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's 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 oat-meal "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 very 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 these chains and fang-dangs. If I, sir, had bothered my head with these things when I was of your age, I would 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 slipshod work could escape their eye. "Neglect nothing," was their motto. As a Killingworth collier he 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.
WHOLESOME REPROOF.
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 of 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 the nest-building operations 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.
LATER DAYS OF GEORGE STEPHENSON.
He died in August 1848, in the sixty-seventh year of his age.