In a message dated 6/7/02 4:00:37 AM US Mountain Standard Time, AMXROADS-D-request@rootsweb.com writes: << I think if DNA studies are presented as identifying a particular ancestor within a surname it is likely just one more distorted, >> The way I understand DNA, and my reasoning can and could be wrong, is it is the male crotozomes that carry the line defination the way the US testing facility states it. By difference Oxford in England state it is the female line of the Seven Sisters of Eve that they trace the cheek smears for. I have a friend on the Melungan list that sent to Oxford and was thrilled with the outcome. She has certain illnesses that point to the Meditarranean area and that is where her DNA pointed to her ancestors. It has been a while since I reviewed this subject and my mind just don't want to call much more up. My two cents for what it is worth. Beej PS Both these tests with conclusions sent are costly.

Dear Cousins on the List: This next week -- the 18th of June -- marks the 50th wedding Anniversary of our Cousin Dick Matteson and his wife. We are privileged to be able to share in the joy of celebration of such a beautiful event, vicariously, to be sure, but still honored to know them in the ways we can, and be a part of it and be a part of people who can achieve such a marvelous thing! I love William Butler Yeats, and love his sentiment: "Think where man's glory most begins and ends, Then say my glory was I had such friends." So it is to Yeats I've turned for an Anniversary gift: "The Wild Swans at Coole." Happy Anniversary Mattesons! Love, Your Cousin, Carolyn THE TREES are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine and fifty swans. The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount And scatter wheeling in great broken rings Upon their clamorous wings. I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All's changed since I, hearing at twilight, The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread. Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold, Companionable streams or climb the air; Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still. But now they drift on the still water Mysterious, beautiful; Among what rushes will they build, By what lake's edge or pool Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day To find they have flown away?