What became of George Stephenson and his son Robert? the boys will have the curiosity to ask.
George and Robert Stephenson took their rank among the great men of England—that class of great men who contribute to the true prosperity of the world, by giving it better tools to do its labour with. A good tool is a great civilizer. The more perfect the instrument, the better the work. The more perfect the instrument, the greater the number of persons benefited: for the sagacity necessary to invention and discovery, and the intelligence required to mature them, are large-hearted and broad-minded. They work for the many, not the few.
The history of railways in England it is not my object to give you, and that enters largely into the remaining period of George Stephenson's life; you will find it fully detailed in Smiles' life of him. He became rich and famous, yet he always preserved the simple habits and tastes of his early days. Though asked to dine at the richly-spread tables of lords and baronets, no dish suited his taste better than his frugal oatmeal "crowdie," and no cook served it better than himself. Kings and queens thought it a privilege to talk with him. Liverpool erected a statue of him. The King of Belgium knighted him. But he cared little for honours. When somebody, wishing to dedicate a book to him, asked what his "ornamental initials" were, "I have to state," replied he, "that I have no flourishes to my name, either before or after. I think it will be as well if you merely say, 'George Stephenson.'"
Young men beginning life often called upon him for advice and assistance. He hated show and foppery, and a weakness in that direction often got reproof. One day one came flourishing a gold-headed cane. "Put by that stick, my man," said Stephenson, "and I will talk with you."
"You will, sir, I hope, excuse me," he said, on another occasion, to a gaily-dressed youth; "I am plain spoken, and am sorry to see a clever young man like you disfigured by that fine-patterned waistcoat, and all those chains and fang-dangs. If I, sir, had bothered my head with those things when I was of your age I should not have been where I now am."
Wholesome as were his reproofs, his counsel was as reliable, and his help as timely. From the mine of his own rugged experience he had gathered truths richer than grains of gold; and he never allowed any good opportunity to pass without insisting upon the practice of those homelier and sterner virtues which form the strong woof of character. When building a road between Birmingham and London, Robert walked twenty times over the entire route, illustrating the patient assiduity taught him by his father. No slip-shod work could escape their eye. "Neglect nothing," was their motto. As a Killingworth collier, George put his brains and his heart into his work; as a master-builder, he put his conscience into it. All his work was honest, representing the actual character of the man.
When the rough and tumble of life began to subside, and he became a more stationary engine, with greater leisure for the enjoyment of his now ample home, his old love for birds, dogs, horses, and rabbits revived. There was not a bird's nest upon his grounds that he did not know, and he often watched their building with a builder's interest; a blade of grass, a bit of bark, a nest of birds, an ant tugging for one poor grain, were all to his mind revelations of the wonderful mechanism and creative power of God.
He died in August, 1848, in the sixty-seventh year of his age.