burglar on his premises than an engineer; he should be much more safe; and of the two classes he regarded the former as the more respectable.' In 1840 Stephenson settled at Tapton Hall, near Chesterfield, and gradually withdrew from active employment in constructing railways. His disposition was too active for idleness, and he entered on several mining speculations, with various success. It is quite consistent with our experience of the way of the world, when Mr. Smiles assures us that in Stephenson's latter years some of the brisk young engineers of the day regarded him as a man of antiquated notions in railway matters, and considerably behind the age. He did not approve the design of the atmospheric railway; he opposed railways on the undulating principle,' with considerable ups and downs; he maintained the narrow gauge against the broad; and he had no fancy for higher rates of speed than forty miles an hour. It is worthy of notice that a little further experience has proved that in all these respects Stephenson's views were sound and just. Many a ruined shareholder would have cause for thankfulness if all engineers had, like Stephenson, eschewed dashing and brilliant works executed without regard to their cost, and persisted in regarding a line of railway as a commercial speculation which must be made to pay.' The period of the near our own time to railway mania' of 1845-6 is too need much remark. Stephenson held completely apart from all the new lines which were so recklessly projected, and in such numbers. He was frequently offered large sums merely to allow his name to appear in a prospectus; but he resolutely refused. The engine-wright at Killingworth' was now a rich man and a famous man, with a statue at Liverpool, and courted by statesmen and peers; but success had no power to spoil his simple, manly, unaffected nature. In his retirement at Tapton, in his last days, he was distinguished by the same fondness for animals of all kinds as when he was a herd-boy sixty years before. He knew every bird's nest on his grounds, and there was not one which missed a daily visit. Many were the acts of unostentatious benevolence by which he relieved honest want, or aided struggling merit. On his last public appearance, at the Leeds Mechanics' Institute, in December, 1847, he told the assembled crowd that he stood before them as a humble mechanic. He had risen from a lower standing than the meanest person there, and all that he had been enabled to accomplish in the course of his life had been done through perseverance. He said this for the purpose of encouraging youthful mechanics to do as he had done. -to persevere.' He became an enthusiast in horticulture, and exhibited all his old ingenuity in devising means for bringing his fruits and flowers to greater perfection. The Duke of Devonshire's pines were better than his, and Stephenson would be beaten by no man, even in growing pines. He spent much time, in the summer of 1848, in the noxious atmosphere of his forcing houses, which his health, enfeebled by an attack of pleurisy, could not resist. An intermitting fever came on, and, after an illness of a few days' duration, he died on the 12th of August, 1848, in the sixty-seventh year of his age. He had been greatly beloved by his work-people, and a large body of them followed him to the grave. The inhabitants of Chesterfield evinced their respect for him by closing their shops, suspending business, and joining in the funeral procession. No public He was honours or rewards ever came in his way. indeed repeatedly pressed to accept the title of knight, and on one occasion the Government offered him a piece of patronage: this was the appointment to the office of a letter-carrier, with fourteen shillings a week and sixteen miles a day. This means of extending his influence Mr. Stephenson refused. We have not space to attempt any delineation of his character; and it is needless. His character is drawn in those strong and manly lines which no one can mistake. Everything about him was genuine : his mechanical genius, his indomitable resolution, his intense honesty, his kindness of heart, his industry, his frugality, his generosity, his sound good sense, his unaffected modesty. He was an honour, as well as a great benefactor, to his country and to mankind. We do not know that there ever lived an individual to whom each separate inhabitant of Great Britain owes so much of real tangible advantage. His life is a fine lesson to every one. Honesty is the best policy, after all. And we do not know but that the working man may apply the lines of Robert Nicoll to George Stephenson, the Railway Engineer, with at least as much propriety as to the erratic genius of whom they were written : Before the proudest of the earth, We stand, with an uplifted brow: 282 VIII. OULITA THE SERF. * THI HIS volume has no preface, and no notes save two or three of a line's length each. Its titlepage bears nothing beyond the words, Oulita the Serf; Tragedy. But the advertisements which foretold its publication added a fact which made us open the book with a very different feeling from that with which we should have taken up an ordinary anonymous play,-a fact which at once excited high expectations, and which, we doubt not, has already introduced Oulita to a wide circle of readers, each prepared to gauge its merits by a very severe test and a very high standard. The forthcoming volume was announced as Oulita the Serf; a Tragedy: by the Author of Friends in Council. The disguise of the author of that work is becoming ragged. We have found, in more than one library, where a special glory of binding was bestowed upon the book and its charming sequel, that, though the title-page bore no name, the volumes were marked * Oulita the Serf. A Tragedy. London: 1858. |