He had made two beautiful
carpets, and exhibited them in London before sending them to a customer
abroad who had ordered them. They were despatched on board a ship from
the Thames, which did not arrive at its destination and was never heard
of afterwards. One of these carpets was described to us as being just
like an oil painting representing a battle scene. The carpets were made
in frames, a woman on each side, and were worked with a needle in a
machine. We saw the house where Mr. Whitty formerly resided, the factory
being at one end of it, while at the back were his dye-works, where, by
a secret method, he dyed in beautiful tints that would not fade. The
pile on the carpets was very long, being more like that on Turkey
carpets, so that when the ends were worn they could be cut off with a
machine and then the carpet appeared new again. Mr. Whitty never
recovered from the great loss of the two carpets, and he died without
revealing his secret process even to his son. The greater part of the
works was burnt down on Trinity Sunday, 1834, and though some portion
was rebuilt, it was never again used for making Axminster carpets, which
were afterwards made at Wilton, to which place the looms were removed in
1835; the industry, started in 1755, had existed at Axminster for eighty
years.
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