He was a man of warm affections, and loved the idea of home, but he never married. Texas was home and wife and family to him. He died on a pallet on the floor of a two-room clapboard shack, a month and twenty-four days past his forty-third birthday. His work was done, but he was denied the years so hardly earned for the enjoyment of its fruits. . . . “<ref>Eugene C. Barker, ‘’The Life of Stephen F. Austin,'' 1925.</ref></blockquote> | He was a man of warm affections, and loved the idea of home, but he never married. Texas was home and wife and family to him. He died on a pallet on the floor of a two-room clapboard shack, a month and twenty-four days past his forty-third birthday. His work was done, but he was denied the years so hardly earned for the enjoyment of its fruits. . . . “<ref>Eugene C. Barker, ‘’The Life of Stephen F. Austin,'' 1925.</ref></blockquote> |