there is no palpable unpleasant odour in it, but it is used up, it is
stale. He will also notice the dust which rests on everything. In a
city the daily grinding of millions of wheels over thousands of miles
of roads fills the air with an acrid, almost impalpable powder, which
finds its way even through closed windows and settles upon everything.
In my London house I could not take up a book without soiled fingers.
Even books which were protected by glass doors, and papers shut up in
drawers, did not escape this filthy powder, composed of the fine-ground
dust and excrement of the London streets. If I wiped a picture with a
white silk handkerchief, a black stain showed itself upon the
handkerchief, and this in spite of the most careful efforts to keep the
house clean. I suppose Londoners get used to dirt, as eels are said to
get used to skinning. They spend their time in washing their hands,
but with the most transient gain of cleanliness. No one knows how
filthy London is till he begins to notice how much longer
window-curtains, household draperies, and personal linen keep clean in
the country. I should not like to be called an old maid, but I confess
to an old-maidish care for cleanliness. Untidiness in books or papers
would not distress me, but dirt is a real distress; and if it be
old-maidish to fight a continual battle with dirt, to scour and polish
and dust, content with nothing less than immaculate purities of
polished surface, then I suppose I am an old maid, and I count it to
myself for righteousness.

Amid the many miseries of cities, this no doubt is but a minor misery,
but the relief which I experienced in deliverance from it was
disproportionately great. The purity and freshness of the atmosphere,
the corresponding cleanliness of all I touched in the house, were
delightful to me, and added to my self-respect. The clean, aromatic
air passed like a ceaseless lustration through every room of the house.