about it. After this come the handsome
carriages, made in Dublin, which are much like
the handsome carriages seen in London and
Paris, and New York, and other places where
an aristocracy has to please itself about its
means of conveyance.

Made in Dublin, we say. Thereby hangs a
tale, which has, for years, interested us, whenever
we have thought of Dublin and the
Irish, and which may, therefore, interest
others. So we will briefly tell it.

In the last century, we must remember,
Ireland did not belong to England as she does
now. She was yoked to England, but not
incorporated with her. There was then no
United Kingdom, such as we speak of now.
Ireland was subject to our monarchs, and had
a Viceroy living in Dublin, as representative
of the Sovereign; but she had her own
Parliament, managed her own affairs, and had
much less claim on the aid, fellow-feeling, and
co-operation of England than now, when the
representatives of the whole people of our
islands sit in the same legislature, and become
more united in their real interests, year by
year. In those days it was all-important to
Ireland to have flourishing branches of
industry of her own. One of the best
illustrations of the wisdom and folly of that day
is the coach-making business, for which the
Messrs. Hutton have made Dublin famous.

In 1779, Mr. John Hutton, a worthy
citizen of Dublin, set up a coach-manufactory
in Great Britain Street. All that we
know of his business during the first ten
years is that it was successful. There was
no doubt about that: but his friends
believed his success to be owing in part to the
central situation of his factory, while he
knew it to be owing to the goodness of the
work done there. When, in 1789, he removed
to Summerhill, where the factory now is, he
was told that he was going out of the way
of the great thoroughfares, and that the
citizens would desert him. His reply was,
that if his carriages were good, people would
come to Summerhill for them; and so they
did, for the business became a very fine one,
employing a large number of men. It was
easier to make carriages then than now.
That is, there was less variety: less science
was put into the business: people did not
think so much of securing lightness, of
consulting speed, of economising room, and so
on. We can judge of the carriages of those
days by the pictures of them. We remember
the heavy coaches that George the Third and
his family used to ride about in; and it
strikes us with a kind of grief, even at this
day, to remember how different might have
boen the issue of events if, at the time of
Mr. John Hutton's removal to Summerhill,
one of the carriages that may be seen there
now, had been in waiting, with the same
Count Fersen to drive it, for Louis the
Sixteenth and his family, on the occasion
of their attempt to escape to the frontier.
When they left their own carriage,
at a little distance from Paris, it was to
enter a berline, which was so heavy, and
went so slowly, that they were not out of
sight of people who knew them when daylight
came. To be sure, they blundered so dreadfully
that they had but a poor chance any
way: but a lighter carriage would have
incalculably improved their case; and then, if
they had got away, how different would have
been the fate of Europe, ever since, and at
this day! The gallant Count Fersen drove
well and did his utmost; but what could be
the speed of a coach half as big as a
drawing-room, filled with a stout gentleman and
ladies in hoops, and drawn by horses
jog-trotting like those which, in our day, convey
our old-fashioned squires to church, in all the
leisure of Sunday morning? So the unhappy
family were caught; and all but one lost
their lives in consequence. The surrounding
nations made war, and the fate of Europe and
the world was changed for evermore.

Meantime, Mr. Hutton's workmen went on
making carriages, without thinking much of
changes, or dreaming that they should have
to learn anything new; although the whole
world was changing, and finding itself obliged
to learn. The Irish rebellion—one of the
most mournful events in history—took place;
and then the flag with the united arms of
Great Britain and Ireland, floated from the
Tower of London and the Castle at Dublin,
on the first day of the century; and Mr. John
Hutton went on growing rich, and his men
went on making coaches in the old way, never
imagining that anything could be better.
The coaches were eminently good, certainly;
and Mr. Hutton chose that they should
continue to be so. More Irish gentry now
went to London, and they saw and valued all
recent improvements in carriages. In 1806,
one young son came into the business, and in
1811, another; and it may fairly be supposed
that these young men might introduce some
new ideas, and infuse fresh spirit into the
business. However this may be, it is clear
that the men—some few of them—at this
time made up their minds to manage the
business in their own way, and allow none
but friends of their own to be employed.

One April afternoon in that year (1811), they
waylaid and cruelly beat a fellow-workman,
named Davis, on the ground that he had been
a saddler originally, whereas he was now foreman
of the harness-makers in the factory.
The folly of this act presently appeared.
Owing to Davis's ability, the firm had been
able to make some harness at home which
had before been imported from England.
When Davis was disabled, the importation
was renewed, and several men lost their
employment,—none of them being qualified to
fill the place of the injured man. On the
twenty-seventh of the same month, some of
the malcontents concealed themselves in the
factory, instead of going home from work;