What visions of dampness and disorder, of air malodorous with steam and soap, of meals delayed and hurriedly prepared, of tempers ruffled and the domestic machinery all disarranged and the discomforts of home prominently in the foreground, are called forth by that magic word - washday! and yet, maligned though it be, it really is the day of all the week the best; for does it not minister more than any one other to our comfort and self-respect and general well-being? it may be "blue monday" or blue tuesday or blue any-other-day, but we very soon come out of the azure when it is achieved and we find ourselves entering upon another week's enjoyment of that virtue which is akin to godliness. in the brief interim of upheaval we may possibly wish we could hark back to the days of the "forty-niner," who solved his individual problem of personal cleanliness by simply dropping his soiled clothing into a boiling spring, where it was turned and churned and twisted and finally flung out, a clean and purified testimonial to Mother Nature's ability as a laundress. Or perhaps the pretty pastoral of the peasant girl knee deep in the brook, rubbing her household linen on the stones, hath even greater charms. But the trouble is that we are neither "forty-niners" nor peasants, but just plain, latter-day housekeepers with a laundry problem to face, and finding that it, like most other problems, is best solved by attacking it boldly, systematically, and according to certain fixed rules.