“Smithsonian linguist Ives Goddard finds that the Native Americans of central Massachusetts spoke five languages instead of one. “
“Historic Royal Palaces curators have identified an intricately embroidered altar cloth as incredibly rare fragment of Elizabethan dress. The richly embroidered altar cloth, preserved for centuries in a small rural church in Bacton, Herefordshire, has recently been identified by experts as a piece of a sixteenth century dress, which may even have belonged to Queen Elizabeth I herself.
In this video Tracy Borman and Eleri Lynn, the Curator of the Dress Collection describe the significance of the find, what it was like to discover it and what we can learn about Elizabeth I’s court and society.”
Photo found at www.itv.com
Feature photo from cometoarmenia.am
“Since ancient times the Armenian Highland has been known as the cradle of Armenian carpet weaving. The Armenian people can trace a thousand year tradition …“
“While in England in 1915, awaiting her call to France as a nurse, Maud Churchill Nicoll was run over by an automobile. The serious accident left her an invalid, but she still devoted herself to the war effort in Europe through knitting, crocheting, and sewing clothing for the allied soldiers. With the help of her husband, Delancey Nicoll, a prominent New York lawyer who defended such notables as Joseph Pulitzer, she published an instructional book for both novice and expert knitters. The publication provided a surprisingly comprehensive set of sewing patterns and instructions for some 70 articles of clothing designed to aid the soldiers inhabiting the merciless trenches across France.”
Follow the link above to read the full article.
I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the head Or polite meaningless words, Or have lingered awhile and said Polite meaningless words, And thought before I had done Of a mocking tale or a gibe To please a companion Around the fire at the club, Being certain that they and I But lived where motley is worn: All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born. That woman’s days were spent In ignorant good-will, Her nights in argument Until her voice grew shrill. What voice more sweet than hers When, young and beautiful, She rode to harriers? This man had kept a school And rode our wingèd horse; This other his helper and friend Was coming into his force; He might have won fame in the end, So sensitive his nature seemed, So daring and sweet his thought. This other man I had dreamed A drunken, vainglorious lout. He had done most bitter wrong To some who are near my heart, Yet I number him in the song; He, too, has resigned his part In the casual comedy; He, too, has been changed in his turn, Transformed utterly: A terrible beauty is born. Hearts with one purpose alone Through summer and winter seem Enchanted to a stone To trouble the living stream. The horse that comes from the road, The rider, the birds that range From cloud to tumbling cloud, Minute by minute they change; A shadow of cloud on the stream Changes minute by minute; A horse-hoof slides on the brim, And a horse plashes within it; The long-legged moor-hens dive, And hens to moor-cocks call; Minute to minute they live; The stone’s in the midst of all. Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice? That is Heaven’s part, our part To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child When sleep at last has come On limbs that had run wild. What is it but nightfall? No, no, not night but death; Was it needless death after all? For England may keep faith For all that is done and said. We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died? I write it out in a verse -- MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse Now and in time to be, Wherever green is worn, Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.