and from his house to his manufactory was a
pleasant walk amid fields, through the noble avenue of elms that led
to Ladywood House and Vincent Street bridge, and from thence by the
bank of the canal to the Crescent. I often walked to town in his
company, and admired with him the gorgeous apple blossoms of the trees
in the valley now filled up by the railway. We stood together one day
in 1846 or 1847, and saw the first barrowful of soil removed from the
canal bank, near the Crescent bridge, to form the opening which is now
the railway tunnel.

In private life few men have been more generally beloved. He was the
embodiment of kindliness and consideration for everybody. His domestic
servants and workpeople were warmly devoted to him, and many of them
remained nearly all their lives in his service. Only very recently
one of his domestic servants, who had continued after his death in the
service of a member of his family, died at an advanced age,
fifty-five years after entering his household. He was essentially a
"domesticated" man, and his conduct as a husband and father was marked
by unvarying benevolent regard and affectionate consideration. The
death, in 1861, of his only son was the great trial of his life. His
hopes and his ambitions had culminated in this son; and when he was
removed, the father staggered under the blow, and never properly
overcame the shock it gave him. From that time he gradually failed in
health, and retired from active life. Change of scene and release from
labour were of no avail. He eventually became a confirmed invalid, and
on the 16th of December, 1869, he passed away, to the great grief
of his family. His loss was greatly deplored by his domestics
and workpeople, and the whole population of Birmingham joined in
expressions of regret at the loss of one who was so universally
beloved and respected.

He was followed to his grave in the beautiful churchyard at Perry Barr
by the few surviving members of his family, by many friends, and by
the whole of the people employed at the works. The day was a bitter
wintry one, and the rain came down heavily. It was a touching sight;
thousands stood bare-headed beneath the inclement sky, as the body of
their friend was laid to its rest, and, amid sobs and tears, joined
with tremulous voices in singing--

"Earthly cavern, to thy keeping
We commit our brother's dust;
Keep it safely, softly sleeping,
Till our Lord demand thy trust."