place. As the name implies, it chopped off the wool, and did not cut the pelt up into shreds, as the American machine does, but left it perfectly whole.
"And what becomes of the pelt?" I asked.
"Principally used for making size," was the reply. Then, with a wicked twinkle of the eye, and in a tone highly confidential, "I have heard that it does also find its way, in various jelly forms, to the tables of the wealthy. And why not, sir? A very clean feeder is the rabbit. Ah! and it does make a good jelly, too, even in its rough state; for in the summer months, when paunch is not always fit to eat, I often boil down a handful of pelt for our yard dog, and he seems to like it, and it never disagrees with him. Why shouldn't they prepare it, and flavour it, and sent it as a delicacy to May Fair?"
Having spent nearly three-quarters of an hour with the pullers and cutters, I found, upon turning to leave, that I had myself a good deal of the rabbit about me. The flue and the dust had given a downy coat to my back, and I looked as if I was already past the first stage of a metamorphosis. However, I could soon be disenchanted with a clothes-brush.
Before the silk hat came in, an event celebrated by the "Free and Easy" Lyrist of the day, who recommended all young men who wished
To cut a shine
To take his advice at once, and buy a four and nine,
rabbit wool was in as great demand as now, being used with lambs' wool for the bodies of the beaver hats. Hare skins in those days were twice as valuable as they now are. The wool was used to assist in napping. The long, coarse, red hair was not pulled out, as in the case of the rabbit, but was shorn down to the under wool, which has a glossy black surface, beneath which, again, all is most delicately silky and white.
A beaver hat in the good old times cost twenty-seven and sixpence, or a guinea and a half. But though men paid for hats napped with beaver wool, they very often got only an imitation article. The best substitute was furnished by an animal known in the fur trade as the neutre. This creature is about the size of a moderately small dog; perhaps a very big cat would be nearer the mark. Of an amphibious turn, the neutre inhabits the banks of South American rivers, and can swim and dive with any water rat.
"There is nothing more to be learned on these premises," remarked my guide, as we again descended, "but if you would like to see how the dressing of rabbit skins is managed I shall be glad to show you." I bowed my thanks. "Formerly fur cutting and fur dressing were one business; now they are kept quite separate. About five minutes' walk from here is a dresser's, not a large business, but there you can see just as much as you would at the biggest place in London."
After a walk of a quarter of mile or thereabouts, through back streets and grimy passages, we paused in front of an old-fashioned house with a flight of three stone steps, and a cellar gaping with open mouth beneath what had once been the front-parlour window. A little wicket gate with a spring lock yielded to the touch of my guide, and we were in the shop. Small bundles of dressed rabbit skins were tumbled confusedly together behind the counter, and another batch stood piled more regularly against the wall. A man who looked as though he had just been delivering a load of bricks made his appearance. He was' covered with a fine red dust, and spoke with a strong Celtic accent; He informed us that the "maisther" was not in, but was "expected" every minute, whereupon my guide said we were going below, and that if the governor came in he was to be told where he might find us. Stepping carefully down a dark winding stair I quickly reached the lower regions. The light that entered from the cellar-flap was dim. For all that, I could see that the flooring was of earth and the ceiling of rough planks and joists. The odour was that of a hot menagerie. I must confess, too, that I was startled, when on turning a corner, I suddenly came upon five savage-looking creatures perfectly naked, with eyes that rolled wildly in the uncertain light, and whose features were disfigured with red stains. They swayed their bodies from side to side as in some mystic dance, muttering meanwhile in a language quite unknown to me, what seemed to be an incantation. I fell back, but my conductor reminded me of his presence by whispering in my ear, "Tubbers, sir!" Reassured I took a second glance, and true enough each man was dancing up to his middle in a tub. A piece of canvas nailed to the staves was secured by a string to the performer's waist. This to prevent the escape of his steam.
"Gave you a start, didn't it?"
"It did, indeed."
"Irishmen to a man," he continued; "and precious hard-working fellows they are. They begin that fun at eight o'clock in the morning, and very often are not out of their tubs again except for meals till eight at night. Frequently they take their tea in the tub rather than put themselves to the trouble of dressing."
"Warm work, seemingly," I remarked.
My eyes having adapted themselves to the light, I could see the perspiration coursing down the skin of the man nearest me, fretting little channels through the colouring matter with which he was coated.
"Whatever are they about?"
"Tubbing rabbit skins, making the pelt into leather."
"They look like painted savages."
"Yes, that's the mahogany dust. The skins are taken in their raw state, as you saw the pullers get them. The feet are cut off. To make them a bit soft, they are rubbed through the piece of rope nailed in a loop against yonder beam. After that they are well buttered, not with Dorset at eighteenpence a pound, the commonest tub scrapings will do as well. They
