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Title: "Puffing Billy" and the Prize "Rocket"

Author: Helen C. Knight

Release date: June 5, 2012 [eBook #39926]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by sp1nd, Mebyon, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "PUFFING BILLY" AND THE PRIZE "ROCKET" ***




Produced by sp1nd, Mebyon, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)







    "PUFFING BILLY" AND THE PRIZE "ROCKET."

    [Illustration: GEORGE STEPHENSON.]




    "PUFFING BILLY" AND THE PRIZE "ROCKET;"

    OR,

    THE STORY OF THE STEPHENSONS AND OUR RAILWAYS.

    By Mrs. H. C. KNIGHT.


    LONDON:
    S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., 9, PATERNOSTER ROW.


    Geo. Watson & Co., Printers, 28, Charles Street, Farringdon Road,
    London, E.C.




PREFACE.


A brief book for the boys. God gives you work to do in the world. He
gives you honourable work. There is much done that is mean and
dishonourable. Depend upon it, _that_ is not His. In the beginning of
your work, character grows _out_ of it; as you go on, your character
goes _into_ it. Therefore the Bible declares that "God, without
respect of persons, judgeth according to every man's work." We judge
in the same way. This little book will show you how much the practice
of the virtues--the humbler virtues--has to do with making good work.
A superior article cannot be produced without them.

But keep ever in mind that these virtues, however useful and important
for your work in this world, have no _saving_ power in them; they form
no plea for the favour of God; the key which unlocks the door of
heaven is not found among them. Like the young man in the Gospel, you
may have the loveliness of every natural virtue, and yet be lost.

As sinners in the sight of God, you need the atoning blood of the
Redeemer; you need repentance and faith in that blood. Make Jesus
Christ, therefore, the cornerstone of your character; on _that
foundation build_ your character. Cultivate the graces of the Gospel.
Baptize the virtues with your Saviour's love. A noble Christian
manhood can only be attained by the steady endeavours of a heart fixed
on God, and a hand diligent, and delighting in the work He has given
it to do. H. C. K.




CONTENTS.


       CHAPTER I. LIFE AMONG THE COAL-PITS
      CHAPTER II. MENDING AND MAKING--
                  LITTLE BOB
     CHAPTER III. WHO BEGAN RAILROADS--
                  "PUFFING BILLY"
      CHAPTER IV. TWO CITIES THAT WANTED TO GET NEAR EACH OTHER--
                  A NEW FRIEND
       CHAPTER V. HUNTING UP HIS OWN WORK--AN ENTERPRISING QUAKER--
                  WHAT WAS THE RESULT?
      CHAPTER VI. THE TWO CITIES TRYING AGAIN--BUGBEARS
     CHAPTER VII. GRAPPLING WITH DIFFICULTIES--THE BOG--A PUZZLE--
                  THE PRIZE OFFER
    CHAPTER VIII. ROBERT'S RETURN--A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER--
                  THE PRIZE ENGINE
      CHAPTER IX. OPENING OF THE NEW ROAD--DIFFICULTIES VANISH--
                  A NEW ERA




CHAPTER I.

LIFE AMONG THE COAL-PITS.


What useful little fellow is this, carrying his father's dinner to him
at the coal-pit? He takes care, also, of his little brothers and
sisters, keeping them clear of the coal-waggons, which run to and fro
before the cottage door. Then he is seen tending a neighbour's cows.
Now he is moulding mud engines, sticking in hemlock sticks for
blowpipes; besides cutting many a good caper, and uttering all sorts
of drolleries for the benefit of other little boys, who, like himself,
swarm round, too poor to go to school, if school there were--but
schools there were none.

The boys call him "Geordie Steve."

A lad is wanted to shut the coal-yard gates after work is over.
Geordie offers his services and gets the post, earning by it twopence
a day. A neighbour hires him to hoe turnips at fourpence. He is
thankful to earn a bit, for his parents are poor, and every little
helps. He sees work ahead, however, more to his taste. What? He longs
to be big enough to go and work at the coal-pits with his father. For
the home of this little fellow, as you already perceive, is in a coal
region. It is in the coal district of Newcastle, in the north-eastern
part of England. You had better find it on the map.

I suppose you never visited a colliery. Coal is found in beds and
veins underground. Deep holes are made, down which the miners go and
dig it out; it is hoisted out by means of steam-engines. These holes
are called shafts. The pitmen have two enemies to encounter down in
the coal-pits--water, and a kind of gas which explodes on touching the
flame of a candle. The water has to be pumped out; and miners are now
provided with a lamp, called a safety-lamp, which is covered with a
fine wire gauze to keep the gas away from the flame.

The coal is brought up from the pit in baskets, loaded on waggons,
running then on tramroads, and sent to the sheds. Tramroads were a
sort of wooden railway. A colliery is a busy and odd-looking spot.

Geordie's family lived in one room--father, mother, four boys, and two
girls--curious quarters, one would think; but working men at that time
had smaller wages and poorer homes than now, for Geordie was born in
1781, in the little village of Wylam, seven miles from Newcastle, and
his full name is George Stephenson.

James, an older brother, is "picker;" and by-and-by George is old
enough to be picker too, going with his father and brother to their
daily tasks like a man. To clear the coal of stones and dross is
their business. There are a number of pits around, and each one has a
name, "Dolly pit," "Water-run pit," and so on.

I do not know how long George was picker, but we next find him driving
a gin-horse at a pit two miles off, across the fields. Away he goes in
the early morning, gladdened all along by many bird songs. George and
the birds are fast friends. He knows where their nests are in the
hedgerows, but he never robs them, and watches over them with fatherly
affection. At home he has tame birds, whose pretty, knowing ways are
the wonder of the neighbourhood. For many years a tame blackbird was
as much one of the family as George himself, coming and going at
pleasure, and roosting at night over his head. Sometimes it spent the
summer in the woods, but was sure to come back with cold weather to
share his care and crumbs through the winter.

George, too, had a famous breed of rabbits; and as for his dog, it
was one of the most accomplished and faithful creatures in the
district. In fact, the boy had an insight into animal nature, as we
shall find he had into other things, that gave him power over it--a
power which he never abused.

George next arose to be assistant fireman with his father, at a
shilling a day. He was fourteen, and so small of his age that he used
to hide when the inspector came round, lest he should be thought too
small for his wages. If small in body, he was large in heart, intent
in all things to _do his best_. And this made his work so well done
that it could not escape the notice of his employers. When he went to
the office on the Saturday night to receive his wages, double pay was
given him, twelve instead of six shillings. George could scarcely
believe in his good luck. When he found it was really no mistake, he
took the money and rushed out of the office, exclaiming, "I am now a
made man for life!"

George rapidly shot ahead of his father, a kind old man who always
stayed as fireman, while his boy climbed one round after another up
the ladder of promotion. At seventeen we find him plugman. What is
that? A plugman has charge of a pumping-engine, and when the water in
the pit is below the suction holes he goes down the shaft and plugs
the tube, in order to make the pump more easily draw. The post
required more skill and knowledge of machinery than any he had filled
before, and George proved himself equal to it.

Indeed he loves his engine as he loves his birds. It is quite a pet
with him. He keeps it in prime order. He takes it to pieces and cleans
it and studies it; pries into the why and wherefore, and is never
satisfied until he understands every spring and cog of the machinery,
and gets the mastery of it. You never find him idling away his time.
In leisure moments he is at his old study, moulding clay engines, and
putting new thoughts into them.

He wished he knew the history of engines, and how they were thought
out at first. Somebody told him about Watt, the father of steam-power,
and that there were books which would satisfy his curiosity. Books!
What good would books do poor George? He cannot read. Not read? No. He
is eighteen, and hardly knows his letters. Few of the colliers could.
They were at that time a rough and generally ignorant set of men,
whose pay-day was a holiday, when their hard-won earnings were
squandered at cock-fights and ale-houses.

If one was found who _did_ read, what a centre of light was he! At
night the men and boys gathered around him, when by the light of his
engine-fire he would give them the news from an old newspaper, or a
scrap of knowledge from some stray magazine, or a wild story from an
odd volume; and on these occasions no one listened with more profound
attention than George.

Oh, it was so wonderful to read, he thought! It was to open the gates
into great fields of knowledge. Read he must. The desire grew upon him
stronger and stronger. In the neighbouring hamlet of Welbottle old
Robin Cowens taught an evening school.

"I'll go," cried George.

"And I too," echoed Tommy Musgrove, a fellow-workman, quite carried
away by George's enthusiasm.

Now they went to Robin's school three evenings a week. I do not know
how it was with Tommy, but old Robin never had a better scholar than
George; indeed, he soon out-learned his master. His schooling cost him
threepence a week, and, poor as it was, put into his hand the two keys
of knowledge, READING and WRITING.

These mastered, he longs to use them. Andrew Robertson opens an
evening school nearer than Welbottle, and Andrew proposes to teach
arithmetic, a branch George is anxious to grapple with next. "And he
took to figurin' wonderful," said Master Andrew, speaking of his new
scholar, who soon left his class-mates far behind. And no wonder.
Every spare moment to George was more precious than gold-dust, and was
used accordingly. When not on duty he sits by his engine and works out
his sums. No beer-shop enticed him to its cups. No cock-fight tempted
him to be its spectator. He hates everything low and vulgar.

Andrew was proud of his pupil, and when George removed to another pit
the old schoolmaster shifted his quarters and followed him. His books
did not damage his interest in business. Was the plugman going to stay
plugman? No. Bill Coe, a friend of his, advanced to a brakeman,
offered to show George all about the machinery. The other workmen
objected. One man stopped the working of the engine when George took
hold of it, "for," he cried angrily, "Stephenson _can't_ brake, and is
too clumsy ever to learn."

A brakeman has charge of an engine for raising coal from a pit. The
speed of the ascending coal, brought up in large hazel-wood baskets,
was regulated by a powerful wooden brake, acting on the rim of the
fly-wheel, which must be stopped just when the baskets reach the
settle-board where they are to be emptied. Brakemen were generally
chosen from experienced engine-men of steady habits; and in spite of
the grumbling of older colliers, envious perhaps of his rise, it was
not long before George learned, and was appointed brakeman at the
"Dolly pit." This was in 1801.

[Illustration: STEPHENSON'S COTTAGE.]




CHAPTER II.

MENDING AND MAKING--LITTLE BOB.


George was now twenty; sober, faithful, and expert. Finding a little
spare time on his hands, he took to cobbling to increase his gains,
and from this source contrived to save his first guinea. To this
greater diligence he was urged by his love for Fanny Henderson, a
fine, sweet-tempered girl, whom he shortly married, and went to
housekeeping in the upper room of a small cottage in Willington, six
miles from Newcastle. Happy were they in each other, and in their
simple, industrious, and frugal habits; and when a little son was born
to them, George, who loved birds, rabbits, and dogs so well, welcomed
with all the tenderness of a father's heart the little Bobby.

Robert he was named, after his grandfather.

Accidents, they say, will happen in the best regulated families.
Fanny's family was not an exception. One day the cottage chimney got
on fire, and the neighbours, with friendly zeal, not only poured water
enough down the chimney to put out a much bigger and more alarming
fire, but enough to deluge the poor little home of the brakeman with
soot and water, making a pitiful sight to the young husband when he
reached it. His eight-day clock, the choicest bit of furniture the
young couple had, was completely smothered by ashes. What was to be
done? Sending it to a clock-maker for repairs was quite out of the
question--it would cost too much.

"I'll try my own hand at it," said George. After righting everything
else he attacked the clock, took it to pieces, carefully cleaned it,
put it together, set it, and it _ticked_, ticking on as faithfully as
ever. The astonished neighbours now sent him their clocks, and George
became one of the most famous clock doctors in the district!

The young man's reputation for business soon won him a situation in
Killingworth, the best and largest colliery in the region. But his
brightened worldly prospects were soon clouded by a dark sorrow--the
death of his young wife, after three happy years of married life. Poor
George felt it deeply, which was perhaps one reason for accepting a
situation in Scotland, hoping in a change of scene to divert the
mournful current of his thoughts.

Leaving his little boy in kind hands, he set off to the north with his
pack on his back, a-foot and alone, for Montrose, a long journey in
those days. Good wages he received, and good friends he no doubt
made, for everybody loved his honest and generous character; yet by
the end of the year he yearned to get back to the friends and scenes
of his early days. It was not home in Scotland, for it is only home
where the heart is. With his savings in his pocket--twenty-eight
pounds--back he trudged to Killingworth; and not before his friendly
presence was greatly needed to comfort his aged parents, plunged in
debt and affliction. By a terrible accident his father had lost his
eyesight. No longer able to work, and receiving little or no help from
his other children, who were barely able to maintain themselves, the
old couple had a hard battle with life. But George is back again; all
is now righted. He paid off their debts, and moved them to comfortable
lodgings beside his own. He has father, mother, and Bobby to look
after, and is thankful and happy in doing it.

Those were dark days, however, for the working-men of England. War
was draining the country of men and money. Taxes were high, wages low,
bread scarce, and able-bodied men were liable at any time to be
impressed for the army or naval service. George himself was drawn, and
go he must, or find a substitute; he found one, but it cost all he had
to hire him.

Poor George was in straits. His spirits were much damped by the
prospect of things around and before him. All business was in a
discouraging condition. Some of his friends were about emigrating to
America, and he at one time nearly concluded to join them. It was a
sore trial to the young man. He loved his English home; and bitter
tears did he in secret shed as he visited old haunts, the fields and
lanes and scenes of his boyhood, feeling and fearing that all too soon
the wide Atlantic might roll between him and them. But the necessary
funds for such an enterprise were not forthcoming. George gave it up,
therefore, and went to work for what wages the times would allow.
Better times would come.

The thing nearest his heart was affording his little son an education.
Keenly alive to his own early deficiencies and disadvantages, he
determined to make them up in Robert. Every spare moment was of
twofold value to him; and all the work he could pick up he cheerfully
did. Besides tinkering old clocks and cobbling old shoes he took to
cutting out the pitmen's clothes. Never was there such a fit; for
George acted fully up to the principle that everything which was worth
doing was worth doing well.

Busy as were his hands, his mind was no less busy, catching up and
using every scrap of knowledge which came in his way. And it was a
perpetual surprise to his fellow-workmen to see what a knack he had at
bettering things. Everything improved in his hands. There was always
progress on his track.

A new pit was opened at one of the collieries. Streams of water rushed
in, which the most vigorous strokes of the pump could not lower. On
the engine went, pumping, pumping, pumping for a year, and the water
continued to flow in, until they nearly concluded to give up the pit
as a failure. George's curiosity and interest were much excited, and
always, on seeing the men, he asked how matters were coming on.

"Drowned out, drowned out," was the one and the same answer.

Over he went to the poor pit as often as he could to see for himself,
and over he turned in his mind again and again the whys and wherefores
of the failure.

"Weel, George," said his friend Kit one day, "what do you mak' o' her?
Do you think you could doctor her?"

"Man," answered George, "in a week's time I could send you to the
bottom."

The regular engineers were in high dudgeon with the forth-putting
brakeman. What right had _he_ to know how to cure an evil that had
baffled them? His words, however, were reported at head-quarters, and
the contractor was not long hastening over to see if he could make his
words good.

"Well, George," he said, "they tell me you think you can put that
engine to rights."

"Yes, sir," replied the young man modestly, "I think I can."

As matters could be no worse, Mr. Dodds was ready to let him try. And
George agreed, on condition that he should choose his own men to help
him. The old hands were highly indignant, but there was no help for
it. So they were ordered off, and George with his gang went on.

The engine was taken to pieces, examined, righted, and put together
again. It was set to work. Did it go? Many a looker-on shook his head
doubtfully, and prophesied in his inmost heart, "_No_ go." It pumped
and pumped. The obstinate water found it had an antagonist that could
master it. In less than two days it disappeared from the pit, and
workmen were sent to the bottom. Who could gainsay George's skill?

Mr. Dodds, of course, was delighted. Over and above his wages he put a
ten-pound note into the young man's hand, and engaged him to
superintend his works for the future.

A profitable job was this.

The fame of this engineering exploit spread far and wide. As an engine
doctor he took the lead, and many a weezy old thing was brought to him
to cure. Envious engineers tried to put him down. But real merit
cannot be put down. It is stern stuff.

George's cottage showed the bent of his tastes. It was like an old
curiosity shop; full of models of engines, complete or in parts,
hanging and standing round; for busy as he had need to be eking out
his means by engineering clocks and coats, the construction and
improvement of machinery for the collieries was his hobby.

Likeness of tastes drew a young farmer often to the cottage, John
Wigham, who spent most of his evenings in George's society. John had a
smattering of chemistry and philosophy, and a superior knowledge of
mathematics, which made him a desirable companion. George put himself
under his tuition, and again took to "figuring;" tasks set him in the
evening were worked out among the rough toils of the day. And so much
honest purpose did not fail to secure progress. Drawing was another
new line of effort. Sheets of plans and sections gave his rude desk
the air of mindwork somewhere. Thus their winter evenings passed away.

Bobby was growing up in a little thought-world by himself; for he
could not fail to be interested in all that interested his father,
that father always making his son the companion of his studies, and
early introducing him into the curious and cunning power of machinery.

Ah, that was a proud day when little Bob was old enough, and knew
enough, to be sent to the academy at Newcastle. He was thirteen. His
father's means had happily been increased. The old engine-wright of
the colliery having died, George Stephenson was promoted to the post,
on the salary of over a hundred pounds a year. This was in 1812.

The new office relieving him from incessant hard work, and the
necessity of earning a shilling by extra labours, he had more time for
study, and for verifying his plans of practical improvement; and the
consequence was very considerable improvement in the machinery of the
colliery to which he was attached.

Meanwhile Robert's education went on apace. The boy was hungry for
knowledge, not only for himself, but to satisfy the voracious appetite
of his father, and the no less keen one of John Wigham.

Robert joined a literary and philosophical society at Newcastle, whose
fine library opened a rich storehouse of material. Here the boy spent
most of his time out of school, storing his mind with principles,
facts, and illustrations, to carry home on Saturday afternoon. Books
also. The Edinburgh Encyclopædia was at his command. A volume of that
at the cottage unfolded a world of wonders. But the library had some
books too choice to be trusted away. How was Robert to get the gist of
these home? His father had often said that a "good drawing and a
well-executed plan would always explain itself," and many a time he
had placed a rough sketch of machinery before his son and told him to
describe it. Robert, therefore, when he could do no better, put his
drilling to test, and copied diagrams and drew pictures, thus taking
many an important and perhaps rare specimen of machinery and science
to Killingworth, for his father's benefit.

We can well imagine Saturday afternoon was as much a holiday to father
as to son. Robert's coming was hailed with delight. John did not lag
far behind. Some of the neighbours dropped in to listen to discussions
which made the little room a spot of lively interest and earnest toil.
Wide-awake mind allows nothing stagnant around it.

Among the borrowed books of the day was Ferguson's "Astronomy," which
put father and son to calculating and constructing a sun-dial for the
latitude of Killingworth. It was wrought in stone, and fixed on the
cottage door; and there it stands still, with its date, August 11,
1816--a year or two before Robert left school--a fair specimen of the
drift of his boyish tastes.




CHAPTER III.

WHO BEGAN RAILROADS--"PUFFING BILLY."


Familiar as it has become to us, who does not stop to look with
interest at the puffing, snorting, screaming steam-horse? And who does
not rejoice in the iron-rail, which binds together with its slender
threads the north and the south, and makes neighbours of the east and
the west?

"Who _began_ railroads?" ask the boys again and again.

The first idea of the modern railroad had its birth at a colliery
nearly two hundred years ago. In order to lighten the labour of the
horses the colliers let straight pieces of wood into the road leading
from the pit to the river where the coal was discharged; and the
waggons were found to run so much easier, that one horse could draw
four or five chaldrons. As wood quickly wore out, and moreover was
liable to rot, the next step was nailing plates of iron on the wooden
rail, which gave them for a time the name of "plateway" roads. A Mr.
Outram making still farther improvements, they were called Outram
roads, or, for shortness' sake, "tram-roads"; and tramroads came into
general use at the English collieries.

"There's mischief in those tramroads," said a large canal owner,
foreseeing they would one day push canal stock quite out of the
market.

Improvements thus far had centred on the roads. To convey heavy loads
easier and faster was the point aimed at. Nobody had yet thought of
self-going teams. Watt, the father of steam-engines, said
steam-carriages might be built. He, however, never tried one; but
rather left the idea to sprout in the brain of an old pupil of his,
William Murdock, who did construct a very small one, running on thin
wheels, and heated by a lamp. It was a curious success in its way, and
set other minds thinking.

One of these was a tin-miner of Cornwall, Captain Trevethick, a friend
of Murdock, who joined a cousin of his in getting a patent for
building a steam-carriage. It was built, and an odd piece of machinery
it was. It ran on four wheels over a common road, looked like a
stage-coach, and delighted both the inventor and his friends. They
determined to exhibit it at London. While on its journey, driving it
one day at the top of its speed, they saw a toll-gate in the distance;
not being able to check it in time, bump it went against the gate,
which flew open in a trice, leaving the affrighted tollman, in answer
to their inquiries, "How much to pay?" only able to gasp out,
"No--noth-ing to pay--drive off as fast as you can! nothing to pay!"

It reached London in safety, and was some time on exhibition.
Multitudes flocked to see it, and some called it a "fiery dragon."

"Ah," said Sir Humphrey Davy, very much interested in the invention,
"I hope to see the captain's 'dragons' on all the roads of England
yet."

But the captain exhibited it only as a curiosity, the unevenness of
the roads rendering it for all practical purposes a failure; and the
captain had neither pluck nor genius enough to lay or clear a track
for it himself. This was in 1803.

The idea, however, was in England, lodging itself here and there in
busy brains; until at last a colliery owner in Newcastle, seeing the
great advantage of having a locomotive on his tram-roads, determined
to try what _he_ could do. Accordingly he had one built after the
Cornish captain's model. It burst up at starting. Noways baffled, he
tried again. The engine proved a clumsy affair, moved at a snail's
pace, often got off the rails, and at length, voted by the workmen a
"perfect plague," it was taken off. The unsuccessful inventor was
called a fool by his neighbours, and his efforts an apt illustration
that "a fool and his money are soon parted." In spite of failure, Mr.
Blackett had faith that the thing _could_ be done. He built a third,
and ran it on the tramroad that passed by old Bob Stephenson's cottage
door. And George at his colliery, seven miles off, as you may suppose,
listened to every account of it with profound interest. Over he went,
as often as he could, to see "Black Billy," a rough specimen of
machinery at best, doing very little service beyond what a good horse
could do.

George carried "Black Billy" back in his mind to Killingworth,
studying its defects and laying plans to improve it. I do not know how
long he was coming to it, but he at length gave it as his opinion that
he could make a better "travelling engine" than that.

Tidings came to Killingworth about this time that the trial of a new
engine was to take place on a certain day at Leeds, and George did not
lose the chance of being present. Though the engine moved no faster
than three miles an hour, its constructor counted it a success. It
proved, however, unsteady and unreliable, and at last blew up, which
was the end of it.

What did George think then? He more than ever wanted to try _his_ hand
at the business. Lord Ravensworth, knowing enough of Stephenson to
have faith in him, hearing of this, advanced means for the enterprise.
Good tools and good workmen were alike wanting; but after much
labour, alteration, and anxiety, in ten months' time the engine was
completed and put on the railway, July 25, 1814.

Although the best yet made, it was awkward and slow. It carried eight
loaded waggons of thirty tons' weight at a speed not above four miles
an hour. The want of springs occasioned a vast deal of jolting, which
damaged the machinery, and at the close of a year's trial it was found
about as costly as horse-power.

How to increase the power of his engine--that was the puzzling
question which George studied to answer. He wrestled with it day and
night, and at length determined to try again. In due time another was
built, "Puffing Billy," which most persons looked upon as a marvel,
but, shaking their heads, prophesied it would make a terrible blow-up
some day. "Puffing Billy," however, went to work, and worked steadily
on, a vast advance on all preceding attempts. It attracted little or
no attention outside the narrow circle of the collieries. The great
men of England did not know that in a far-off nook of the realm there
was slowly generating a power, under the persistent thought of a
humble working-man, which, before many years, would revolutionize the
trade of the kingdom and create a new source of wealth.

"Puffing Billy," in fact, humble as its pretensions were, has proved
to have been the type of all locomotives since.

Had George Stephenson satisfied himself? No. His evenings were chiefly
spent at home with his son Robert, now under him in the colliery,
studying and discussing together how to evoke the hidden power yet
pent up in "Puffing Billy." The son was even more sanguine than his
father, and many an amendment had "Billy" to undergo to satisfy the
quick intellect and practical judgment of the youth.

Mr. Stephenson, delighted with Robert's scientific tastes and skill,
and ever alive to the deficiencies of his own education, was anxious
to give him still further advantages. For this purpose he took him
from a promising post at the colliery and sent him to the University
of Edinburgh.

Here he enjoyed a six months' course of study; and so well prepared
was he for it by his wellformed habits of application and thinking,
that he gained in six months as much as many a student did in three
years. Certain it was his father felt amply repaid for the draft it
made on his purse, when Robert reappeared at the cottage in the
spring, with a prize for successful scholarship in mathematics. He was
eighteen then.




CHAPTER IV.

TWO CITIES THAT WANTED TO GET NEAR EACH OTHER--A NEW FRIEND.


Manchester, thirty miles south-east of Liverpool, is the great centre
of our cotton trade. Its cloths are found in every market in the
world. Cotton coming to Liverpool is sent to the Manchester mills, and
the goods which the mills turn out are returned to Liverpool to be
shipped elsewhere. The two cities, therefore, are intimately connected
by constant intercourse and mutual interest.

Two water communications existed between them: one by the rivers
Mersey and Irwell, the other by the famous Bridgewater Canal, which
did an immense business at an enormous profit. But the Manchester
mills were fast outgrowing these slow and cumbersome modes of travel.
Liverpool warehouses were piled with bales of cotton waiting to go,
and the mills at Manchester had often to stop because it did not come.
Goods also found as much difficulty in getting back. Merchants and
manufacturers both grumbled. Business was in straits. What was to be
done? Carting was quite out of the question. Canal owners were
besought to enlarge their water power. No, they would do nothing. They
were satisfied with things as they were. Their dividends were sure.

But want demands supply. Need creates resources. Something _must_ be
done to facilitate the transit of goods between the two cities. What?
Build a tramroad, or a _railroad_. Nobody, however, but a very fast
man would risk his good sense by seriously advising a railroad.
Prudent men would certainly shun him. A tramroad was a better
understood thing. The collieries had used small pieces of them for
years. A tramroad then. Business men put their heads together, and
began earnestly to talk of a tramroad.

Edward James, a rich and enterprising man, entered heartily into the
project, and undertook to make surveys for a suitable route. And not
long after a party of surveyors were seen in the fields near
Liverpool. Their instruments and movements excited attention. People
eyed them with anxiety: suspicions were roused: the inhabitants became
alarmed. Who were they, making such mysterious measurements and
calculations on other people's land? A mob gradually gathered, whose
angry tones and threatening gestures warned the surveyors of a storm
brewing over their heads. Wisely considering that flight was better
than fight, they took themselves off, and by-and-by turned up farther
on.

The landowners, who might be supposed to have known better, told the
farmers to drive them off; and the farmers, with their hands, were
only too ready to obey. They stationed themselves at the field gates
and bars with pitchforks, rakes, shovels, sticks, and dared the
surveyors to come on. A poor chain-man, not quite as nimble as his
pursuers, made his leap over a fence, quickened by a pitchfork from
behind. Even women and children joined the hue and cry, pelting the
strangers with stones and dirt whenever they had a chance. The
colliers were not behind the farmers in their foolish hostility. A
stray surveyor was caught and thrown into a pond.

At a sight of the theodolite their fury knew no bounds. That
unoffending instrument they seemed to regard as the very stronghold
of the enemy, to seize and destroy which was to win the day. The
surveyors, therefore, hired a noted boxer to carry it, who could make
good his threats on the enemy. A famous fighter among the colliers,
determined not to be outdone, marched up to the theodolite to capture
it. A fight took place; the collier was sorely beaten, but the rabble,
taking his part against the poor instrument, pelted it with stones and
smashed it to pieces.

You may well suppose that surveying under such circumstances was no
light matter. What was the gist of the hostility? It is hard to tell.
The canal owners might have had a hand in scattering these wild fears;
fears of what, however, it is not so easy to find out. There was
nothing in a simple horse railroad, or tramroad, as it is called, to
provoke an opposition so bitter from the people. It was a _new thing;_
and new things, great improvements as they may be on old ones, often
call up a thousand doubts and fears among the ignorant and unthinking.

Nor did the project generally secure the approval of those who would
be most benefited by it. Mr. James and his friends held public
meetings in all the towns and villages along the way, enterprising men
in Liverpool and Manchester delivered speeches, and tried to create a
public interest; but there was a holding back, which, while it checked
all actual progress in the enterprise, did not cause it to be
altogether given up. The time had not come. That was all.

Mr. James had a secret leaning towards the use of steam on the new
road. He would have immediately and unhesitatingly advocated a
railroad run by locomotives. But that was out of the question. The
public were far behind that point, and to have openly advocated it
would have risked his judgment and good sense in the opinion of the
best men. Therefore Mr. James held his tongue. But hearing of the
Killingworth locomotives, and a collier who had astonished the natives
by his genius, he determined to make a journey to Newcastle, and see
the lions for himself.

Stephenson was not at home. "Puffing Billy" _was_, and "Billy" puffed
in a way that took Mr. James's heart at once. He seemed to see at a
glance "Billy's" remarkable power, and was struck with admiration and
delight. "Here is an engine," he exclaimed, "that is destined before
long to work a complete revolution in society."

The image of "Puffing Billy" followed him home.

"Why," he wrote to Stephenson's partner in the patent, "it is the
greatest wonder of the age, and the forerunner, I believe, of most
important changes in the modes of travel in the kingdom."

A few weeks later he made another visit to Killingworth, taking his
two sons with him. "Puffing Billy" was at work as usual.

The boys were frightened at the sight of the snorting monster; but
Stephenson encouraged them to mount with their father, and see how
harmless and manageable the giant was.

The second visit was even more gratifying than the first.

"Mr. Stephenson," said James, "is the greatest practical genius of the
age. His fame will rank with that of Watt."

Mr. James lost all hesitation now about speaking his mind. "Puffing
Billy" had driven the backwardness out of him, and he was willing, at
all hazards, boldly to advocate railroads and the steam-horse. No more
tramroads; steam or nothing. This was in 1821.

Mr. James entered heart and soul into the new idea of the age. On his
return to Liverpool it was everywhere his theme; and wherever he had
influence he tried to stir up men's minds to the benefits and
blessings puffing out in "Puffing Billy."

Stephenson rejoiced in such a friend. It was just what he and "Billy"
most needed--somebody to introduce them into the great world. And
Stephenson and his partner offered him a share in the profits of
whatever business he could secure to them.

But what can one man, or a few men, do in an enterprise like this,
depending upon the verdict of that important power--Public Opinion?
And public opinion had not yet made up its mind to it.

A thousand difficulties bristled in the way; there was both the
indifference of friends and the opposition of enemies at home. In
addition to this, a violent opposition was foreseen in Parliament,
which it needed all the strength and courage of a united constituency
to meet.

Under these discouraging circumstances there were not enough men of
courage to push the matter through.

So everything about the new road was laid on the shelf, at least for
the present, and Liverpool and Manchester trade jogged on as before.




CHAPTER V.

HUNTING UP HIS OWN WORK--AN ENTERPRISING QUAKER--WHAT WAS THE RESULT?


It appears strange to us that so simple a thing as the laying of a
rail or the making of a tunnel seems to be, should have taken years of
thought and experiment to do it. Nothing looks easier to have done
than the straight smooth track of a railway, such as we now see in
use; and yet it was only arrived at by slow steps through two hundred
years.

In pondering upon the powers of "Puffing Billy," George Stephenson saw
that the efficiency of locomotives must, in a great measure, depend
upon what kind of roads they had to run upon. Many were sanguine that
steam-carriages would some day come into use on common roads. After a
long series of experiments George Stephenson said, "No, the thing
wouldn't pay." For a rough surface seriously impairs the power of a
locomotive; sand scattered upon the rails is sufficient to slacken and
even stop an engine. The least possible friction is desirable, and
this is found on the smooth rail.

Could they ever be laid up hill, or on "ascending gradients," as the
scientific term is? No; as nearly level as possible, Stephenson's
experiments showed, was the best economy of power. Then how to get rid
of the jolts and jars and breakages of the rails as they were then
laid? He studied and experimented upon both chairs and sleepers, and
finally embodied all his improvements in the colliery railway.

"Puffing Billy" was in every respect a most remarkable piece of
machinery, and its constructor one of the most sagacious and
persistent of men; but how was the public, ever slow in discovering
true merit, or accepting real benefits, to discover and appreciate
them? Neither influence, education, nor patronage had Stephenson to
command mind and means, or to drive his engine through prejudice,
indifference, and opposition to profit and success.

But what he could not do other men could do and did do. Yes, there
were already men of property and standing ready to listen to a new
idea. While he worked they talked. As yet unknown to each other, but
each by himself clearing the track for a grand junction.

One of these wide-awake men was Mr. Edward Pease, a rich "Friend," of
Darlington, who, his friends said, "could look a hundred miles ahead."
He needed a quicker and easier transit for his coal from the
collieries north of Darlington to Stockton, where they were shipped;
and Mr. Pease began to agitate, in his mind, for a railroad. A company
for this purpose was formed chiefly of his own friends, whom he fairly
talked into it. Scarcely twenty shares were taken by the merchants and
shipowners of Stockton, whose eyes were not yet open to the advantage
it would by-and-by be to them. A survey of the proposed road was made,
when to the indifference of the many was added the opposition of the
few. A duke was afraid for his foxes. Shareholders in the turnpikes
declared it would ruin their stock. Timid men said it was a new thing,
and it was best to let new things alone. The world would never improve
much under _such_ counsel. Mr. Pease was hampered on all sides.
Nobody convinced him that his first plan was not the right one; but
what can a man do in any public enterprise without supporters? So he
reluctantly was obliged to give up his railroad, and ask parliament
for liberty to build a tramroad--horse-power instead of steam-power;
he seemingly could do no better, and even this was obtained only after
long delay and at considerable cost.

Among the thousands who carelessly read in the newspapers the passage
through parliament of the Stockton and Darlington Act, there was one
humble man whose eye kindled as he read it. In his bosom it awakened a
profound interest. He went to bed and got up brooding over it. He was
hungry to have a hand in it; until at last, yearning with an
irrepressible desire to do his own work in the world, he felt he must
go forth to seek it.

One night a couple of strangers knocked at the door of Mr. Edward
Pease's house in Darlington, and introduced themselves as two
Killingworth colliers. One of them handed the master of the mansion a
letter of introduction from a gentleman of Newcastle, recommending him
as a man who might prove useful in carrying out his contemplated road.

To support the application a friend accompanied him.

The man was George Stephenson, and his friend was Nicholas Wood. It
did not take long for Edward Pease to see that Stephenson was
precisely the man he wanted.

"A railway, and not a tramroad," said Stephenson, when the subject was
fairly and fully opened.

"A horse railway?" asked Mr. Pease.

"A locomotive engine is worth fifty horses," exclaimed Stephenson; and
once on the track, he launched out boldly in its behalf.

"Come over to Killingworth, and see my 'Puffing Billy,'" said George;
"seeing is believing." And Mr. Pease, as you may suppose, was quite
anxious to see a machine that would outride the fleetest horse. Yet he
did not need "Puffing Billy" to convince him that its constructor knew
what he was advocating, and could make good his pledges. The good
Quaker's courage rapidly rose. He took a new start, and the
consequence was that all other plans and men were thrown aside, and
Stephenson was engaged to put the road through much in his own way.

The first thing to be done was to make an accurate survey of the
proposed route. Taking Robert with him, who had just come from
college, and entered as heartily into the enterprise as his father,
with two other tried men, they began work in good earnest. From
daylight till night the surveyors were on duty. One of the men going
to Darlington to sleep one night, four miles off.

"Now, you must not _start_ from Darlington at daybreak," said
Stephenson, "but be here, ready to begin work, at daybreak." He and
Robert used to make their home at the farm-houses along the way, where
his good-humour and friendliness made him a great favourite. The
children loved him dearly; the dogs wagged their approving tails at
his approach; the birds had a delighted listener to their morning
songs; and every dumb creature had a kind glance from his friendly
eye.

But George was not satisfied until Mr. Pease came to Killingworth to
see "Puffing Billy," and become convinced of its economical habits by
an examination of the colliery accounts. He promised, therefore, to
follow George thither, bringing with him a large capitalist; and over
they went in the summer of 1822.

Inquiring for George Stephenson, they were directed to the cottage
with a stone dial over the door. George drove his locomotive up,
hoisted in the gentlemen, harnessed on a heavy load, and away they
went. George no doubt showed "Billy" off to the best advantage.
"Billy" performed admirably, and the two wondering passengers went
home enthusiastic believers in locomotive power.

A good many things had to be settled by the Darlington project. One
was the width of the gauge, that is, the distance between the rails.
How wide apart should they be? Stephenson said the space between the
cart and waggon wheels of a common road was a good criterion. The
tramroads had been laid down by this gauge--four feet and eight
inches--and he thought it about right for the railway; so this gauge
was adopted.

One thing which hampered Stephenson not a little was a want of the
right sort of workmen--quick-minded, skilful mechanics, who could put
his ideas into the right shape. The labour of originating so much we
can never know. He had nothing to copy from, and nobody's experience
to go by. Happily he proved equal to his task. We can readily imagine
his anxiety as the work progressed. Hope and fear must have in turn
raised and depressed him. Not that he had any doubts in regard to the
final issue of the grand experiment of railroads--they _must_ go.

Dining one day at a small roadside house with Robert and John Dixon,
after walking over the route, then nearly completed, "Lads," he said,
"I think you will live to see the day when railroads will be the great
highway for the king and all his subjects. The time is coming when it
will be cheaper for a working-man to travel on a railway than to walk
on foot. There are big difficulties in the way, I know; but it will
surely come to pass. I can hardly hope to live to see that day, much
as I should like to; for I know how slow all human progress is, and
how hard it is to make men believe in the locomotive, even after our
ten years' success in Killingworth."

While the father roughed it through, Robert's health failed. His close
application to business made sad inroads upon a frame naturally more
delicate than his father's, and an offer to go out and superintend
some mining operations in South America was thankfully accepted, in
the hope that a sea voyage and less exciting labours might restore
him.

Robert shortly sailed; and his father pushed on alone, with that brave
spirit which carried him through many a darker hour.

On the 27th of September the Stockton and Darlington railway was
finished and opened. A great many came to see the new mode of
travelling, which had proved a fruitful subject of talk, far and near,
for many months: some to rejoice; some to see the bubble burst; some
with wonder, not knowing what to think; some with determined
hostility. The opposition was strong--old England against young
England--the counter currents of old and new ideas.

The road ran from Stockton to Darlington, a distance of twelve miles,
and thence to the Etherly collieries; in all thirty-two miles.

Four steam-engines were employed, and two stationary engines, to hoist
the trains over two hills on the route. The locomotives were of
six-horse power, and went at the rate of five or six miles an hour.
Slow as this was, it was regarded with wonder. A "travelling engine"
seemed almost a miracle. One day a race came off between a locomotive
and a coach running on the common highway, and it was regarded as a
great triumph that the former reached Stockton first, leaving the
coach one hundred yards behind.

The road was built for a freight road, to convey lime, coal, and
bricks from the mines and kilns in the interior to the seaboard for
shipment abroad. Carrying passengers was not thought of. Enterprise,
however, in this direction took a new start. A company was soon formed
to run two coaches on the rails between Darlington and Stockton by
horse-power. Each coach accommodated six inside passengers, and from
fifteen to twenty outside; was drawn by one horse, and went at the
rate of nine miles an hour.

"We seated ourselves," said a traveller of those days, "on the top of
the Defence coach, and started from Stockton, highly interested with
the novelty of the scene, and of this new and extraordinary
conveyance. Nothing could be more surprising than the rapidity and
smoothness of the motion." Yet the coach was without springs, and
jerked and jolted over the joints of the rails with a noise like the
clinking of a millhopper.

"Such is the first great attempt to establish the use of railways,"
writes a delighted editor, "for the general purposes of travelling;
and such is its success that the traffic is already great; and,
considering that there was formerly no coach at all on either of the
roads along which the railroad runs, quite wonderful. A trade and
intercourse have arisen out of nothing, and nobody knows how."

Such was their small and imperfect beginning, we should say, now that
railroads, improved and perfected, have fulfilled Stephenson's
prediction, and have become the great highways of the civilized world.

These wonders stirred the enterprise of old Massachusetts. Bunker-hill
monument was then being built, and built of Quincy granite. To make an
easier and cheaper transit to the water, the company built a railway
from the quarries to the wharf, a distance of three miles, whence the
blocks were carried in boats across the harbour to Charlestown. The
rails were made of oak and pine, and the cars ran by horses. This was
the first railroad in the United States.

The example of the monument building committee, and the success of the
Stockton road, put the Boston people on a new track to get into the
country. By the old modes of travel, the Connecticut river valley was
very far off. Intercourse with the interior towns cost time and money.
Going to Boston was a long and expensive journey. Of course there were
not many journeys made, and no more trading than was absolutely
necessary. Cheap and easy travelling was the need: Boston wanted what
the country produced, and the country wanted what Boston merchants had
to sell.

A canal was talked of, and routes surveyed. But nobody was sure it was
the best thing, when English newspapers broached railroads. Ah, there
it was; the best thing! Two advantages it had over a canal. A canal
must only be a skating-ground for boys some months in the year, while
a railway could be run winter and summer. It was also quicker and
pleasanter for passengers. So, as early as 1827, the subject was
stirring the minds of business men, and brought before the notice of
the legislature. It was a horse-railway they were thinking of, and
nothing more. It, however, came to nothing.

The first passenger railway in America, the Baltimore and Ohio, was
opened for fifteen miles, in 1830, with horse-power; and the Mohawk
and Hudson, from Albany to Schenectady, sixteen miles, was run with
horses in 1831. A few months later the steam-horse, with its iron
sinews, drove them off, never to yield the right of way again.




CHAPTER VI.

THE TWO CITIES TRYING AGAIN--BUGBEARS.


One, two, three years passed by, and the Liverpool and Manchester
project started up again. It was not dead, it had only slept; and the
three years had almost worn out the patience of both merchants and
manufacturers. Trade between the two cities must have speedier and
easier transit. Trade is one of the great progressive elements in the
world. It goes ahead. It will have the right of way. It will have the
right way--the best, safest, cheapest way--of doing its business. Yet
it is not selfish: its object is the comfort and well-being of men. To
do this it breaks down many a wall which selfishness has built up. It
cuts through prejudices. It rides over a thousand "can't bes" of timid
and learned men. For learned men are not always practical. They
sometimes say things cannot be done when it only needs a little stout
trying to overcome difficulties and do them.

A learned man once said crossing the Atlantic by steam was impossible.

"For the good of the race we must have something truer than wind and
tougher than sails," said trade. And it was not many years before
ships steamed into every port.

"Carriages travelling at twelve, sixteen, eighteen, twenty miles an
hour! Such gross exaggerations of the power of a locomotive we
scout--it can never be!" cries a sober Quarterly.

"You may scout it as much as you please," rejoins trade; "but just as
soon as people need cheaper, pleasanter, swifter modes of travel, it
will be _done_;" and now the railroad threads the land in its arrowy
flight.

"The Magnetic Telegraph!--a miserable chimera," cries a knowing member
of parliament. "Nobody who does not read outlandish jargon can
understand what a telegraph means."

"You will soon find out," answers trade; and now it buys flour by the
hundred barrels, and sells grain by the thousand bushels, while fleets
sail at its bidding, treaties are signed at its word, and the
telegraph girdles the world.

You see trade is a civilizer, and Christian civilization makes all the
difference in the world between Arabs and Englishmen.

Liverpool merchants were now fairly awake. "What is to be done?" was
the question. Something. Could there be a _third_ water-line between
the two cities? No; there was not water enough for that.

Would the Bridgewater Canal increase its power, and reduce its
charges? No.

A tramroad or railroad, then; there was no other alternative.

Mr. James, who was so much interested before, had failed and left the
country. When he left he said to his friends, "When you build a road,
build a railroad, and get George Stephenson to do it."

The Darlington and Stockton enterprise could not fail to be known at
Liverpool, and a drift of opinion gradually began to set strongly in
favour of the railway. People talked about it in good earnest.

"A railway!" cried the canal owners, "it is absurd--it is only got up
to frighten us; it will fall through as it did before." They were
easy.

"Let us go to Darlington and Killingworth, and see for ourselves,"
said the merchants; and four gentlemen were sent on a visit of
inquiry. They went first to Darlington, where the works were in
vigorous progress, though not done. It was in 1824, the year before
they were finished. Here they met Stephenson. He took them to
Killingworth to see "Puffing Billy."

Seeing was believing. "Billy's" astonishing feats won them completely
over, and they went back to Liverpool warm for a railroad. Their clear
and candid report convinced merchants, bankers, and manufacturers, who
gave a verdict in its favour. Public opinion was now coming over.

Books were opened for funds. There was no lack of subscribers. Money
was ready. To be sure of the _safety_ of locomotive power, a second
deputation was sent to Killingworth, taking with them a practical
mechanic, better able to judge about it than themselves. The man had
sense enough to see and to own that while he could not ensure safety
over nine or ten miles an hour, there was nothing to be afraid of
slower than that. Then a third body went. The enterprise required
caution, they thought.

Yes, it did.

Having decided upon steam power, the next thing was to secure the
right sort of man to carry on the work. Stephenson was that man. His
energy and ability were indispensable. Before trying to get an act of
parliament, the route needed to be surveyed again, and a careful
estimate of expenses made.

The Stockton road done, Stephenson was free to engage in this new
enterprise, his success in that proving his principles true on a
larger scale.

The canal owners now took alarm. They saw there was a dangerous rival,
and they came forward in the most civil and conciliatory manner,
professing a wish to oblige, and offering to put steam power on their
canals. It was too late. Their day had gone by.

You know the violent opposition made to a former survey. How would it
be again? Did three years scatter the ignorance out of which it grew?
Ah, no. There was little if any improvement. The surveyors were
watched and dogged by night and by day. Boys hooted at them, and gangs
of roughs threatened them with violence. Mr. Stephenson barely escaped
duckings, and his unfortunate instruments capture and destruction.
Indeed, he had to take with him a body-guard to defend them. Much of
the surveying had to be done by stealth, when people were at dinner,
or with a dark lantern at night.

When dukes and lords headed the hostility, you cannot wonder that
their dependents carried it on. One gentleman declared he would rather
meet a highwayman or see a burglar on his premises than an engineer;
and of the two classes, he thought the former the most respectable!
Widows complained of damaged corn-fields, and gardeners of their
violated strawberry beds; and though Stephenson well knew that in many
cases not a whit of damage had been done, he paid them for fancied
injuries in hope of stopping their tongues.

A survey made under such circumstances must needs have been imperfect,
but it was as good as could be made. And no time was lost in taking
measures to get a bill before parliament.

A storm of opposition against railways suddenly arose, and spread over
every corner of the kingdom. Newspapers and pamphlets swarmed with
articles crying them down. Canal and turnpike owners spared no pains
to crush them. The most extraordinary stories were set afloat
concerning their dangers. Boilers would burst, and passengers be
blown to atoms. Houses along the way would be burnt; the air would
become black with smoke and poisoned with cinders, and property on the
road be stripped of its value.

The Liverpool and Manchester bill, however, got into parliament, and
went before a committee of the House of Commons to decide upon it, in
March, 1825.

First its friends had to show the _necessity_ of some new mode of
travel between the two cities, and that it was not difficult to do.

But when it came to asking for liberty to build a railway and run a
locomotive, the matter was more difficult to manage. And to face the
tremendous opposition leagued against it, the courage of its friends
was severely tried.

The battle had to be fought inch by inch.

Stephenson of course was the chief witness for locomotives. But what
headway could he, an uneducated Northumbrian mechanic, make against
members of parliament, backed by all the chief engineers of the
kingdom. For very few had faith in him; but those few had strong
faith. He was examined and cross-examined. They tried to bully him, to
puzzle him, to frighten him. On the subject of locomotives his answers
were clear. He declared he could drive an engine, and drive it safely,
at the rate of twelve miles an hour!

"Who can believe what is so notoriously in the teeth of all
experience?" cried the opposition; "the witness is a madman!"

Famous engineers were called as witnesses. What had _they_ to say? One
declared the scheme a most wild one. He had no confidence in
locomotives. They were affected by the wind, the weather; with
difficulty were kept on the track, and were liable to constant
accidents; indeed, a gale of wind would render it impossible to start
a locomotive, either by poking the fire or keeping up the steam till
the boiler should burst: they could never be relied on.

The proposed route had to cross an ugly quagmire, several miles in
extent, called Chat Moss, a very shaky piece of land, no doubt; and
here the opposition took a strong stand. "No engineer in his senses,"
cried one, "would think of going through Chat Moss. No carriage could
stand on the Moss short of the bottom."

"It is absurd to hold out the notion that locomotives can travel twice
as fast as stage-coaches," says another; "one might as soon trust
himself to a rocket as to the mercy of a machine going at that rate."

"Carriages cannot go at anything like that speed," added another; "if
driven to it, the wheels would only spin on their axles like a top,
and the carriages would stand stock-still!"

So much for learned arguments against it.

Then came the dangers of it. The dumb animals would never recover
from the sight of a locomotive; cows would not give their milk; cattle
could not graze, or horses be driven along the track, cried the
opposition.

"As to that," said Stephenson, "come to Killingworth and see. More
quiet and sensible beasts cannot be found in the kingdom. The farmers
_there_ never complain."

"Well," asked one of them, "suppose, now, one of those engines to be
going along a railroad at the rate of nine or ten miles an hour, and
that a cow were to stray upon the line and get in the way of the
engine; would not _that_, think you, be a very awkward circumstance?"

"Yes," answered Stephenson, with a droll twinkle in his eye, "very
awkward indeed--_for the coo_!"

The inquirer, as you may suppose, was silent.

The danger in other respects was thus dwelt on: "In addition to the
smoke and the noise, the hiss and the whirl, which locomotive engines
make going at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, and filling the
cattle with dismay, what," asked an honourable member, "is to be done
with all those who have advanced money in making and mending
turnpikes? What with those who may still wish to travel in their own
or hired carriages, after the fashion of their forefathers? What is to
become of coach-makers and harness-makers, coach-masters and workmen,
innkeepers, horse-breeders, and horse-dealers? Iron would be raised
one hundred per cent., or more probably exhausted altogether. The
price of coal would be ruinous. Why, a railroad would be the greatest
nuisance, the biggest disturbance of quiet and comfort, in all parts
of the kingdom, that the ingenuity of man could invent."

Not content with decrying his engine, they could not stop short of
abusing Stephenson himself. "He is more fit for Bedlam than anywhere
else," they cried; "he never had a plan, he is not capable of making
one. Whenever a difficulty is pressed, as in the case of a tunnel, he
gets out of it at one end; and when you try to catch him at that, he
gets out at the other."

"We protest," they said, "against a measure supported by such evidence
and founded upon such calculations. We protest against the Exchange of
Liverpool striding across the land of this country. It is despotism
itself."

What had the friends of steam-power to say?

"We beseech you," they pleaded to the committee, "not to crush it in
its infancy. Let not this country have the disgrace of putting a stop
to that which, if cherished, may in the end prove of the greatest
advantage to our trade and commerce. We appeal to you in the name of
the two largest towns in England--we appeal to you in the name of the
country at large--and we implore you not to blast the hopes that this
powerful agent, steam, may be called in aid for the purpose of land
communication; only let it have a fair trial, and these little
objections will be done away."

Flaws were picked in the surveys, and the estimate of costs based on
them. The surveys, quite likely, were imperfect; indeed, how could
they be otherwise, when every mile of the line had to be done at the
risk of their necks?

The battle lasted two months, and a very exciting one it was. It was
skilfully and powerfully carried on. Who beat?

_The opposition._ The bill was lost.

Matters looked dark enough. Judging from appearances the enterprise
was laid on the shelf, and the day of railways long put off. As for
poor Stephenson, his short day of favour seemed about gone. His being
called a madman and regarded as a fool, as he had been by the
opposition, was not without its effect upon his newly-made friends.
Their faith in him sensibly cooled. But he did not lose faith in
himself, not he. He had waited long for the triumph of his engine, and
he could wait longer. A great blessing to the nation was locked up in
it he well knew, and the nation would have it some time, in spite of
everything.

Was the enterprise a second time to be abandoned? No, no. Taking
breath, its friends again started on their feet. Never give up, was
their motto, for they were in earnest. They rallied, and met in London
to consult what to do next.

Mr. Huskisson, a member of parliament for Liverpool, came into the
meeting and urged them to try again--to try at the next session of
parliament.

"Parliament must in the end grant you an act," he said, "if you are
determined to have it." And try they determined to, for a horse
railroad at least.

For this purpose another and more careful survey had to be made.

Stephenson was left out. A _known_ man must be had. They meant to get
surveyors and engineers with well-established reputations to back them
up, Stephenson was too little known. He had no fame beyond a little
circle in one corner of the kingdom. How did he feel to be thus thrown
in the background? George was not a man to grumble; he was too noble
to complain. In fact, you see, he was ahead of the times--too far
ahead to be understood and appreciated. He could afford to wait.

Two brothers by the name of Rennie were appointed in his stead. In
time the new survey was finished, the plans drawn, and the expense
reckoned up. Changes were made in the route. Ill-tempered land-owners
were left on one side, and every ground of complaint avoided that
could be.

The new bill was then carried to parliament, and went before the
committee in March the next year. The opposition was strong indeed,
but less furious. Much of its bitterness was gone. It made a great
show of fears, which the advocates of the bill felt it was not worth
while to waste words in answering. They left it to the road to answer
them. Build it, and see.

Mr. Huskisson and others supported it in a strong and manly tone, and
after a third reading the bill passed in the House of Commons. So far
so good. It then had to go to the House of Lords. What would befall it
there? The same array of evidence on both sides was put forward. The
poor locomotive engine, which had proved such a bugbear in the House
of Commons, was regarded as quite a harmless affair by most of the
lords; and the opposition made such poor work in showing off its
dangers that no plea in its behalf was called for. They were
satisfied, they said, and the bill passed almost unanimously, Victory!
Victory!

The victory cost more than four thousand five pound bank-notes! For a
first cost it looked large. But nothing worth doing can be done
without effort, and effort made _on faith_. Nothing done, nothing
have.




CHAPTER VII.

GRAPPLING WITH DIFFICULTIES--THE BOG--A PUZZLE--THE PRIZE OFFER.


The real work was now to be done. Hopes and fears had yet to be
verified.

At the first meeting of the directors, a man to put the enterprise
through was to be chosen. Who? The Rennies were anxious to get the
appointment. They naturally expected it. They had made the survey, and
their name had had weight in getting the Act of Parliament. But they
could not superintend the details of the work. They had other
enterprises on foot.

Stephenson, no doubt, was _the_ man. The directors felt him to be so.
No one could long be with him without feeling his power. Besides, what
he had done had been ably done. At the risk of offending the Rennies
and their friends, they chose him, and the result proved the wisdom of
their choice.

On receiving the appointment, he immediately moved to Liverpool, and
the work began in good earnest. It was a stupendous undertaking for
those days. Chat Moss had to be filled in, sixty-three bridges built,
excavations made, tunnels erected, and all the practical details
carried out, with very little past experience to profit by. Neither
was the kind of labour well understood, nor was there that division
of labour between contractors and engineers which relieves one man of
too heavy a responsibility. In fact, both tools and men had to be
made, and Stephenson had to do it.

The great quagmire was first grappled with. "No man in his senses
would undertake to make a road over Chat Moss," opposers said in
parliament: "That was to undertake the impossible." Stephenson,
however, meant to try. Formidable it certainly was. Cattle ploughing
on farms bordering the bog, where it ran underneath the tilled land,
had to wear flat-soled boots in order to keep their hoofs from sinking
down into the soft soil.

The proposed route ran four miles across it, and the way had to be
drained and filled in with sand and gravel. The drainage tasked their
ingenuity to the utmost, and almost baffled the workmen. After that
was in some degree accomplished, waggon after waggonful of earth was
thrown on for weeks and weeks, and it only sank into the mire and
disappeared--not an inch of solid footing seemed gained; and on they
went, filling and filling, without apparently having made the least
impression on the Moss: the greedy bog only cried out for more.

Stephenson's men began to have their doubts. The opposition might have
judged more correctly, after all. They asked him what he thought. "Go
ahead," was his answer. By and by the directors began to have _their_
fears. It looked to them like a very unpromising job. So it was. After
waiting and waiting in vain for signs of progress, they called a
meeting on the edge of the Moss, to see if it were not best to give it
up as a bad job. The bog, they were afraid, might swallow up all their
funds, as it had everything else. Stephenson lost not a whit of his
courage. "Go ahead," was his counsel. He never for a moment doubted
of final success. And considering the great outlay already made, they
wisely gave in to him.

Monstrous stories were afloat of the terrible accidents taking place
there. Every now and then the drivers of the coaches brought into
Manchester the astonishing news of men, horses, carts, and Stephenson
himself submerged and sunk for ever in the insatiable quagmire. Time
corrected one only to publish another. Newsmongers were kept in a
state of delightful excitement, and tea-table gossip was spiced to
suit the most credulous and marvel-loving taste, until the Moss was
conquered, as conquered it was acknowledged to be, when, six months
after the directors had met to vote to leave it to its original
unproductiveness, they were driven over it on a smooth and secure rail
to Manchester.

Another tough job was tunnelling Liverpool; excavating a mile and a
third of road through solid rock. Night and day the boring, blasting,
and hewing were kept in vigorous execution. Sometimes the miners were
deluged with water, sometimes they were in danger of being
overwhelmed by heavy falls of wet sand from overhead. Once, when
Stephenson was gone from town, a mass of loose earth came tumbling on
the heads of the workmen, frightening them, if nothing more. On his
return they were in a most refractory state, complaining of the
dangers, and stoutly refusing to go back to work. Wasting no time on
words, Stephenson shouldered a pickaxe, and called for recruits to
follow. Into the tunnel he marched, and the whole gang after him.
Nothing more was heard of fears, and the work went bravely on.

Besides laying out all the work, Stephenson had to make his tools. All
their waggons, trucks, carriages, switches, crosses, signals were
planned and manufactured under his superintendence, besides meeting
and providing for a thousand exigencies constantly occurring in a new
enterprise like this, giving full scope to all the sagacity,
invention, and good-humour which naturally belonged to him.

The expenses of the road were heavy, and money was not always
forthcoming. If the works lagged in consequence of it, the hopes of
the directors fell; so that Stephenson's energies were taxed to the
utmost during the four years of the work, and he showed, what
observation and history both teach us, that efficient men are men of
_detail_, as well as men of great plans.

Remember this, boys--for we sometimes despise little particulars, and
the day of small things--that the secret of effective doing lies not
only in making wise plans, but in filling up the minutest parts with
promptness and fidelity. There must be detail to achieve any great and
good work. If you would possess the fruits of learning, you must get
them by the toil of daily drudgery. If you undertake to become rich,
you must not despise the small gains and little economies by which a
fortune is made. If you would obtain a noble Christian manhood, you
must not neglect hourly self-restraint, watchfulness, and prayer, or
the daily exercise of those humbler virtues and godly industries which
make the woof of character.

Stephenson strikingly illustrated the practical force of this
principle. The minutest detail of every plan in this new enterprise
was thought out and carried on by himself, or under his direct
supervision. Both in summer and winter he rose early. Before breakfast
you might find him on a morning round, visiting the extensive
workshops where their machines and tools were made. Or perhaps "Bobby"
is brought to the door, and, mounted on this his favourite horse, he
is off fifteen miles to inspect the progress of a viaduct, a ride long
enough to whet the appetite for a tempting breakfast, one would think.
But nothing tempts him from his frugal habits; he eats "crowdie," and
that made by himself, which is nothing more or less than oatmeal
hasty-pudding and milk. Again he is off, inspecting the labours of his
men all along the line from point to point, pushing the works here,
advising there, and inspiring everywhere. "Bobby" is a living witness
that one beast at least is not to be scared by a locomotive. He can
face the snorting monster without so much as a shy step or a prick of
the ears. _He_ afraid? not "Bobby."

Returning home, bills are to be examined perhaps, when every item of
expense must be accounted for; or drawings are to be made, or
directions given, or letters written.

Several young men were received into his family, to be trained for
engineers. A second wife, frugal, gentle, and friendly, superintended
his household. Their evenings were passed in study and conversation,
brightened by the genial humour of the remarkable man whose genius
drew them together, and whose good-tempered pleasantries relieved the
heavier tasks of mind and body. The compendium of all his instructions
was, Learn for yourselves; think for yourselves; master principles;
persevere; be industrious, and there is no fear for you. It is an
indication of the value of these instructions that every young man
trained under him rose to eminent usefulness. "Ah," he sometimes said,
on relating a bit of his own early history, "you don't know what work
is, these days." And yet work is work, all the world over.

In spite of the best Stephenson could do, the directors, looking at
their unproductive capital, and not fully comprehending all the
difficulties to be overcome, sometimes urged greater despatch. "Now,
George," said Friend Cropper one day, "thou must get on with the
railway; thou must really have it opened by the first of January
next."

"Consider the heavy nature of the works, sir," rejoined George, "and
how much we have been delayed by want of money, to say nothing of the
bad weather. The thing is impossible."

"Impossible!" cried Cropper; "I wish I could get Napoleon to thee; he
would tell thee there is no such word as 'impossible.'"

"Tush!" exclaimed George, "don't tell me about Napoleon. Give me men,
money, and material, and I'll do what Napoleon couldn't do--drive a
railroad over Chat Moss."

He might have retorted, more significantly, by asking the directors
what _they_ meant to do; for Liverpool was tunnelled, and Chat Moss
railed, before they could agree what kind of power to put on it. There
were some who insisted upon using horse-power; but the majority
thought that was out of the question. Meeting after meeting was held,
debate followed debate, and the whole body became more and more
puzzled as the road itself neared completion.

Some kind of machine, but _what_? Ah, that was the question. You would
naturally have thought a locomotive, of course. But no; since
parliamentary opposition raged against it, steam had lost ground in
the public estimation, and it was very slow in getting back to favour.
Locomotives, or travelling engines, as they were called, were hid in a
cloud of doubts; and more than ever since the parliamentary debates.
They were dangerous, they were frightful, "they could never go fast
enough," their utmost speed would not be ten miles an hour. Some of
the most distinguished engineers would give no opinion of them at all.
They had none. It was certainly hard to patronize them, in spite of
their indifference, and possibly their sneers. Certainly, if the poor
locomotive depended upon their verdict its fate was sealed.

One staunch friend remained. Stephenson stood faithfully by "Puffing
Billy," puffing away in his far off Northumberland home. He never
flinched advocating its principles, and urged the directors to try
one on the road. They at last ordered one to be built, one that would
be of service to the company, and no great nuisance to the public. It
was built, and excellent service it did, drawing marl from the
cuttings and excavations to fill up the bogs and hollows.
Nevertheless, it settled nothing, and convinced nobody not already
convinced.

Meanwhile the directors were deluged with projects, plans, and advice
for running their road. Scheme upon scheme was let loose upon them.
Some engines to go by water-power; some by gas; some by cog-wheels.
All the engineering science in the kingdom was ready to engineer for
them in its own way; but who among all could pronounce the best way,
and, upon the whole, decide which was the right motive power?

A deputation was despatched to Darlington and Stockton to inspect the
fixed and locomotive engines employed on that road. But the
deputation came back differing so among themselves that the directors
were more puzzled than ever. Two professional engineers of high
reputation were then sent, who on their return reported in favour of
_fixed engines_: for safety, speed, economy, and convenience, fixed
engines by all means; reiterating again and again all the frightful
stories of danger and annoyance charged upon steam. They proposed
dividing the road into nineteen stages, of a mile and a half in
length, and having twenty-one stationary engines at different points
to push and draw the trains along. The plan was carefully matured.

Poor Stephenson! how did he feel? "Well," he said, with the calm
earnestness of a man of faith, "one thing I know, that before many
years railroads will become the highways of the world."

Could the directors accept a project without consulting him? Again
they met. What had he to say concerning it? Fight it he did. He dwelt
upon its complicated nature, the liability of the ropes and tackling
to get out of order, the failure of one engine retarding and damaging
and stopping the whole line--a phase of the matter which did not fail
to make an impression. The directors were moved. Friend Cropper,
however, headed the stationary-engine party, and insisted upon
adopting it. "But," answered the others, "ought we to make such an
outlay of money without first giving the locomotive a fair trial?" And
Stephenson pleaded powerfully, as you may suppose, in its behalf.
"_Try_ it, _try_ it," he urged; "for speed and safety there is nothing
like it." And the words of a man with strong faith are strong words.
"Besides," he said, "the locomotive is capable of great improvements.
It is young yet; its capacities have never been thoroughly tested.
When proper inducements are held out, a superior article will be
offered to the public."

Never were directors in a greater strait. There was no withstanding
Stephenson, for he knew what he was talking about. All the rest were
schemers. At last one of the directors said, "Wait; let us offer a
prize for a new locomotive, built to answer certain conditions, and
see what sort of engine we can get."

That was fair. It was right his engine should be properly tested. All
agreed; and in a few days proposals were issued for the building of
one. There were eight conditions, two of which were, that if the
engine were of six tons' weight it should be able to draw twenty tons
at a speed of _ten_ miles an hour. The prize was five hundred pounds.

The offer excited a great deal of attention, and many people made
themselves merry at its expense. The conditions were absurd, they
said; nobody but a set of fools would have made them. It had already
been proved impossible to make a locomotive engine go at ten miles an
hour, and one gentleman in his heat even went so far as to say that
if it ever _were_ done, he would undertake to eat a stewed engine
wheel for his breakfast. As that condition was answered, it is to be
hoped he was relieved from his indigestible dish.

More candid minds turned with interest to the development of this new
force struggling into notice. Stephenson felt how much depended on the
issue. And the public generally concluded to suspend its verdict upon
the proper working of railways until time and talent gave them better
means of judging.




CHAPTER VIII.

ROBERT'S RETURN--A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER--THE PRIZE ENGINE.


One step forward; yes, a great one too, Stephenson thought. His
beloved locomotive was to have a chance of being properly introduced
to the great English public; and he felt that it only needed to be
known to be valued. The building of it was a matter of no small
moment, and he wanted above all things a tried and skilful hand to
superintend and put into its construction every conceivable
improvement. It must be the best engine yet built.

Where should he find the right man? No one would answer like his son
Robert, and Robert he determined to send for. Robert, you remember,
went to South America three years before. There he had regained his
health, and on receiving his father's letter made immediate
preparations to return to England.

On his way, at a poor little comfortless inn, in a poor little
comfortless seaport on the gulf of Darien, where he was waiting to
take ship, he met two strangers, one evidently an Englishman, who by
his appearance looked as if the world had gone hard with him. A
fellow-feeling drew the young man towards his poor countryman, and on
inquiry, who should it prove to be, but the old Cornwall tin-miner,
Captain Trevethick, whose first steam-carriage awoke so much curiosity
in London nearly a quarter of a century before.

He had sown his idea to the winds. Others had caught it up, cherished
it, pondered over it, examined it, dissected it, improved it, embodied
it, and by patient study and persistent endeavour had reduced it to a
practical force. And Robert Stephenson was now on his way to
inaugurate it as one of the great commercial values of the kingdom and
of the world. The poor inventor, what had he done meanwhile? While
others worked had he slept? Oh, no! He had tried an easier and shorter
road to fame and fortune. You remember he left his "dragon," as some
people called his locomotive, in London, quite careless what became of
it, and went scheming and speculating in other things. Several years
after, in a shop window, it attracted the attention of a French
gentleman passing by. He was from Peru, and had just come to England
to get a steam-engine for pumping water from some gold-diggings in the
new world. Delighted with the model, he bought it for twenty guineas.
Taking it with him to Lima, an engine was built on the plan of it,
which worked admirably. The gentleman was then sent back to England to
hunt up and bring out the inventor himself. The captain was found, and
came forth from his obscurity into sudden notice and demand. The
gentleman engaged him to make five pumping-engines according to his
model, which he did, and shipped them to Lima, the captain himself
soon following.

At Lima he was received with great honours, and a public rejoicing. A
guard of honour was appointed to wait on him; and in view of the
wealth he was supposed to be able to engineer from their mines, a
massive silver statue of him, as the benefactor of Peru, began to be
talked of.

Of course poor Trevethick thought his fortune made, and no doubt
looked back with pity on his humble English life. Friends at home
spread the news of his successes, and when they stated that the
smallest estimate of his yearly income amounted to one hundred
thousand pounds, no wonder he was pronounced a success! Tardier steps
to fortune seemed tedious; and many of his old associates perhaps
sighed over the wholesome toil of a slower-paced prosperity.

Years passed on, and the poor captain next turns up at Cartagena,
penniless and pitiable. In crossing the country he had lost
everything. Fording rivers, penetrating forests, and fighting wild
beasts, had left him little else than a desire to reach England again;
and Robert Stephenson gave him fifty pounds to help him home. Sudden
fortunes are apt as suddenly to vanish; while those accumulated by the
careful husbandry of economy, industry, and foresight reward without
waste. So character is stronger than reputation. For one is built on
what we are, the other on what we seem to be; and, like a shadow,
reputation may be longer or shorter, or only a distorted outline of
character. One holds out, because it is real; the other often
disappears, because it is but shadow.

Robert reached home in December, 1827, right heartily welcomed, we may
well believe, by his father, who was thankful to halve the burden of
responsibility with such a son. To build the prize locomotive was
_his_ work.

Stephenson had long been a partner in a locomotive factory at
Newcastle, which had hitherto proved a losing concern to the owners.
There was little or no market for their article, and they struggled
on, year after year, waiting for better times. Nobody saw better times
but Stephenson. He saw them ahead, shooting through the gloomy clouds
of indifference and prejudice. And now, he calculated, it was very
near. So he sent Robert to Newcastle to take charge of the works
there, and construct an engine that would make good all his words.

It was a critical moment, but he had no fears of the result. Robert
often came to Liverpool to consult with his father, and long and
interesting discussions took place between father and son concerning
the best modes of increasing and perfecting the powers of the
mechanism. One thing wanted was greater speed; and this could only be
gained by increasing the quantity and the quality of the steam. For
this effect a greater heating surface was necessary, and mechanics had
long been experimenting to find the best and most economical boiler
for high-pressure engines.

Young James, son of Mr. James, who, when the new Liverpool and
Manchester route was talked of, was the first to discover and
acknowledge George Stephenson's genius, made the model of an improved
boiler, which he showed to the Stephensons. Perhaps he was one of the
boys who went to Killingworth with his father to see the wonders of
"Puffing Billy," and whose terrors at the snorting monster were only
smoothed by a pleasant and harmless ride on his back. Whether this
gave him a taste for steam-engines we do not know. At any rate, he
introduces himself to our notice now, with a patented model of an
improved boiler in his hand, which Stephenson thinks it may be worth
his while to make trial of. "Try it," exclaimed the young inventor,
"try it, and there will be no limit to your speed. Think of thirty
miles an hour!"

"Don't speak of thirty miles an hour," rejoined Stephenson; "I should
not dare talk about such a thing aloud." For I suppose he could hardly
forget how parliamentary committees had branded him as a fool and a
madman for broaching such beliefs.

The improved boiler was what is called a multitubular boiler. You do
not understand that, I suppose. An iron boiler is cast, six feet long,
and three feet and a third in diameter. It is to be filled half full
of water. Through this lower half there run twenty-five copper tubes,
each about three inches in diameter, opened at one end to the fire,
through which the heat passes to the chimney at the other end. You see
this would present a great deal of heating surface to the water,
causing it to boil and steam off with great rapidity. The invention
was not a sudden growth, as no inventions are. Fire-tubes serving this
use started in several fertile minds about the same time, and several
persons claimed the honour of the invention; but it was Stephenson's
practical mind which put it into good working order, and made it
available; for he told Robert to try it in his new locomotive.

He did. The tubes were of copper, manufactured by a Newcastle
coppersmith, and carefully inserted into the ends of the boiler by
screws. Water was put into the boiler, and in order to be sure there
was no leaking, a pressure was put on the water; when lo, the water
squirted out at every screw, and the factory floor was deluged. Poor
Robert was in despair. He sat down and wrote his father that the whole
thing was a failure.

A failure indeed! Back came a letter by the next post telling him to
"go ahead and try again!" The letter, moreover, suggested a remedy for
the disaster--fastening the tubes into the boiler by fitting them
snugly into holes bored for the purpose, and soldering up the edges.
And it proved to be precisely what Robert himself had thought of,
after the first bitter wave of disappointment had subsided. So he took
heart and went to work again. Success crowned his efforts. A heavy
pressure was put on the water, and not a drop oozed out. The boiler
was quite water-tight.

This is precisely the kind of boiler now in use: some have fifty
tubes; the largest engines one hundred and fifty.

Various other improvements were incorporated into the new engine,
which, as you do not probably understand much about machinery, will
not particularly interest you.

At last the new engine was finished. It weighed only four tons and a
quarter, little less than two tons under the weight required by the
directors. The tender, shaped like a waggon, carried wood in one end
and water in the other.

It was forthwith put on the Killingworth track, fired up, and started
off. Robert must have watched its operations with intense anxiety.
Nothing could have met his expectations like the new boiler. It in
fact outdid his highest hopes. The steam made rapidly, and in, what
seemed to him then, marvellous quantities. Away went a letter to
Liverpool that very evening.

"The 'Rocket' is all right and ready," wrote the young man joyfully.
That was the engine's name, "Rocket," on account of its speed perhaps.
"Puffing Billy" was quite cast into a shade.

It was shortly shipped to Liverpool in time for the grand trial.

The trial, rapidly approaching, elicited a great and general interest.
The public mind was astir. The day fixed was the first of October.
Engineers, mechanics, and scientific men, far and near, flocked to
Liverpool. The ground where the exhibition was to take place was a
level piece of railroad two miles long, a little out of the city. Each
engine was to make twenty trips at a rate of speed not under ten miles
an hour, and three competent men were appointed as judges.

Four engines were entered on the list, "THE NOVELTY," "SANS-PAREIL,"
"THE ROCKET," "PERSEVERANCE."

Several others were built for the occasion in different parts of the
kingdom, or rather projected and begun, but were not finished in time.

In order to afford ample opportunity for their owners to get them in
good working order, the directors postponed the trial to October 6th.
The day arrived, and a glance at the country round showed that an
unusual occasion was drawing people together. Multitudes from the
neighbouring towns assembled on the grounds at an early hour. The road
was lined with carriages, and a high staging afforded the ladies an
opportunity of witnessing the novel race.

The "Novelty" and "Sans-pereil," though first on the list, were not
ready at the hour appointed. What engine was? The "Rocket."
Stephenson, next on the roll, was called for by the judges, and
promptly the little "Rocket" fired up at the call. It performed six
trips in about fifty-three minutes.

The "Novelty" then proclaimed itself ready. It was a light, trim
engine, of little more than three tons weight, carrying its wood and
water with it. It took no load, and ran across the course sometimes at
the rate of twenty-five miles an hour. The "Sans-pareil" also came
out.

The "Perseverance," not able to go faster than five or six miles an
hour, withdrew from the contest. As the day was now far spent, further
exhibition was put off till the morrow.

What exciting discussion must have taken place among rival competitors
and their friends! What a scrutiny of the merits and demerits, the
virtues and defects, of opposing engines!

Before the appointed hour the next day the bellows of the "Novelty"
gave out, and as this was one of its merits--a bellows to increase the
draft of the air-blast--its builders were forced to retire from the
list.

Soon after a defect was discovered in the boiler of the "Sans-pareil."
Mr. Hackworth begged for time to mend it; as there was no time, none
could be granted, and he, too, withdrew his claims.

The "Rocket" alone stood its ground. The "Rocket," therefore, was
called for. Stephenson attached to it a carriage large enough to hold
a party of thirty, and drove his locomotive along the line at the rate
of twenty-five and thirty miles an hour, to the amazement and delight
of every one present.

The next morning it was ordered to be in readiness to answer the
various specifications of the offer. It snorted and panted, and
steamed over the race-ground in proud trim, drawing about thirteen
tons weight. In twenty trips, backward and forward, its greatest speed
was twenty-nine miles an hour, three times greater than Nicholas Wood,
one of the judges, declared to be possible. Its average rate was
fifteen miles, five miles beyond the rate specified for the prize. The
performance appeared astonishing. Spectators were filled with wonder.
The poor directors began to see fair weather; doubts were solved,
disputes settled; the "Rocket" had cleared the track for them. There
could no longer be any question how to run the road. George Cropper,
who had steadily countenanced stationary engines, lifted up his hands,
exclaiming, "Stephenson has at last delivered himself!"

The two other locomotives, however, were allowed to reappear on the
stage; but both broke down, and the "Rocket" remained victor to the
last. It had performed, and more than performed, all it promised,
fulfilled all the conditions of the directors' offer, and was
accordingly declared to have nobly earned the prize, five hundred
pounds.

But the money was little compared to the profound satisfaction which
the Stephensons felt at this public acknowledgment of the worth of
their life-long labours. George's veracity, skill, and intelligence
had all been doubted, denied, and derided by men of all classes. Even
old friends turned against him, and thought his mind was crazed by
"one idea." He had to struggle on alone; faithful to his convictions,
patiently biding his time, yet earnestly pleading his cause on every
suitable occasion. He had a blessing for the world, and he knew when
it felt its want of it, it would have it. That time had come. The
directors flocked around him with flattering congratulations. All
shyness and coolness vanished. Friends were no longer few. The shares
of the company immediately rose ten per cent. Men and means were at
his disposal. George Stephenson was a happy man.

The "Rocket" had blown stationary engines to the winds. And steam that
day, on the land as well as the water, took its place as one of the
grand moving powers of the world.




CHAPTER IX.

OPENING OF THE NEW ROAD--DIFFICULTIES VANISH--A NEW ERA.


There was no more waiting for work at the locomotive factory in
Newcastle. Orders immediately arrived from the directors to build
eight large engines for the new road, and all the workshops were astir
with busy life. The victorious little "Rocket" was put on the road,
and sensibly helped to finish it. Neither faith, men, nor means were
now wanting, and the labour in every part went heartily on.

In June a meeting of the directors was held in Manchester, when the
"Rocket" made a trip from Liverpool to that city with a freight and
passenger train, running through in two hours. Chat Moss never
quivered; and the directors, I daresay, would have been very glad to
forget their disconsolate meeting on the edge of it, when they nearly
voted themselves beaten by the bog, only Stephenson would not let
them.

On the 15th of September, 1830, there was to be a public opening of
the road, and preparations were made at each end, and all along the
way, for the grand event. The occasion awakened a deep and universal
interest. It was justly regarded as a national event, to be celebrated
with becoming honours. The Duke of Wellington, then Prime Minister,
was present; also Sir Robert Peel and Mr. Huskisson, whose stirring
words revived the drooping spirits of the directors after their defeat
in parliament, and whose influence served to get their bill
successfully through at last. No one, perhaps, had watched the
progress of the enterprise with deeper interest than Mr. Huskisson, or
rejoiced more in the vanquishing of one difficulty after another to
its final finishing. Great numbers came from far and near, who,
assembling by the slow mode of travel of those days, took time
accordingly.

Carriages lined the roads and lanes; the river was crowded with boats;
and soldiers and constables had their hands full to keep the people
from the track.

The new locomotives, eight in number, having been faithfully tested,
steamed proudly up. The "Northumbrian," driven by George Stephenson,
took the lead. Next the "Phoenix," under Robert's charge; then the
"North Star," by a brother of George. The "Rocket," and the rest, with
their trains, followed. Six hundred persons were in this procession,
flying at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour! Oh, the wonder and
admiration which the spectacle excited! These noble steam-horses
panting, prancing, snorting, puffing, blowing, shooting through
tunnels, dashing across bridges, coursing high embankments, and racing
over the fields and far away. England and the world never saw before a
sight like that.

But the joy and the triumph of the occasion were destined to be
dampened by a terrible disaster. At Parkenside, seventeen miles from
Liverpool, the "Northumbrian," which carried the Duke and his party,
was drawn up on one track, in order to allow the other trains to pass
in review before them on the other. Mr. Huskisson alighted, and,
standing outside, was talking with the Duke, when a hurried cry of
"Get in! get in!" went up from the bystanders; for on came the
"Rocket," steaming along at full speed. Mr. Huskisson, startled and
confused, attempted to regain the carriage an instant too late; he was
struck down, and the "Rocket" went over him.

"I have met my death!" exclaimed the unfortunate statesman; which,
alas! proved but too true, for he died that evening.

A sad confusion prevailed. The body of the wounded gentleman was
lifted into the car, or carriage as it then was, and the
"Northumbrian" took him over the track home, a distance of fifteen
miles, in about twenty minutes. So swiftly and easily done! The use
rather than the abuse of the new power made the strongest impression.

The mournful accident threw a cloud over the occasion. The Duke wished
to stop the celebration, and immediately return to Liverpool. Mr.
Huskisson's friends joined with him in the wish. Others felt that
Manchester should not be disappointed in witnessing the arrival of
the trains, and that the accident might become magnified and
misrepresented, and thus operate mischievously upon public sentiment
in relation to railroads; the party therefore consented to proceed to
their journey's end, but were unwilling to mingle in any of the
rejoicings common to such occasions.

But the railroad needed no such demonstrations to prove its worth. It
had within itself more substantial proof. Time was saved; labour was
saved; money was saved. Coal, cotton, and every article of merchandise
useful to men could be carried cheaper, could be had cheaper, than
ever before, and, what was better, had in quantities sufficient to
satisfy the industry and necessities of men. And with cheapness was
combined comfort and safety. The first eighteen months seven hundred
thousand persons were carried over the road, and not an accident
happened.

But were not people frightened by the smoke, cinders, fire, and noise
of the engines, as the opposition in Parliament declared they would
be? No, no. It was not long before everybody wanted land near the
track; and land, therefore, near the road rapidly rose in value. The
farmers who had scouted the surveyors from their fields now complained
of being left on one side; and those who had farms near the stations
to rent rented them at a much higher rate than ever before. Barren
lots became suddenly profitable, and even Chat Moss was turned into
productive acres.

In 1692 an old writer states, "There is an admirable commodiousness
both for men and women of the better rank to travel from London, the
like of which has not been known in the world; and that is, by
stage-coaches, wherein one may be transferred to any place, sheltered
from foul weather, with a velocity and speed equal to the fastest
posts in foreign countries; for the stage-coaches called
'Flying-coaches' make forty or fifty miles a day."

An English paper, bearing the date of January, 1775, has this
advertisement, "HEREFORD MACHINE. In a day and a half, twice a week,
continues flying from the 'Swan' in Hereford, Monday and Thursday, to
London."

What would the people of those days say to a railroad carriage,
especially on the "Lightning Train?"

The first stage-coach between Boston and New York began, June 24,
1772, to run once a fortnight, starting on the thirteenth, and
arriving on the twenty-eighth, fifteen days' travel. Now the distance
is gone over in less than the same number of hours. And so the first
stage-coach between New York and Philadelphia, begun in 1756, occupied
three days in the journey. Three days dwindle down to three hours in
the train.

In the Scriptures we find Isaiah with prophetic eye looking over the
centuries to these later times, and penning down, "Every valley shall
be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the
crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain;" and
"swift messengers" are seen executing the world's affairs--no meagre
description of the great means of intercourse in our day, the railway
and telegraph. The prophet saw in it a clearing of the track for the
coming kingdom of the Redeemer, which is, some time, to spread over
the whole earth as "the waters cover the sea." Men make good tools and
instruments for themselves. They forget they are perfecting them for
God also, who is using them, and who will use them to make known the
precious Gospel of His Son, "peace on earth, and good will to men."

What powerful preachers for the Sabbath are the railway and telegraph,
doing away with all necessity and every excuse for Sabbath travelling,
as they do. Long journeys and the most urgent business can be done
between Sabbath and Sabbath, giving a rest-day to the nation. And this
view of them is deserving more and more regard.

The institution of the Sabbath was founded with the human race. It was
meant to be the rest-day of the entire world. It was set up as a
blessing: "The Lord blessed the Sabbath-day, and hallowed it." The
bodies of man and beast need it. The muscles, bones, nerves, sinews,
and brain cannot endure the strain of constant and uninterrupted work.
It is a day of making up the waste of the animal frame under continual
labour and excitement. Night rest is not enough. The God of nature and
the God of the Sabbath has fitted the one to the other.

When the knowledge of God had faded out of the earth, and God chose a
people to restore and preserve it, besides a code of national laws
particularly for them, He enacted from Sinai a code of moral laws for
man. Among them was the rest-law of the Sabbath. It is the Fourth
Commandment of the Decalogue, taught in all our Sabbath-schools,
pulpits, and homes: "Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy: in it
thou shalt do no work," man or beast. Farther, God promises great
reward to those who call "the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord,
honourable * * not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own
pleasure, nor speaking thine own words, but delighting thyself in the
Lord;" showing not only the rest-use of the Sabbath, but its soul-use,
as a day of special intercourse with God.

"The Sabbath was made for man," says Jesus Christ; and the _Christian_
Sabbath incorporated into it the finishing of the great plan of our
redemption, when Christ,

    "Who endured the cross and grave,
    Sinners to redeem and save,"

left the tomb and ascended to heaven. Thus it is appropriately called
"the Lord's day," the day when our worldly business is to be set
aside, and Christ presses His claims upon the hearts and consciences
of men. It is a break in the hurrying whirl of this life's interests,
to consider the solemn issues of eternity, and that Atoning Love which
is mighty to save all who, by repentance and faith, accept its terms
of mercy.

We find it was on the observance or desecration of the Sabbath that
the prosperity of the Hebrew nation hung. "You bring wrath upon the
nation," cried Nehemiah to the Sabbath-breaking traders. "This very
profanation has been the cause of our disasters in times past." For
Sabbath profanation leads to forgetfulness of God; and God left out,
what becomes of man? Ruin stares him in the face. "The ungodly shall
not prosper." What becomes of a nation? Ruin. They shall be left to
their own doings. The French nation blotted out the Sabbath, and
showed what it was _to be left of God_.

When an African prince sent an ambassador to Queen Victoria with
costly presents, and asked her to tell him in return the secret of
England's greatness and England's glory, presenting him with a copy of
the Bible, the queen replied, "Tell your prince that _this_ is the
secret of England's greatness."

If this is true of England, much more must it prove true of America.
For all our institutions, all our civil and religious interests, month
by month and year by year, are in the hands of and are subject to the
will of the people. What ought such a people to be. Pre-eminently they
need the morality of the Bible, the conscience and the self-restraint
which the Bible enjoins; and for this purpose they must vigorously
support the institutions of the Bible. Foremost in the foreground is
the Sabbath. It has come down to us through the ages, the great
anniversary-day of a finished creation and a completed atonement,
summoning men to call on the name of the Lord, and bless and praise
His holy name.

[Illustration: Holy Bible]

On its observance the highest moral education of the people depends.
Every railroad corporation is bound to be a Sabbath-keeping
corporation. It _makes time enough_ to do its work. The _nature_ of
its work demands responsible men. An immense amount of property is in
its hands, requiring officers of scrupulous integrity to manage its
interests. The gross receipts of eight of the railways terminating in
London are over two hundred and fifty thousand pounds a week.

It has the life and limbs of thousands upon thousands entrusted to its
charge, at the mercy of its employers, engineers, firemen, brakemen,
switchmen, the recklessness or unfaithfulness of any of whom can bring
sudden death to scores, and plunge a nation into mourning. These men,
to be _kept_ the right men, need the Sabbath. To be honest,
responsible, vigilant, true, God-fearing men, fit for their posts of
duty, they _must have_ the Sabbath.

Many roads are Sabbath-keeping. Some of those which do run on that day
are poorly paid. Carrying the mail helps them out. They run, perhaps,
for that purpose. But is it _necessary_ to keep up Sabbath violation
on our great routes in order to forward the mail? Does not the
Saturday telegraph do away with that necessity? Every important item
of business can be put through on the wires in time.

The side of the Sabbath is the side of God.

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

Robert proved himself worthy of such a father. They were alike in
character, intimately associated in the great engineering enterprises
of their day, and bound to each other by the fondest affection.

George built roads, Robert bridges to run them over; for railroads
have given birth to the most stupendous and splendid bridges the world
ever saw. The famous tubular bridge over the Straits of Menai,
connecting Holyhead with the main land, and the High Level bridge of
Newcastle, built by him, are monuments of engineering skill. You often
see pictures of them. The most remarkable work of his genius, however,
is on _the American_ side of the Atlantic ocean.

The Grand Trunk Railway of Canada, terminating at Montreal, wanted
to connect with the seaboard; and the road was extended from Montreal
to Portland, Maine. But the river St. Lawrence, deep and broad,
sweeping down its mighty current the waters and ice of the great
lakes, broke the line, and separated the road into two parts. The
river must be spanned. A bridge must be built. It was a stupendous
undertaking, but Robert Stephenson can do it. Robert Stephenson did do
it. It is thrown from Languire to a point half a mile below the city,
a distance of nearly two miles. It is composed of twenty-four spans,
and has three million feet of solid masonry in it. The road runs
through iron tubes, sixty feet above the river, and the train is nine
minutes going across. There are ten thousand tons of iron in the
tubes. It was six years in building. It is called the Goliath of
bridges, and is named the Victoria Bridge, in honour of the Queen.

[Illustration: TUBULAR BRIDGE OVER THE MENAI STRAITS.]

Robert drafted, calculated, estimated, and superintended section
after section of this immense work, and yet never visited the scene of
labour; photographs were sent him of its progress step by step. It was
finished December, 1859, and opened with all the festal honours
possible in that season of the year. At the entertainments given there
was one sentiment: "Robert Stephenson, the greatest engineer the world
ever saw," followed by no cheers. A deep hush swept over the assembly.

For Robert Stephenson was dead. He died the twelfth of October, two
months before the full completion of the work, in the rich prime of a
noble manhood. His death was looked upon as a public calamity, and
England, with a true sense of his worth, laid him side by side with
her most honourable dead. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, with her
kings and queens, her princes and poets, her warriors and statesmen.
The funeral procession was between two and three miles long;
thousands lined the streets, and thousands pressed into the Abbey.
Tickets were necessary in order to get entrance; and one of the most
pressing applicants was a humble working-man, who, years before, drove
the first locomotive engine from Birmingham to London, with Robert
Stephenson at his elbow.

The humble Newcastle collier-boy crowned his life with honourable
toil, and at his death a nation mourned a great man fallen.

       *       *       *       *       *

You have read this short history with great interest, I doubt not, my
young friends; and some I hear say, "I wish _I_ could achieve some
great and useful work in the world, and have my name written in a
book."

It is not a mean aspiration. Every noble spirit desires to be better
and greater than it is, and God gives to each of you a great and
precious work to do.

You have a Saviour to serve and glorify, and heaven to win, which is
indeed our great life-work here.

The Lord Jesus, having bought our redemption by His own blood on the
cross, has set up His kingdom in the world, and says to you and to
every one, "Son, give Me thy heart."

And there is but one true purpose to make before every other purpose
in life: "As for me, _I_ will serve the Lord." If by true repentance
and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ you give yourself to Him, the
noblest life is before you. This work will bless all other work. This
path will make all other paths safe. No matter what your situation in
this world may be, high or low, rich or poor, your Master is most
honoured by godliness and humility, and they are out of place nowhere.

The world is so poor that it can give its honours to but a few. God,
in His infinite richness, offers heaven to us all; and by the gift of
His Holy Spirit, for which we must ever pray, a life of piety is
within the reach even of a little child.

The steady trust and singleness of purpose which have so delighted you
in the lives of the Stephensons, may you have, my children, in the
service of your blessed Lord, who will make you victorious over every
hindrance, and bring you safe to His sweet presence in heaven at last.

There you will find your name written in the Lamb's _Book of Life_,
never, never to perish.

George Watson and Co., Printers, 28, Charles Street, Farringdon Road,
London.

       *       *       *       *       *

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     A MORE EXCELLENT Way, and other Stories of the Temperance
     Crusade in America. By M. E. Winslow. Containing incidents
     founded on facts in connection with Woman's Work in this branch
     of Temperance labour. With eight full-page Engravings. Crown
     8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.

     BIBLE WONDERS. By the Rev. Dr. Newton. Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     THE DAIRYMAN'S Daughter. By the Rev. Legh Richmond, M.A. Cloth,
     1s. 6d.; Gilt, 2s. 6d.

     THE GREAT PILOT and His Lessons. By the Author of "The Giants,
     and how to fight them." Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     ILLUSTRATED SABBATH Facts; or, God's Weekly Gift to the Weary.
     Reprinted from the "British Workman." Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     The LITTLE WOODMAN and his Dog Cæsar. By Mrs. Sherwood. Cloth,
     1s. 6d.

     "PUFFING BILLY" and the Prize "Rocket;" or, The Story of the
     Stephensons and our Railways. By Mrs. H. C. Knight. Cloth
     plain, 1s. 6d.

     RAG AND TAG. By Mrs. E. J. Whittaker. Containing an account of
     two ragged children who are taken in hand by Christian people
     and become worthy members of society. With ten full-page
     Illustrations. Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     RILLS FROM the FOUNTAIN of Life. By the Rev. Dr. Newton. Cloth,
     1s. 6d.

     DIVINE AND MORAL Songs. By Dr. Watts. Cloth, 1s.

     The GIANTS; AND HOW to Fight them. By the Rev. Dr. Newton.
     Cloth, 1s.

     HOW PAUL'S PENNY became a Pound. By the Author of "Dick and his
     Donkey." With Illustrations. New Edition. Cloth, 1s.

     HOW PETER'S POUND became a Penny. By the Author of "Jack the
     Conqueror," &c. With Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     JENNY'S GERANIUM; or, the Prize Flower of a London Court.
     Cloth, 1s.

     JOE and SALLY; or, a Good Deed and its Fruits. By the Author of
     "Grumbling Tommy." With Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     JOHN ORIEL'S START IN LIFE. By Mary Howitt. With many
     Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     A MOTHER'S STORIES for her Children. By the late Mrs. Carus
     Wilson. Cloth, 1s.

     "NOT A MINUTE TO Spare." A Thought for the Times. By S.
     Clarence. With Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     PRINCE CONSORT, The late. Reminiscences of his Life and
     Character. By Rev. J. H. Wilson. With numerous Illustrations.
     Cloth, 1s.

     SNOWDROPS; or, Life from the Dead. With numerous Illustrations.
     Cloth, 1s.

     TOIL AND TRUST; or, Life Story of Patty, the Workhouse Girl. By
     Mrs. Balfour. Cloth, 1s.

     WIDOW GREEN AND her Three Nieces. By Mrs. Ellis. Cl., 1s.

     NO WORK, NO BREAD. By the Author of "Jessica's First Prayer."
     With Illustrations. Cloth, 6d.

     THE PEARLY GATES. By Mrs. C. Rigg. With Illustrations. Cloth,
     6d.

     WILLIE TURNER, THE Cripple; or, "Safe in the Arms of Jesus." By
     Mrs. Fry. Cloth, 6d.


TEMPERANCE.

(_Many of these are suitable for Sunday School Library_)

     THREE PEOPLE. A Story of the American Crusade. Giving an
     interesting history of the lives of three young men from the
     day of their birth to the sad death of one, and the great
     success and happiness, after great struggles, of the other two.
     It is an excellent and interesting gift-book for both young and
     old. With twenty-nine full-page Illustrations. Large crown
     quarto, cloth, 5s.

     A BUNCH of CHERRIES. Gathered and strung by J. W. Kirton, Esq.,
     Author of "Buy your own Cherries." Cloth, 3s. 6d.

     MORNING DEW-DROPS; or, The Young Abstainer. By Mrs. C. L.
     Balfour. A revised and Illustrated Edition of this most
     valuable Temperance Book for the Young is just ready. Cloth,
     3s. 6d.

     LIFE OF JAMES M'CURREY, The. Edited by Mrs. C. L. Balfour.
     Cloth, 2s. 6d.

     A MORE EXCELLENT Way, and other Stories of the Temperance
     Crusade in America. By M. E. Winslow. Containing incidents
     founded on facts in connection with Woman's Work in this branch
     of Temperance labour. With eight full-page Engravings. Crown
     8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.

     THE FOUR PILLARS OF Temperance. By the Author of "Buy your own
     Cherries." Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     ILLUSTRATED TEMPERANCE Anecdotes; or, Facts and Figures for the
     Platform and the People. Compiled by the Editor of the "British
     Workman." 1st and 2nd series. Cloth, 1s. 6d. each.

     CHURCH OF ENGLAND Temperance Tracts. Illustrated. Assorted
     packets, 1s. Nos. 1 to 18.

     CLUB NIGHT: A Village Record. By Mrs. Balfour. Cloth, 1s.

     COME HOME, MOTHER. A Story for Mothers. Cloth, 1s.

     COUSIN BESSIE: A Story of Youthful Earnestness. Cloth, 1s.

     DIGGING A GRAVE with a Wine Glass. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. Cloth,
     1s.

     FRANK SPENCER'S Rule of Life. By J. W. Kirton, Author of "Buy
     your own Cherries." Cloth, 1s.

     MODERATE DRINKING. Containing the Speeches on the above subject
     by Sir H. Thompson, F.R.C.S.; Dr. B. W. Richardson, F.R.S.;
     Rev. Canon Farrar, D.D., F.R.S.; Edward Baines, Esq.; Admiral
     Sir James Sulivan, K.C.B.; and Rev. H. Sinclair Paterson, M.D.
     With Portraits of the above Speakers. Cloth, 1s. Without
     Portraits and first three Speeches only, paper cover, 4d.

     NOTHING LIKE EXAMPLE. By Nelsie Brook. With Engravings. Cloth,
     1s.

     PARISH DIFFICULTY and its Remedy. By K. Ashley. Cloth, 1s.

     PASSAGES IN THE HISTORY of a Shilling. By Mrs. C. L. Balfour.
     Cloth, 1s.

     WANDERINGS OF A Bible, and My Mother's Bible. Cloth, 1s.

     THE BLACK BULL. By the Widow of a Publican. A Story for the
     Times. Cloth, 6d.

     "BUY YOUR OWN Cherries." Prose Edition. By J. W. Kirton, Esq.
     Cloth, 6d.

     "BUY YOUR OWN Cherries." Versified from the original Edition.
     Cloth, 6d.

     Christopher THORPE'S Victory. A Tale for the Upper Classes. By
     Nelsie Brook. Cloth, 6d.

     JOHN WORTH; or, The Drunkard's Death. Cloth, 6d.

     NO WORK, NO BREAD. By the Author of "Jessica's First Prayer."
     With Illustrations. Cloth, 6d.

     PASTOR'S PLEDGE. By Rev. William Roaf. 6d.

     ELIZABETH COMSTOCK'S Address. 2d.

     JIM LINEHAM's HAPPY Blunder. 2d.

     HOW RACHEL HUNTER bought her own Cherries. 2d.

     HISTORY and MYSTERY of a Glass of Ale. By the Author of "Buy
     your own Cherries." 2d.

     "GOOD FRUIT." With Cover, 2d.

     "HE DRINKS." With Cover, 2d.

     "NOT A DROP MORE, Daniel." With coloured cover, 2d.

     OLD BOOTS. 2d.

     TOTTIE'S CHRISTMAS Shoes. 2d.

     WILLIAM AND MARY; or, The Fatal Blow. By Mrs. Ellis. 2d.

     BUY YOUR OWN CHERRIES. By J. W. Kirton. 1d.

     CLERGYMAN'S REASONS for Teetotalism. 1d.

     FAMILY PLEDGE CARD. 1d.

     PUT ON THE BREAK, Jim! 1d.


KINDNESS TO ANIMALS, Etc.

     OUR ZOOLOGICAL Friends. By Harland Coultas. Cl., 6s.

     ANIMALS AND THEIR Young. By Harland Coultas. With Full-page
     engravings. Cloth, 5s.

     STORIES ABOUT Horses. With numerous Full-page Illustrations.
     Cloth, 5s.

     BIRDIE AND HER DOG; and other Stories of Canine Sagacity. With
     numerous Illustrations. Cl., 3s. 6d.

     OUR FOUR-FOOTED Friends; or, the History of Manor Farm, and the
     People and Animals there. By Mary Howitt. With numerous
     Illustrations. Cloth, 3s. 6d.

     NATURAL HISTORY Picture Roll. Consisting of 31 Illustrated
     Leaves, with simple large type Letterpress, suitable to hang up
     in the Nursery, Schoolroom, &c. Price 3s.

     OUR DUTY to ANIMALS. By Mrs. C. Bray, Author of "Physiology for
     Schools," &c. Intended to teach the young kindness to animals.
     Cloth, 1s. 6d.: School Edition, 1s. 3d.

     A MOTHER'S LESSONS on Kindness to Animals. 1st, 2nd, and 3rd
     Series. Cloth, 1s.; Limp, 6d. each.

     CLAIMS OF ANIMALS. A Lecture on the duty of promoting kindness
     to the Animal Creation. In large type, with Illustrations.
     Cloth, 1s.

     KINDNESS to ANIMALS. By Charlotte Elizabeth. With numerous
     illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     POOR BLOSSOM. The Story of a Horse. By E. H. B. With many
     Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     DICK and HIS DONKEY; or, How to Pay the Rent. Cloth, 6d.

     LITTLE FAN. Cloth, 6d.

     ONLY A LADYBIRD. Cloth, 6d.

     RICHARD BARTON; or, The Wounded Bird. Cloth, 6d.

     SPARROW CLUB. By the Author of "Whose dog is it?" &c. Showing
     the folly of farmers, &c., banding themselves together to
     destroy Sparrows, &c. With Illustrations. Cloth. 6d.

     "WHOSE DOG IS IT?" or, the Story of Poor Gyp. With
     Illustrations. Cloth, 6d.

     OLD JANET'S CHRISTMAS Gift. An interesting Story of a Donkey.
     Coloured Cover, 2d.

     ANECDOTES OF ANIMALS. With Cover, and full of Illustrations.
     1d. each.

    1. Anecdotes of Horses.
    2. Anecdotes of Dogs.
    3. Anecdotes of Donkeys.
    4. Neddy and Me.
    5. Blackbird's Nest.
    6. On the Management of Horses.
    7. The Brother Drovers.
    8. Kind-Hearted Ralph.

     ANIMALS' FRIEND Sheet Almanac. Annually. 1d.

     HALFPENNY BOOKS.

    Kindness to Animals.
    Peter's Pets.
    "Only for Fun."
    The Useful Donkey.
    Mercy to Animals.
    Emma's Visit to the Country.
    The Chaffinch's Story.
    The Sparrow's Sermon.
    Bobby and the Birds.
    The Feathered Friends.
    Annie and the Butterfly.
    Roland, the Champion.

     ILLUSTRATED FLY-Leaves. 2s. 6d. per 100.

     No. 87. A Plea for the Birds.

     ILLUSTRATED WALL Papers. 1d. each.

    No. 11. A Plea for the Donkey.
    " 28. A Plea for the Birds.
    " 38. Horses and their Masters.
    " 51. The Shoeing Forge.
    " 52. Robin and the Railway Guard.
    " 59. How to Manage Horses.
    " 68. Our Little Feathered Friends.
    " 72. The Cow's Complaint.
    " 73. Man's Noble Friend--The Horse.
    " 74. A Royal Society.
    " 77. The Costermonger.
    " 85. Anecdotes of Elephants.


FOR SOLDIERS AND SAILORS.

     OUT AT SEA: A Few Simple Ballads addressed to Sailors. Cl., 6d.
     & 1s.

     BEN AND HIS MOTHER. By Mrs. Carns Wilson. Cloth, 6d.

     ARTICLES OF WAR: A Dialogue between two Soldiers. 3d.

     NED STOKES, THE MAN-o'-War's Man. By Agnes E. Weston. 3d.

     "HE DRINKS!" With cover, 2d.

     "THE DRUMMER BOY." With Cover, 2d.

     DOES IT ANSWER. 1d.

     RIGHT ABOUT FACE. 1d.

     GOING ALOFT. 1d.


FOR WORKING MEN.

     ILLUSTRATED PENNY Readings: being Twelve Separate Readings in
     each Series. In Paper Covers. Third Series, 1s.

     SPARKS FROM THE Anvil. By Elihu Burritt. Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     NEVER GIVE UP. A Christmas Story for Working Men and their
     Wives. By Nelsie Brook. Cloth, 1s.

     NOTHING LIKE EXAMPLE. By Nelsie Brook. With engravings. Cloth,
     1s.

     THE BEST MASTER; or, Can Coachmen have their Sundays? By the
     Author of "Household Proverbs." Cloth, 6d.

     THE BLACK BULL. By the Widow of a Publican. A Story for the
     Times. Cloth, 6d.

     "BUY YOUR OWN Cherries." By J. W. Kirton, Esq. Cloth, 6d.

     LOST IN THE SNOW; or, The Kentish Fisherman. By Mrs. C. Rigg.
     With numerous Illustrations. Cloth, 6d.

     "BRITISH WORKMAN" Series of Tracts. Intended for circulation
     amongst the Working Classes. 2d. each.

    1. Darby Brill
    2. The Carpenter's Speech
    3. The Sailor's Parrot
    4. Tom Carter's Way of Doing Good
    5. The Last Customer
    6. Going Aloft
    7. "Right about Face"
    8. John Harding's Locket
    9. He Drinks
    10. Doing his Duty
    11. Good Fruit
    12. The Bent Shilling
    13. The Drummer Boy
    14. Inch Auger
    15. Split Navvy
    16. Put on the Break, Jim!
    17. Taking up of Barney O'Rourke
    18. The House that John Built
    19. Articles of War
    20. Little Sam Groves
    21. Poor Man's House Repaired
    22. Richard Harvey
    23. Only one Glass
    24. How Rachel Hunter, &c.
    25. Robert Gray Mason
    26. My Mother's Gold Ring
    27. The Emperor's Proclamation.
    28. The Sign of the Fox.
    29. John Jarvis
    30. Elizabeth Comstock's Address
    31. The Polite Postmaster
    32. The Home Concert
    33. Temperance and Intemperance
    34. Cure for Strikes
    35. Betty Brown, the Orange Girl

     COLOURED TRACTS. Twenty pages. With coloured Cover, 2d. each.

    1. Buy your own Cherries
    2. Matthew Hart's Dream
    3. Old Janet's Christmas Gift
    4. A Little Child shall lead them
    5. The Last Penny
    6. Out of Work
    7. John Stepping Forth
    8. The Independent Labourer
    9. Bought with a Price. By A. L. O. E.
    10. Bethlehem
    11. The Three Bags of Gold
    12. The Hidden Foe. By A. L. O. E.
    13. No Work, No Bread
    14. Light in the Bars
    15. Tramp's Story
    16. Thady O'Connor
    17. The Shadow on the Door
    18. Fisherman's Shagreen Box
    19. Going Down Hill
    20. Not a Drop more, Daniel
    21. Mike Slattery
    22. The Holly Boy
    23. Melodious Mat
    24. Blind Mary of the Mountain
    25. Old Boots
    26. Tottie's Christmas Shoes
    27. Died at his Post
    28. Jim Lineham's Happy Blunder
    29. The Emperor's Proclamation

     WORK AND WAGES. By J. W. Kirton, Author of "Buy your own
     Cherries." 2d.

     BUY YOUR OWN CHERRIES. Prose. By J. W. Kirton. 1d.

     PUT ON THE BREAK, Jim! 1d.

     ILLUSTRATED WALL Papers. Reprints in large type from the
     "British Workman." For the Walls of Workshops and Schools,
     Ships' Cabins, Barbers' Shops, &c. One Penny each. And done up
     in One Shilling packets, containing twelve numbers. Five
     Shilling packets containing Nos. 1 to 60.

    1. "No Swearing Allowed"
    2. Bob, the Cabin-Boy
    3. "Swallowing a Yard of Land"
    4. "Knock off those Chains"
    5. "He stands Fire!"
    6. Fisherman and Porter
    7. "Will Father be a Goat?"
    8. Man with a Cross on his Back
    9. John Maynard, the Brave Pilot
    10. My Account with her Majesty
    11. A Plea for the Donkey
    12. Preparing for the Flower Show
    13. Gin Shop
    14. Thomas Paine's Recantation
    15. Oil and Stewed Eels
    16. The Blue Jacket's Sampler
    17. Buy your own Cherries
    18. Fred Harford's Great Coat
    19. Reduced to the Ranks
    20. Musical Coal Man
    21. The Fool's Pence
    22. "What's that to Me?"
    23. A Plea for the Birds
    24. A Pledge for a Pledge
    25. The First Snowdrop
    26. The Losings Bank and the Savings Bank
    27. Mike Donovan's Looking Glass
    28. John Morton's New Harmonium
    29. On the Look-Out
    30. The "'Tis Buts" Box
    31. The Prodigal Son
    32. The Christmas Arm Chair
    33. The Village Gleaner
    34. The Ambitious Blacksmith
    35. My First Ministerial Difficulty
    36. Something to Show for your Money
    37. Stop! Mend your Buckle
    38. Horses and their Masters
    39. The Parable of the Sower
    40. Jack and the Yellow Boys
    41. The Christmas Sheaf
    42. Discontented Pendulum
    43. The Life Boat
    44. Providence will Provide
    45. Celebrated Italians
    46. Dust Ho!
    47. A Plea for Washerwomen
    48. The Nativity
    49. The Name in Gold Letters
    50. John Rose's Freehold
    51. The Shoeing Forge
    52. Robin and Railway Guard
    53. In the Far Country
    54. Canute's Rebuke
    55. Tom Carter's Way of Doing Good
    56. The Two Gardeners
    57. Dip your Roll in your Own Pot
    58. Our Christmas Tree
    59. How to Manage Horses
    60. Home-Coming of Darby Brill
    61. Scripture Patchwork Quilt
    62. Michael Donovan
    63. "That's Thee, Jem"
    64. The Secret of England's Greatness
    65. My Uncle's Life Motto
    66. Should Museums be Opened on Sundays?
    67. Where are you going, Thomas Brown?
    68. Our Little Feathered Friends
    69. Tim's Oration
    70. Live and Let Live
    71. The Story of a Violin
    72. The Cow's Complaint
    73. Man's Noble Friend--The Horse
    74. A Royal Society
    75. Hints for Working Men
    76. The Well-to-do Cabman
    77. The Costermonger
    78. Eric, the Russian Slave
    79. Herrings for Nothing
    80. Died at his Post
    81. Conditions of Sale
    82. The Emperor's Proclamation
    83. The Brazen Serpent
    84. The Polite Postmaster
    85. Anecdotes of Elephants
    86. The Workman's Home Concert

     JEFFREY THE MURDERER. By the Rev. G. W. McCree. 1d.

     PROVIDENCE ROW; or, The Successful Collier. By Rev. T. H.
     Walker. 1d.

     SLAVERY IN ENGLAND. A Vision of the Night. 1d.

     SUNDAY ON "THE Line;" or, Plain Facts for Working Men. 1d.

     "BRITISH WORKMAN" Placards. Adapted for Workshops, &c., 1d.;
     Nos. 1 to 14. Nos. 1 to 12 done up in packets, 1s. If an order
     be sent with 14 stamps, the complete Set will be forwarded post
     free.


BOOKS FOR BOYS.

(_See also Temperance, etc._)

     JACK THE CONQUEROR; or, Difficulties Overcome. By the Author of
     "Dick and his Donkey." Cloth, 5s.

     MORNING DEWDROPS; or, The Young Abstainer. By Mrs. C. L.
     Balfour. With Illustrations. Cl., 3s. 6d.

     THREE PEOPLE. A Story of the American Crusade. Giving an
     interesting history of the lives of three young men from the
     day of their birth to the sad death of one, and the great
     success and happiness, after great struggles, of the other two.
     It is an excellent and interesting gift-book for both young and
     old. With twenty-nine full-page Illustrations. Large crown
     quarto, cloth, 5s.

     GERARD MASTYN; or, The Son of a Genius. By E. H. Burrage. With
     Illustrations. Cloth, 2s. 6d.

     THE LITTLE WOOD-MAN and his Dog Cæsar. By Mrs. Sherwood. Cloth,
     1s. 6d.; gilt, 2s. 6d.

     "PUFFING BILLY" and the Prize "Rocket"; or, The Story of the
     Stephensons and our Railways. By Mrs. H. C. Knight. Cloth,
     plain, 1s. 6d.

     RAG AND TAG. By Mrs. E. J. Whittaker. Containing an account of
     two ragged children who are kindly taken in hand by Christian
     people and become worthy members of society. With ten full-page
     Illustrations. Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     VIGNETTES OF AMERICAN History. By Mary Howitt. Cloth, 1s. 6d.

     FRANK SPENCER'S Rule of Life. By J. W. Kirton, Author of "Buy
     your own Cherries." Cloth, 1s.

     HOW PAUL'S PENNY became a Pound. By the Author of "Dick and his
     Donkey." New Edition. With Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     HOW PETER'S POUND became a Penny. By the Author of "Jack the
     Conqueror," &c. With Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     JOE AND SALLY; or, A Good Deed and its Fruits. By the Author of
     "Grumbling Tommy." With illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     JOHN ORIEL'S START in Life. By Mary Howitt. With many
     Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     "NOT A MINUTE TO Spare." A Thought for the Times. By S.
     Clarence. With Illustrations. Cloth, 1s.

     NO GAINS WITHOUT Pains; A True Story. By H. C. Knight. Cloth,
     1s.

     WILLY HEATH AND the House Rent. By William Leask, D.D. Cloth,
     1s.

     DICK and HIS DONKEY; or, How to Pay the Rent. Cloth, 6d.

     STORY OF TWO APPRENTICES. The Dishonest and the Successful. By
     the Rev. J. T. Barr. Cloth, 6d.

     SCRUB, THE WORK-HOUSE Boy. By Mrs. Balfour. 6d.

     THE TINY LIBRARY. Books printed in large type. Cloth, 6d. Nos.
     1 to 26 may be had in two boxes (A & B), price 6s. 6d. each, or
     in one box, price 13s. each.

    1. Hot Coals
    2. The Golden Rule
    3. Grandpapa's Walking-Stick
    4. Honesty the best Policy
    5. Silver Cup
    6. Short Stories
    7. Brave Little Boys
    8. Ben and his Mother
    9. Little David
    10. Richard Barton; or, The Wounded Bird
    11. Little Jim, the Rag Merchant
    12. Curious Jane
    13. Jenny and the Showman
    14. Little Fan
    15. Broken Window
    16. Letty Young
    17. Matty and Tom
    18. The Orphans
    19. John Madge
    20. Philip Reeve
    21. Henry Harris
    22. £1 and £10,000
    23. Brave Little Tom
    24. Ella's Rose-bud
    25. The Pedlar's Loan
    26. Milly's New Year
    27. Only a Ladybird
    28. The First False Step
    29. Richard Shaw
    30. He would not Think

     WILLIE TURNER, THE Cripple; or, "Safe in the Arms of Jesus." By
     Mrs. Fry. Cloth, 6d.

     A LAD WITH A GOOD Character. 1d.

     ORPHAN BOY; or, How Little John was Reclaimed. 1d.

     SON OF MY FRIEND. 1d.

     JUVENILE LIBRARY. Small books containing Stories for Children.
     Well Illustrated. Nos. 1 to 84. One halfpenny each; and may
     also be had in assorted Sixpenny Packets, A, B, C, D, E, F, and
     G.

    1. Fear of Ridicule
    2. The Two Nests
    3. Little Helpers
    4. Anecdotes of Dogs
    5. The Two Bears
    6. Questions with Answers
    7. Beautiful Garment
    8. The Bird's Nest
    9. The Organ Boy
    10. Lessons on Kindness
    11. Spring Flowers
    12. True Duncan
    13. Bread cast upon the Waters
    14. Greek Testament
    15. Brave Sailor Boy
    16. "You Can't Straighten It."
    17. Child Colporteur
    18. Boy that could be Trusted
    19. The Golden Star
    20. What a Blind Child can Do
    21. Be Truthful
    22. Child's Resolution
    23. Soldier and Princess
    24. Have you a Winter Garden?
    25. Trembling Eyelid
    26. Willie Harris
    27. The "Cry" Boy
    28. Troublesome Joe
    29. The Tell-Tale
    30. John Reynolds
    31. Pleasures of the Country
    32. Bennie Wilson's, Anti-Society
    33. Robert, The Stone-thrower
    34. Little Frank and Old "Dobbin"
    35. True Bravery
    36. Nellie Lindsay
    37. A Youthful Hero
    38. The Clever Boy
    39. Little Hugh's Tool-Box
    40. Try Company
    41. Remarkable Answer to Prayer
    42. What Echo Said
    43. Girl at the Well
    44. Juvenile Inquiries
    45. The Young Cadet
    46. Elijah in the Desert
    47. Greedy Bill
    48. A Happy New Year
    49. "Please, Sir"
    50. Young Sailor
    51. Horses from the Wood
    52. Little Bertha
    53. White Feather of Peace
    54. Helping Father to Garden
    55. Indian Chief
    56. Christmas Tree
    57. It Rains
    58. Young Patriot
    59. "With a will, Joe"
    60. Letter to Little Boys and Girls
    61. Young Drummer's Patchwork Quilt
    62. Poor Boy who became a great Painter
    63. Little Gleaner
    64. Pincher's Friend
    65. Help a Fellow-Creature
    66. Bargain with the Pump
    67. Bridal Wine-cup
    68. Plymouth Boatman
    69. True and False Courage
    70. Be kind to your Mother
    71. What the Birds say
    72. Ministry of Flowers
    73. Kindness to Animals
    74. Peter's Pets
    75. Only for Fun
    76. The Useful Donkey
    77. Mercy to Animals
    78. Emma's Visit to the Country
    79. The Chaffinch's Story
    80. The Sparrow's Sermon
    81. Bobby and the Birds
    82. The Feathered Friends
    83. Annie and the Butterfly
    84. Roland, the Champion


BOOKS FOR GIRLS.

     BIRDIE AND HER DOG; and other Stories of Canine Sagacity, with
     numerous Illustrations. Cl., 3s. 6d.

     THE BROOK'S STORY, and other Tales. By Mrs. C. E. Bowen. An
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    37. The Emperor's Proclamation
    38. "Thank you, Captain"
    39. The Prophet's Warning
    40. The Conscript's Substitute
    41. The Snow Track
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    46. The Broken Buckle
    47. The Indian's Speech
    48. Two Strong Men




Transcriber's Note:


Archaic and inconsistent spelling and punctuation retained.







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