Again his heart leaped in gratitude a moment afterwards when the upright column--strong, firm, immovable--pointing black and clear against the sky, came to view, and a deep "Thank God!" would burst from his lips. And now the months flew by and the great work neared its end. Smeaton himself chose the last details--the iron railings--the glass for the lantern. In the upper storeroom directly beneath the ceiling he had the motto carved--"Except the Lord build the house they labor in vain that build it." And the mason's last work was a "Laus Deo" in stone. Towards the end Smeaton could not leave it. With his own hands he fitted the windows in their sashes--fixed the gilt ball on the top--no easy matter--but he had ever filled the post of danger himself. He asked no one to put himself where he was not willing too to go. Expert as any skilled mechanic, he himself gave his great work its finishing touches. Twenty-four candles in a chandelier formed the light. The lightning-conductor was fixed--the rooms finished. The magnificent column towered to seventy feet, the lantern and gilt ball twenty-eight inches higher, and on October 16th, 1759, the work was done. Three years later a mighty storm broke along the coast, wrecking docks and ships and harbours, but the Eddystone stood firm. And now Smeaton's name was made. Other feats followed. Other triumphs awaited him--the building of docks and harbours and bridges--but the thing that men will ever link with his name is the Eddystone. After the stress and struggle of public life, he went back again to the old home of his boyhood. He gathered again about him his workshop, his study, his observatory. And so he worked to the end. He could not help it. He could not live without his tools. Great man though he was, his wants were very few and simple. Offers of riches and magnificence had no power to tempt him, and when he refused a post abroad which meant wealth and position, the Russian Princess who offered it exclaimed, in wondering admiration-- "I shall go back to Russia and tell them there is one man who has _not_ his price." He was happiest in the quiet of his own home. As a boy he had been rather retiring and thoughtful. As a man he was found the same. Simple, modest, while he would converse easily on other subjects, it was hardly possible to get him to talk of self. In this, as well as in his life-work, "he was indeed a very great man."