he explained a method which he had invented for fattening chickens in half the usual time. The chickens were shut

up

in boxes, which were so made as to exclude the light. Dividing the day into two or three parts, the birds were shut up at each period after a heavy feed, and went to sleep. The plan proved very successful, and Mr. Stephenson jocularly said that if he were to devote himself to chickens he could soon make a little fortune.

Mrs. Stephenson tried to keep bees, but found they would not thrive at Tapton. Many hives perished, and there was no case of success. The cause of failure was a puzzle to Mr. Stephenson; but one day his acute powers of observation enabled him to unravel it. At the foot of the hill on which Tapton House stands, he saw some bees trying to rise up from amongst the grass, laden with honey and wax. They were already exhausted, as if with long flying; and then it occurred to him that the height at which the house stood above the bees' feeding-ground rendered it difficult for them to reach their hives when heavy laden, and hence they sank exhausted. Mr. Stephenson afterwards stated the case to Mr. Jesse the naturalist, who concurred in his view as to the cause of failure, and was much struck by the keen observation which had led to its solution.

Mr. Stephenson had none of the in-doors habits of the student. He read very little; for reading is a habit which is generally acquired in youth; and his youth and manhood had been for the most part spent in hard work. Books wearied him, and sent him to sleep. Novels excited his feelings too much, and he avoided them, though he would occasionally read through a philosophical book on a subject in which he felt particularly interested. He wrote very few letters with his own hand; nearly all his letters were dictated, and he avoided even dictation when he could. His greatest pleasure was in conversation, from which he gathered most of his

imparted information; hence he was always glad in the society of intelligent, conversible persons.

It was his practice, when about to set out on a journey by railway, to walk along the train before it started, and look into the carriages to see if he could find "a conversible face." On one of these occasions, at the Euston Station, he discovered in a carriage a very handsome, manly, and intelligent face, which he shortly found belonged to the late Lord Denman. He was on his way down to his seat at Stony Middleton, in Derbyshire. Mr. Stephenson entered the carriage, and the two were shortly engaged in interesting conversation. It turned upon chronometry and horology, and Mr. Stephenson amazed his lordship by the extent of his knowledge on the subject, in which he displayed as much minute information, even down to the latest improvements in watchmaking, as if he had been bred a watchmaker and lived by the trade. Lord Denman was curious to know how a man whose time must have been mainly engrossed by engineering, had gathered so much knowledge on a subject quite out of his own line, and he asked the question. "" I learnt clockmaking and watchmaking," was the answer, "while a working man at Killingworth, when I made a little money in my spare hours by cleaning the pitmen's clocks and watches; and since then I have kept up my information on the subject." This led to further questions, and then Mr. Stephenson told Lord Denman the interesting story of his life, which held him entranced during the remainder of the journey.

Many of his friends readily accepted invitations to Tapton House to enjoy his hospitality, which never failed. With them he would "fight his battles o'er again," reverting often to his battle for the locomotive; and he was never tired of telling, nor were his auditors of listening to, the lively anecdotes with which he was accustomed to illustrate

the struggles of his early career. Whilst walking in the woods or through the grounds, he would arrest his friends' attention by allusion to some simple object, such as a leaf, a blade of grass, a bit of bark, a nest of birds, or an ant carrying its eggs across the path, and descant in glowing terms upon the creative power of the Divine Mechanician, whose contrivances were so exhaustless and so wonderful. This was a theme upon which he was often accustomed to dwell in reverential admiration, when in the society of his more intimate friends.

One night, when walking under the stars, and gazing up into the field of suns, each the probable centre of a system, forming the Milky Way, a friend said to him, "What an insignificant creature is man in sight of so immense a creation as that!" "Yes!" was his reply, "but how wonderful a creature also is man, to be able to think and reason, and even in some measure to comprehend works so infinite!"

A microscope, which he had brought down to Tapton, was a source of immense enjoyment to him; and he was never tired of contemplating the minute wonders which it revealed. One evening, when some friends were visiting him, he induced each of them to puncture his skin so as to draw blood, in order that he might examine the globules through the microscope. One of the gentlemen present was a teetotaller, and Mr. Stephenson pronounced his blood to be the most lively of the whole. He had a theory of his own about the movement of the globules in the blood, which has since become familiar. It was, that they were respectively charged with electricity, positive at one end and negative at the other, and that thus they attracted and repelled each other, causing a circulation. No sooner did he observe anything new, than he immediately set about devising a reason for it. His training in mechanics, his practical familiarity with matter in all its

forms, and the strong bent of his mind, led him first of all to seek for a mechanical explanation. And yet he was ready to admit that there was a something in the principle of life-so mysterious and inexplicable--which baffled mechanics, and seemed to dominate over and control them. He did not care much, either, for abstruse mechanics, but only for the experimental and practical, as is usually the case with those whose knowledge has been self-acquired.

Even at this advanced age, his spirit of frolic had not left him. When proceeding from Chesterfield station to Tapton House with his friends, he would almost invariably challenge them to a race up the steep path, partly formed of stone steps, along the hill side. And he would struggle, as of old, to keep the front place, though by this time his "wind” had greatly failed. He would even invite an old friend to take a quiet wrestle with him on the lawn, in memory of former times. In the evening, he would sometimes indulge his visitors by reciting the old pastoral of "Damon and Phyllis," or singing his favourite song of "John Anderson my Joe." But his greatest glory amongst those with whom he was most intimate, was "a crowdie !" "Let's have a crowdie night," he would say; and forthwith a kettle of boiling water was ordered in, with a basin of oatmeal. Taking a large bowl, containing a sufficiency of hot water, and placing it between his knees, he then poured in oatmeal with one hand, and stirred the mixture vigorously with the other. When enough meal had been added, and the stirring was completed, the crowdie was made. It was then supped with new milk, and Mr. Stephenson generally pronounced it " capital!" It was the diet to which he had been accustomed when a working man, and all the dainties with which he had been familiar in recent years had not spoiled his simple tastes. To enjoy crowdie at his years, besides, indicated that he still possessed

that quality on which no doubt much of his practical success in life had depended,—a strong and healthy digestion.

He would also frequently invite to his house the humbler companions of his early life, and take pleasure in talking over old times with them. He never assumed any of the bearings of a great man on these occasions, but treated such visitors with the same friendliness and respect as if they had been his equals, sending them away pleased with themselves and delighted with him. At other times, needy men who had known him in youth would knock at his door, and they were never refused access. But if he had heard of any misconduct on their part, he would rate them soundly. One who knew him intimately in private life has seen him exhorting such backsliders, and denouncing their misconduct and imprudence, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. And he would generally conclude by opening his purse, and giving them the help which they needed "to make a fresh start in the world.”

Young men would call upon him for advice or assistance in commencing a professional career. When he noted their industry, prudence, and good sense, he was always ready. But, hating foppery and frippery above all things, he would reprove any tendency to this weakness which he observed in the applicants. One day, a youth desirous of becoming an engineer called upon him, flourishing a gold-headed cane: Mr. Stephenson said, "Put by that stick, my man, and then I will speak to you." To another extensively-decorated young he one day said, "You will, I hope, Mr.

excuse

me; I am a plain-spoken person, and am sorry to see a nicelooking and rather clever young man like you disfigured with that fine-patterned waistcoat, and all these chains and fang-dangs. If I, sir, had bothered my head with such things when at your age, I would not have been where I am now."

Mr. Stephenson's life at Tapton during his later years was