Such a name from the ‘Rolls of Parliament’ as that of ‘John Orfroiser,’ although now obsolete, reminds us of an art for which English craftsmen obtained a well-nigh European reputation in mediæval times, that of embroidery. ‘Aurifrigium’ was the Latin word applied to it, and this more clearly betrays the golden tissues of which its workmanship mainly consisted. In the ‘Romance of the Rose,’ it is said of the fair maid ‘Idlenesse’—
And of fine orfrais had she eke
A chapelet, so seemly on,
Ne wered never maide upon.[[351]]
The term ‘Broiderer,’[[352]] however, was the more common, and with him all textures and all colours and all threads came alike. The Hebrew word in our Bible, variously rendered as ‘broidered work,’ ‘needlework,’ and ‘raiment of needlework,’ was translated in a day when this would be of the most familiar import. Our ‘Pointers’ and ‘Poynters’ manufactured the tagged lace which fastened the hose and doublet together. In Shakespeare’s ‘1 Henry IV.’ there is a playful allusion to this where Falstaff, in the act of saying—
Their points being broken,
is interrupted by the response—
Down fell their hose.
It has been asserted that the presence of this name in our modern directories is entirely the result of later French refugee immigration; but such registered forms as ‘John le Poyntour,’ ‘Robert le Poynter,’ or ‘William Poyntmakere’ are found in the records of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with sufficient frequency to justify the belief that it was a much earlier denizen than many suppose.[[353]] In the former ‘Henry le Lacer’ or ‘Richard le Lacer’ we have, too, but a fellow-manufacturer. Lace, it is true, is now rather a delicate fabric of interwoven threads; once, however, it was but the braided string for fastening the different articles of dress together. Thus, the ‘shoes-latchet’ mentioned in Scripture is a mere diminutive of the word as thus used. The hose and doublet were invariably so attached. The verb ‘to lace,’ I need not add, is still entirely employed in this its literal sense. There were other means, however, of holding the several garments together, and not a few of which are still brought to our remembrance in our nomenclature. ‘Adam le Gurdlere’ or ‘Robert le Girdlere’ speaks for himself. It was for the girdle our former ‘Agnes Pouchemakers,’ ‘Henry Pouchers,’ ‘Robert le Purseres,’ and ‘Alard le Bursers’ (when not official) made the leathern pouch carried thus at her side for greater readiness by the careful housewife. Chaucer, whose sharply-cut descriptions of the dress of his company are invaluable to those who would study more closely the habits of the time, tells us of the Carpenter’s wife that—
By her girdle hung a purse of leather,