsons and their lovely wives - who were so heavenly kind to me. But I feel impelled to speak of Mr. James Robinson, whose life and work were a part of Saltsburg's finest traditions. He was not only one of the county's finest morticians - and a steadying, soothing spirit in every bereaved home - but he helped many people solve their personal problems that had nothing to do with death. He had rare wisdom.
I like to think of high-spirited, godly women like Mary Watson Bell, whose writings were always an inspiration. The list is almost endless. Why can Saltsburg claim so many good people? It must be that, in the early days, great and forceful ministers, fired with the zeal of the Holy Spirit, called forth from every pulpit. "Choose ye this day whom ye shall serve," and put a bugle in every heart. For Saltsburg is still a church-going town, whose citizens, in the main, still try to do God's will. ***
This letter was started the first of the week. Each night I would do more pondering than writing. Now it is Sunday afternoon, and that miserable old deadline. You may grow weary of this reminiscing. But next week will be the wind-up (of reminiscing, I mean). In the meantime, help Rev. Bates and the other ministers prove that there is nothing so new and fresh and vital as the old-fashioned religion.
Florence B. Taylor
Next - 8/17/44 - "Free of Debt"
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