and set in the walls of monasteries and 

 cathedrals; so it happened that in the 

 thirteenth century the works of their 

 hands reached the highest point in 

 architecture. So beautiful is their 

 work even now that those who have 

 studied the subject but little know the 

 date of a building when they see its 

 windows. But a century later the 

 nuns had done something of the same 

 sort. They had produced from the 

 fine fibers of flax marvelous designs of 

 fleecy lace fabrics that were the won- 

 der of Christendom. Their art was 

 buried with them. A point lace is 

 made to-day, but it is far from the ex- 

 cellence of the original work, which 

 was a constant prayer of those who 

 gave their lives to the making of it. 



A Yankee boy of twenty, Erastus 

 Bigelow, thought it would be a good 

 thing to try to invent a way of making 

 coachlace by machinery. In forty 

 days he was producing lace at three 

 cents a yard which had cost twenty- 

 two cents. Then he invented a loom 

 for ingrain carpets; this made eight 

 yards a day instead of three that the 

 looms of the time made. In making 

 Brussels carpet he made his chief 

 triumph. Seven yards a day was con- 

 sidered a good day's work, but he 

 made a machine that produced twenty- 

 five yards of much better quality in the 

 same time. He received one hundred 

 thousand dollars for his patents. The 

 body of Brussels carpet is built on a 

 foundation of linen. 



THE SYCAMORE WARBLER. 



BELLE P. DRURY. 



THE last winter was one of un- 

 usual severity in the south, as 

 well as elsewhere. The cold 

 continued until rather late in 

 the spring and caused the death of 

 numbers of birds that came north too 

 soon. One day the last of March a 

 sycamore warbler flew in at the open 

 door of a cottage in the Indian Terri- 

 tory. It settled familiarly on the din- 

 ing-table, picking up crumbs from the 

 cloth. It seemed cold and almost fam- 

 ished, having arrived too early from its 

 winter haunts in Mexico or Guatemala. 

 After satisfying its hunger it flew 

 about the room, and presently, 

 instead of flying out, it dashed its 

 breast against a mirror and dropped to 

 the floor, quite dead. The blow could 

 scarcely have caused death except for 



the bird's exhausted condition. I 

 picked up the wee creature to examine 

 its pretty coat. How dainty each ash- 

 gray feather! Some were tipped and 

 some marked with white. The throat 

 had a tinge of yellow; then two colors 

 giving the extra names of " white- 

 browed "and "yellow-throated" war- 

 bler. This bird frequents marshy 

 lands where sycamore trees flourish. 

 It loves to build its nest in the topmost 

 boughs, safe from all enemies. Here 

 the male, screened from view, sings his 

 song, which resembles that of the 

 indigo bunting, but with a different 

 modulation. When the days became 

 warm I often saw a happy pair of them, 

 busy, I supposed, in building, but the 

 nests were too high for inspection. 



