Linen is a fabric with a past: it clothed the high priests of Israel for their sacred offices, and comes as a voice from the tombs of Egypt, where it enwraps the mummies of the Pharaohs, telling of a skill in weaving so marvelous that even our improved machinery of to-day can produce nothing to approach it. And then it comes on down through the centuries to those nearer and dearer days of our grandmothers, when it was spun and woven by gentle fingers; while the halo of romance hovers over it even now as the German Hausfrau fills the dowry chest of her daughter in anticipation of the time when she, in turn, shall become a housewife. Small wonder that we love it, and guard jealously against a stain on its unblemished escutcheon.