'Puffing Billy' And The Prize 'Rocket' Part 7

It is a day of making up the waste of the animal frame under continual labour and excitement. Night rest is not enough. The G.o.d of nature and the G.o.d of the Sabbath has fitted the one to the other.

When the knowledge of G.o.d had faded out of the earth, and G.o.d 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, G.o.d 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 G.o.d.

"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 G.o.d; and G.o.d left out, what becomes of man? Ruin stares him in the face. "The unG.o.dly 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 G.o.d_.

When an African prince sent an amba.s.sador 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 inst.i.tutions, 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 inst.i.tutions 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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, G.o.d-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 Sat.u.r.day 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 G.o.d.

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 cla.s.s 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 a.s.sistance. 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 pa.s.s 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, ill.u.s.trating the patient a.s.siduity 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 gra.s.s, 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 G.o.d.

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 a.s.sociated 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 a.s.sembly.

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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble spirit desires to be better and greater than it is, and G.o.d 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 n.o.blest 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 G.o.dliness and humility, and they are out of place nowhere.

The world is so poor that it can give its honours to but a few. G.o.d, 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.