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One of our 'bibles' is missing. Will the person swatting over Laura Coles’ ”A Manual for Small Archives" please return same to the workroom at Cedardale Elementary School? Thank you. The following individuals and organizations have sponsored the glass display cases in the Ferry Office Building:- Mary Burns Chapman. David and Georgia Wilson, the Don Youngson Family, Park Royal Shopping Centre (4), the Rotary Club of West Vancouver (3), Pat Hudson Power, Audrey Luke \diyte and Joan Luke Skipper (1), Laureen Jones and Moira Haynes in the name of their mother, Anne Eleanor Jones, Dorothy Nelson in the name of her mother, Emily Frances Sharman. ON Line Building and Design has donated in kind one extra display case. The plaque will read H.I. Johnston and Bill Skelcher, principals in the company. More on Martha Louise Black whose essay "Back to Nature" appeared in our May newsletter. Doris Stainsby, widow of Dr. Fred Stainsby, related to me that during the Stainsbys' stay in Mayo, Yukon (1928 -1930), the Blacks paid them an official visit. George Black was at that time. Commissioner. The Stainsbys’ log cabin was only a 3 minute walk from the hospital and as there were many visitors en route to the hospital, Doris usually had half a dozen pies or cakes on hand. The day the Blacks came for afternoon tea, however - and they v/ere expected - Doris, inexplicably Taylor & Drury to buy tea things. was out of everything and had to nip down to Personally, I wouldn’t place Mrs. Black as a \^^:iter in the same league as say a Daphne Du Maurier, but her book "My Seventy Years" ignited my interest in Yukon to the point I actually wrote the Tourist Bureau in Whitehorse. Author Flo lanyard continued Mrs. Black’s life story, publishing the original book with additional material under the title "My Ninety Years". I loved the concluding paragraph and would like to share it with you. "What was Martha Louise really like? In her last years her greeting to visitors would be, "Well, what's nev^?" And, frustrated by physical failings, she would say, "Isn’t it hell to get old!" But pasted in one of her early diaries there is a clipping of a poem, from somevdiere, which presents a truer picture of that wonderful person, as others saw her in those final years: Let me grow lovely, growing old. So many fine things do: Silks and ivory and gold And lace, need not be new. There is a magic in old trees. Old books a glamour hold. Why may not I, as well as these Grow lovely, growing old?"