Till lately, the best operative hatter and the investigating philosopher were equally at a loss to explain upon what principle such effects were produced. Take, for instance, a handful of wet fur or wool, which is merely an assemblage of hairs; squeeze and press it, work it a little in the hand, and then observe the effect; for immediately upon pressing it a certain locomotion is thereby conferred upon every fibre of that assemblage, which is increased by every turn of position that is given to the body of wool. The rolling and pressing change the position of each fibre. A friction is produced upon every member composing the mass; a footing as it were is obtained from the scales of each, and the fur or wool being all bent or curled, a progressive motion goes on, interlacing each other in their travels, resulting in a compact, dense body, which may well challenge the goddesses of both patience and perseverance to undo. Every hair has been travelling in its own individual direction, boring, warping, grasping, holding, and twisting amongst its fellows like a collection of live worms. The power of combination, like the fable of the bundle of sticks, is strikingly illustrated in the case of the hair, which when viewed singly seems so very insignificant, but collectively, and when pressed by the hand of oppression, hardship, and ill treatment, they combine and become strong and defiant, clasping each other in their embrace, tenaciously clinging to each other the more they are tortured, as if they were living rational beings, conscious of their innocence, and free from guilt. Stockings, for instance, that are knit with soft-spun wool, for the use of whale fishermen in northern latitudes, are large enough, when first formed, to hold the whole man, but are felted down to the required size in the fulling mill, where they are battered, tossed about, and tortured to that degree that is required by their tormentors. The writer has seen a millful of these stockings whose sides were felted so firmly together, from a neglect of the workmen to turn them inside out, in due time, during the felting operation, that a knife was required to open them, and which actually failed in several instances, so firmly had their two sides grown together; common tearing having no effect whatever, each and every single hair had embraced its neighbors, and their mutual action defied all attempts to open these stockings.[A] There are instances of ruminating animals having died from the effect of balls of hair having formed within their stomachs, hair by hair having accumulated while licking themselves with their tongues. These balls are all found to be as perfectly felted as the natural bend of the several hairs composing them would allow, the felting having been accomplished by the motions of the intestines of the animals. The disgorged balls from the stomachs of nocturnal fowls are all of the same nature.