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1. The Laundry balls can stay in the machine all the time. Drying the ball naturally can reach better effect and prolong its life.
2. Suitable for all washing machines. 3. Filled with solid ceramic balls, never used as toys for children. 4. Suggestion: no use in industrial use or large-scale washing such as laundry shop, but can be used for antibacterial 5. Washing separately between different colors or easy-fading cloths. |
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Washing-Day
Washing-Day
The Muses are turned gossips; they have lost The buskin'd step, and clear high-sounding phrase,
Language of gods. Come, then, domestic Muse, In slip-shod measure loosely prattling on
Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream, Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire
By little whimpering boy, with rueful face; Come, Muse, and sing the dreaded Washing-Day.
CYe who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend, With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day
Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on Too soon; for to that day nor peace belongs
Nor comfort; ere the first grey streak of dawn, The red-arm'd washers come and chase repose.
Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth, E'er visited that day: the very cat,
From the wet kitchen scared, and reeking hearth, Visits the parlour, an unwonted guest.
The silent breakfast-meal is soon dispatch'd Uninterrupted, save by anxious looks
Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower. From that last evil, oh preserve us, heavens!
For should the skies pour down, adieu to all Remains of quiet; then expect to hear
Of sad disastersCdirt and gravel stains Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once
Snapped shortCand linen-horse by dog thrown down, And all the petty miseries of life.
Saints have been calm while stretched upon the rack, And Guatimozin smil'd on burning coals;
But never yet did housewife notable Greet with a smile a rainy washing-day.
CBut grant the welkin fair, require not thou Who call'st thyself perchance the master there,
Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat, Or usual 'tendance; ask not, indiscreet,
Thy stockings mended, tho' the yawning rents Gape wide as Erebus, nor hope to find
Some snug recess impervious: should'st thou try The 'customed garden walks, thine eye shall rue
The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs, Myrtle or rose, all crushed beneath the weight
Of coarse check'd apron, with impatient hand Twitch'd off when showers impend: or crossing lines
Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend
Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim On such a day the hospitable rites;
Looks, blank at best, and stinted courtesy, Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes
With dinner of roast chicken, savoury pie, Or tart or pudding:Cpudding he nor tart
That day shall eat; nor, tho' the husband try, Mending what can't be help'd, to kindle mirth
From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow Clear up propitious; the unlucky guest
In silence dines, and early slinks away. I well remember, when a child, the awe
This day struck into me; for then the maids, I scarce knew why, looked cross, and drove me from them;
Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope Usual indulgencies; jelly or creams,
Relique of costly suppers, and set by For me their petted one; or butter'd toast,
When butter was forbid; or thrilling tale Of ghost, or witch, or murderCso I went
And shelter'd me beside the parlour fire: There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms,
Tended the little ones, and watched from harm, Anxiously fond, tho' oft her spectacles
With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins Drawn from her ravell'd stocking, might have sour'd
One less indulgent.C At intervals my mother's voice was heard,
Urging dispatch; briskly the work went on, All hands employed to wash, to rinse, to wring,
To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron, and plait. Then would I sit me down, and ponder much
Why washings were. Sometimes thro' hollow bowl Of pipe amused we blew, and sent aloft
The floating bubbles, little dreaming then To see, Mongolfier, thy silken ball
Ride buoyant through the cloudsCso near approach The sports of children and the toils of men.
Earth, air, and sky, and ocean, hath its bubbles, And verse is one of themCthis most of all.