In this tempest, the words of King Lear unavoidably present themselves, and might, with little alteration, be made strictly applicable.

“Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads,
Find out their enemies now.  Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipp’d of justice. 
Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace.”

This ceremony completed, and the house thoroughly evacuated, the next operation is to smear the walls and ceilings with brushes dipped into a solution of lime, called whitewash; to pour buckets of water over every floor; and scratch all the partitions and wainscots with hard brushes, charged with soft soap and stonecutters’ sand.

The windows by no means escape the general deluge.  A servant scrambles out upon the penthouse, at the risk of her neck, and, with a mug in her hand and a bucket within reach, dashes innumerable gallons of water against the glass panes, to the great annoyance of passengers in the street.

I have been told that an action at law was once brought against one of these water nymphs, by a person who had a new suit of clothes spoiled by this operation:  but after long argument, it was determined that no damages could be awarded; inasmuch as the defendant was in the exercise of a legal right, and not answerable for the consequences.  And so the poor gentleman was doubly non-suited; for he lost both his suit of clothes and his suit at law.

These smearings and scratchings, these washings and dashings, being duly performed, the next ceremonial is to cleanse and replace the distracted furniture.  You may have seen a house raising, or a ship launch—­ recollect, if you can, the hurry, bustle, confusion, and noise of such a scene, and you will have some idea of this cleansing match.  The misfortune is, that the sole object is to make things clean.  It matters not how many useful, ornamental, or valuable articles suffer mutilation or death under the operation.  A mahogany chair and a carved frame undergo the same discipline; they are to be made clean at all events; but their preservation is not worthy of attention.

For instance:  a fine large engraving is laid flat upon the floor; a number of smaller prints are piled upon it, until the superincumbent weight cracks the lower glass—­but this is of no importance.  A valuable picture is placed leaning against the sharp corner of a table; others are made to lean against that, till the pressure of the whole forces the corner of the table through the canvas of the first.  The frame and glass of a fine print are to be cleaned; the spirit and oil used on this occasion are suffered to leak through and deface the engraving—­no matter.  If the glass is clean and the frame shines, it is sufficient—­the rest is not worthy of consideration.  An able arithmetician hath made a calculation, founded on long experience, and proved that the losses and destruction incident to two white washings are equal to one removal, and three removals equal to one fire.