seven in the
morning
He was covered with clay ; his forehead and beard were plastered with it , and before him was an iron plate , kept continually whirling by steam , which he could stop by a pressure of his foot . He squeezed a lump of clay into a long shape not unlike a tall ice , then , forcing it down into the shape of a batter-pudding , he hollowed it . Round and round went the clay , the hands forming it all the while , cleaning and smoothing until it came out a true and perfect jampot , even to the little furrow round the top , which was given by a movement of the thumbs . He had been at work since seven in the morning , and the shelves round him were encumbered with the result of his labours . Everyone marvelled at his dexterity , until he was forgotten in the superior attractions of the succeeding room . This was the turning-house , and Lennox could not help laughing outright , so amusing did the scene appear to him . Women went dancing up and down on one leg , and at such regular intervals that they seemed absolutely like machines .