There cames a time when we grow old,
And looks are gray
As winter's day,
And lips of faded coral say
We're growing old.

There comes a time when laughing spring,
And golden summer cease to be,
And we put on the autumn robe,
To tread the last declivity.

But now the slope
with hope,
Beyond the sunset we behold--
Another dawn with fairer light,
While watchers whisper through the night.
We'll grow no longer old.

The writer takes this opportunity to thank Prof. Cook, Messrs. North, Jones, Dixon, Lewis, Horn, Sparks, Amrine, Grant, Shaffer, Starkey, Willis, and others for vaulable information furnished for use in the above compilation, and whose valuable assistance the foregoing could not have been written. Much of interest has no doubt, been omitted. The writer has conscientiously tried to think of everybody and of everything but being only human, has without doubt failed in many instances. For his faults of commission and omission he begs pardon, and only hopes that the reading of this little history will give you the pleasure (minus the trouble) that its preparation has given him.
 
 

*         *         *

The following items were ommitted by mistake from the article on Kappa last week.

THOMAS CORBLEY

was born in Ireland and after coming to America worked for some years on a farm in one of the eastern states for a regular down east Yankee. For some years he lived south of Hudson on one of the Trimmer farms. Twenty years ago he settled on his present farm just east of here. Mr. Cor-

-38-

Next Page
Previous Page
Link back to index.