Wednesday 5 June 2013

Collected Poetry of George Markham Tweddell - 1823 - 1903

George Markham Tweddell (1823 - 1903) born in Stokesley North Yorkshire, was a Polymath - a
George Markham Tweddell 1823-1903
Chartist / People's Historian / Printer / Publisher / Author / Poet and much more. You will find out much more about his fascinating life and work if you click the Tweddell Hub and the Tweddell History links above.

Tweddell's Poetry Hub
Much of Tweddell's  work remained hidden away in antiquarian shops and reference or university libraries until fairly recently. I worked alongside one of George Markham Tweddell's descendants - Paul Markham Tweddell to help him bring much of the knowledge and texts from the Tweddell family collection to a wider audience and for reappraisal of his poetry and life's works, much of which is still relevant to the world today.

Where as the Tweddell Hub contains material relating to his books, histories, magazines and much else, the Tweddell Poetry Hub provides links to the various blogs I've set up for the different aspects of Tweddell's poetry.

Paul showed me several manuscript books of  Tweddell's poetry, much of which was published at the time in numerous magazines and news papers world wide but which had never been brought together in one place before. Tweddell did publish his Masonic poems as a book but the rest remained to be collected and published. So in 2009 we set about bringing together his collected works, which can be downloaded as several PDF files, free by clicking on Full Collected Poems in the menu above or here

Paul Markham Tweddell who did so much work toward this.
The introduction to Tweddell's poetry that i wrote for the collection and which can be read by clicking the Intro to Tweddell's poetry above, gives starting points for a reappraisal of Tweddell's poetry now that we have, more or less, the full works - and Tweddell was obviously much more Ebenezer Elliot (the Poor Law Rhymer) and a host of his contemporaries wrote both radical and nature poem. We explored aspects of his work that were emblematic or used masonic symbolism and much more. Subject matter ranges from the political and historical issues of his day, to the personal and family, to Masonic and philosophical, to local history and places of his homeland - Cleveland / North Yorkshire to poems about life itself, much of it in sonnet form.
prolific than anyone previously thought. We have explored his links with radical poets like

To reflect this diversity and despite all of the poems being available in the Collected works PDF's, I've created some special on line collections around various themes, which are linked above in the menu. These are - 

  • Sonnets of Flowers and Trees. These sonnets from his days of walking the Cleveland hills are not only knowledgeable about plants but, following Wither, one of the best known emblem writers, contain emblems and masonic symbolism, and so work on more than one level. On the blog, the poems are illustrated.
  • One Hundred Masonic Poems (1887) This collection of didactic sonnets was published in his life time, written later in life as his health was deteriorating but they reflect his sincere faith in the principles of Masonry, in the days when many of the radical movers and shakers were Freemasons. Tweddell was always open about his membership of the craft and advocated high standards of integrity, reflected in so many of these poems.
  • Cleveland (UK) Poems Tweddell was born and raised in Cleveland (North Yorkshire). His love of its moors and hills, towns, villages and industries, movers and shakers, poets and authors are reflected  in these poems which I've brought together in one place, in the hope that it will make an interesting collection and be of use to local historians and researchers. They are often illustrated along with additional material.
  • Florence Cleveland This was Tweddell's wife - Elizabeth Tweddell, who forged a lasting reputation as a poet and writers in her own right. Both the Tweddell's were concerned about the dying out of the Cleveland and other local dialects and Elizabeth - writing as Florence Cleveland - wrote and published a collection of poems and stories called Rhymes and Sketches to Illustrate the Cleveland dialect. This book can be viewed and downloaded from the Florence Cleveland link above. Her reputation is still good today and recently the popular young folk duo from Stockton on Tees - Megson - set her her humourous dialect poem Take Thy Self a Wife to music and even named their first album after the poem. There is also a link to more of her work on the Tweddell hub.
  • Poets, Politics, History and Life - A further volume of Tweddell's poetry was found by a member of the Tweddell family, which now forms part of the Tweddell poetry Collection. In this volume Tweddell's poetry contains more far reaching subject matter, from poems on the poets of the time, Wordsworth, Southey etc, to commentaries on European politics, history, religions and philosophy and indeed on life itself. It also includes some of his early poems, full of angst and in support of the likes of John Frost, the Chartist leader, sentenced to decapitation for advocating the People's Charter. These interesting collections will be posted below on this blog.
From Yorkshire Poets Past and Present Vol. II, No. 5, ed. Dr Forshaw (Bradford
), pp. 70-71]
"Mr Tweddell can justly lay claim to being one of he most prolific writers that
our dear old Yorkshire has produced. As Editor, Public speaker, Lecturer,
Prose-writer and Poet he has won golden honors. To merely give and list his
publications would fill a goodly sized pamphlet. [Here follows a summary!]
Mr Tweddell was born at Garden House, near to Stokesley, on 20th of March,
1823. He is a Fellow of a large number of learned, scientific and antiquarian

Here is Megson with one of Florence Cleveland's poems - Take Thyself a Wife.

Bro. General Garibaldi.

Bro. General Garibaldi. [No. 100]

A Hero of the highest type was he!
No Mason ever loved his Country more;
And Doomsday will appear to men before
Again thy see his equal. Liberty
Ne’er had a purer, bolder, wiser Son: 5
No greed of Gold, or Power, or Rank, had he,
But urgent wish to serve Humanity,—
And love from every Patriot he has won.
Hated alone by those who wish’d to enslave
The Minds and Bodies of their Fellow Men, 10
Our Brother’s Name will, to the future Pen
Of Poet or Historian, be brave
And spotless one: and they will him proclaim
As worthy o’er the World of Everlasting Fame!

George Markham Tweddell

"Giuseppe Garibaldi (July 4, 1807 – June 2, 1882) was an Italian general and politician. He is considered, with Camillo Cavour,Victor Emmanuel II and Giuseppe Mazzini, as one of Italy's "fathers of the fatherland".

Garibaldi was a central figure in the Italian Risorgimento, since he personally commanded and fought in many military campaigns that led eventually to the formation of a unified Italy. He generally tried to act on behalf of a legitimate power, which does not make him exactly a revolutionary: for example, he was appointed general by the provisional government of Milan in 1848, General of the Roman Republic in 1849 by the Minister of War, and led the Expedition of the Thousand on behalf and with the consent of Victor Emmanuel II.

He has been called the "Hero of Two Worlds" because of his military enterprises in Brazil, Uruguay and Europe. These earned him a considerable reputation in Italy and abroad, aided by exceptional international media coverage at the time. Many of the greatest intellectuals of his time, such as Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, and George Sand showered him with admiration. The United Kingdom and the United States helped him a great deal, offering him financial and military support in difficult circumstances....................

Commonwealth arrived on 21 March 1854. Garibaldi, already a popular figure on Tyneside, was welcomed enthusiastically by local workingmen, although the Newcastle Courant reported that he refused an invitation to dine with dignitaries in the city. He stayed in Tynemouth on Tyneside for over a month, departing at the end of April 1854. During his stay, he was presented with an inscribed sword, which his grandson later carried as a volunteer in British service in the Boer War. He then sailed to Genoa, where his five years of exile ended on 10 May 1854."

Tuesday 4 June 2013

The Earth-worm (with a letter from Lajos Kossuth (1802-1894), Hungarian statesman

While this may seem to be one of  Tweddell's nature poems, note the letter from Lajos_Kossuth (Father of Hungarian Democracy, Hungarian Statesman, Freedom Fighter, 1848–1849".)

The Earth-worm.
Scorn not the Earth-worm, nor e’er deem it vile:
Harmless as useful it has ever been
In e’vry land; for it has help’d, I ween,
To form the soil which it has loved to pile
O’er barren wastes, till the green grass has grown 5
Where all before was bare. Where now the corn
On meadow waves in beauty—trees adorn
The landscape—yea, wherever seed is sown
By man or bird—the Earth-worm has been there
Before them, to prepare for them the soil. 10
But for the Earth-worm, vain had been the toil
Of all our husbandry; for everywhere
It has been Earth’s first cultivation: we
Owe e’en the food we eat to its great industry.
Great is the lesson that we all should learn 15
From lowly Earth-worms! Let us not despise
The wisdom which throughout creation lies
For all to study. E’vry mind should burn
With warmest love of Nature’s noble laws:
And if mere Worms can play so great a part
In her economy, then, Man, thou art,
However humble, call’d to aid the cause
Of Progress, and no longer can maintain
That thou art Powerless.* Ev’ry effort made
In a good cause is potent, it will aid 25
The work which needeth ev’ry hand and brain
To bring it to completion. Let the Worm
Teach us to labour on alike in calm and storms.

George Markham Tweddell

 Louis Kossuth
* This great truth is so beautifully illustrated in a Letter which I had the honour to receive from the
illustrious patriot, Louis Kossuth, in 1855, that I am sure the reader will be glad of the extract:
Thanks for the warm interest you take in the cause of the down-trodden nations. You are quite right
in saying that every man has some influence in the world,— were that all men were penetrated by
that conviction; and would take it for an incitement to do as much as they can; many an evil would
be prevented by it. There is nothing more serviceable to the success of evil-doers that the common
error of many a well-disposed man, that he who cannot do much is justified in not doing anything.
Men should go to school to the ant, or listen to the lesson taught by the falling drop.— Yours
affectionately, Kossuth[§]
pp. 7 & 8 [Sonnets on Birds, Insect, etc]
Leeds Mercury Weekly Supplement, April 12/84. The Freemason, Sydney, New South Wales, April
11th, 1887. Northern Weekly Gazette, September 4th, !897.
[§ Lajos Kossuth (1802-1894), the Hungarian statesman, orator, and the foremost leader of the
Hungarian Revolution of 1848-49.]

From Read more on this site
"Louis Kossuth; Ľudovít Košút in Slovak; 19 September 1802 – 20 March 1894) was a Hungarian lawyer, journalist, politician and Regent-President of the Kingdom of Hungary during the revolution of 1848–49. He was widely honored during his lifetime, including in the United Kingdom and the United States, as a freedom fighter and bellwether of democracy in Europe. Kossuth's bronze bust can be found in the United States Capitolwith the inscription: "Father of Hungarian Democracy, Hungarian Statesman, Freedom Fighter, 1848–1849".

In England around 1851 he .....He went thereafter to Winchester, Liverpool, Manchester and Birmingham; at Birmingham the crowd that gathered to see him ride under the triumphal arches erected for his visit was described, even by his severest critics, as 75,000 individuals...

Back in London he addressed the Trades Unions at Copenhagen Fields in Islington. Some twelve thousand 'respectable artisans' formed a parade at Russell Square and marched out to meet him. At the Fields themselves, the crowd was enormous; the Times estimated it conservatively at 25,000, while the Morning Chronicle described it as 50,000, and the demonstrators themselves 100,000."

Monday 27 May 2013

The Druids’ Last Sacrifice

The Druids’ Last Sacrifice

The ancient Druids offer’d to their gods
A human sacrifice, and criminals
On their stone altars bled beneath the knife
The priestly arm upraised, rudely to plunge
Into an erring brother’s living heart, 5
Or else, in osier cages first confined,
Expired in flames lit by some priestly hand:
And we, whose scaffolds oft have reek’d with gore
Of earth’s best benefactors; we, whose cells
Have prison’d up the patriot and divine; 10
And who still struggle with the hangman’s rope
To teach the sanctity of human life;
And ever study how to cheat in trade
Or kill in war with most proficiency,
Self-righteous hypocrites who deceive 15
Ourselves and one another; we despise
The Druid for his paganism, meanwhile
We worship Gold as though it were a god,
And call ourselves good Christians.

George Markham Tweddell - writing as as Peter Proletarius
[From Tweddell’s People’s History of Cleveland, vol. 4, p. 96.
Middlesbrough Miscellany, No. 9. Northern Echo, Aug. 25/91. Also on:

And Julian Cope's blog
Cooper’s Journal
p. 263

Fitzcoraldo wrote on the entry on Julian Cope's Head to Head forum c 2009 -

Tweddell also wrote;

“Scoff not at antiquarian research,
As useless in results; for it throws light
Upon the darkness of the past to aid
Humanity along its devious way”

While commentator Littlestone offered a modern comparison of Tweddell's poem written in the 19thC.
"Or kill in war with most proficiency,
Self-righteous hypocrites who but deceive
Ourselves and one another; we despise
The Druid for his paganism, meanwhile
We worship Gold as though it were a god,
And call ourselves good Christians" Excerpt from Tweddell

"Old Proletarius seems to have been quite the socialist - and a Freemason to boot. Couldn't help thinking how little has changed since his day and how well his words fit present politics. Slight reworking of the above for Bush, Blare and their politics in the Middle East - hope Old Proletarius would approve ;-)

"Or kill in war with most proficiency,
Self-righteous hypocrites who but deceive
Ourselves and one another; we despise
The Muslim for his terrorism, meanwhile
We worship Oil as though it were a god,
And call ourselves good Christians." 
Littlestone's update on the Tweddell poem

Sonnet Written in York Castle

Sonnet Written in York Castle
During an arbitrary Incarceration of Forty Days, in the autumn of
1846 for “Contempt of Court”

Think not, because a prison’s massive wall
Deprives my body of its liberty,
That stones, and locks, and iron bars call thrall
The scaring mind, which, mounting over all,
Can freely roam o’er each declivity, 5
And mountain-steep through groves, o’er verdant plains,
Visiting scenes of pleasures past or pains;
For tyrants ne’er can keep the soul in chains.
The heart that’s nobly learn’d to soar above
Mere worldly wealth, and rank, and lawless power, 10
Of human life,—the heart that in its love
And all the sensual play-things of the hour
Can comprehend the meanest things that crawls,
Defies all terror of your castle-walls!

George Markham Tweddell
[To be found in the Special Collection, Brotherton library,
Leeds University and included here with kind permission.]

Lok (Loki)


Loki and Sigyn (1863) by Mårten Eskil Winge
Lok, Scandinavia’s devil,
For evermore is dead:
Knowledge is the champion
Beneath whose spear he bled;
And each vile thing of days of yore 5
Shall rot and welter in Lok’s gore.

George Markham Tweddell
[Tweddell’s Middlesbrough Miscellany, p. 60. Yorkshire
Poets past and present Vol. II, No. 5, ed. Dr Forshaw
(Bradford 1889), p. 69]

"In Norse mythology, Loki, Loptr, or Hveðrungr is a god or jötunn (or both). Loki is the son of Fárbauti and
Laufey, and the brother of Helblindi and Býleistr. By the jötunn Angrboða, Loki is the father of Hel, the wolf Fenrir, and the world serpent Jörmungandr. By his wife Sigyn, Loki is the father of Narfi and/or Nari. And by the stallion Svaðilfari, Loki is the mother—giving birth in the form of a mare—to the eight-legged horse Sleipnir. In addition, Loki is referred to as the father of Váli in the Prose Edda." More here on Wiki

Saturday 25 May 2013

On the Death of Mark Philips, Esq.

North of England Tractates No. 15, (1874)
In memoriam of the Death of  Mark Philips, Esq.
A Blank Verse Poem
Born November 4th, 1800, at The Park, Prestwick; Member of Parliament for
Manchester from December 13th, 1832, to July 23rd, 1847; High pheriff of
Warwickshire in 1851; Died at Welcombe House, Stratford-on-Avon, December
23rd, 1873, Æ 73; interred beneath the chancel of Snitterfield Church, January
2nd, 1874.
“The decease of MARK PHILIPS, of Snitterfield, has brought forth respect from all
parts of the United Kingdom. The following eloquent tribute is from the pen of
MR. GEORGE MARKHAM TWEDDELL, the author of Shakspear, his Times and
Contemporaries,—who was guest of MR. PHILIPS during the past summer. MR.
TWEDDELL has kindly asked us to insert it, and to this request we gladly
accede.”—The Royal Leamington Spa Courier, January 3rd, 1874.

A merchant and manufacturer in Manchester, Philips was a supporter of Social Reform.
On the Death of Mark Philips, Esq.

Ask not why I am sad this Christmas-tide,
When other hearts are gay; why the tears start
Into mine eyes, like streams that burst their bounds;
For stretch’d upon his bier a friend is laid,
Who, in the love of his large heart, had room 5
For a poor bard like me.
My friends are few,—
So few, that losing one makes a dread void
Not easy to be fill’d. That “Friendship form’d
With moderation, for the human race
Are most expedient, and not such as to pierce 10
The marrow of their souls: with the same ease
As they the sacred cords entwine, they ought
To slacken them at will,” was glibly said,
In ancient Greece, long, long ago, but one* 15
Who could not do it; for the human heart,
(Using that term to designate thereby
The seat of feeling, though it be the brain,)
Can form a friendship that will never die,
From bloom, unwither’d through eternity. 20
And such, I ween, was ours.
Death at all times,
And under every circumstances we know,
Is solemn: whether in the poor man’s cot
Or rich man’s mansion he may whet his scythe;
Whether he cutteth down the infant grass 25
Before it well has flower’d, or reaps the grain
That hangs its ripen’d head ready for harvest;

Solemn is Death, whate’er the time or place;
And hearts while they are human feel the pang
Of parting from the friend whom they have loved. 30
Hence—thou devoutly I do thank my God,†
(With whom do live the spirits of all of those
Departed in the Lord—with Whom the souls
Of all the faithful, after they are freed
From fleshly burdens, in felicity 35
Unknown to earthly wayfarers, enjoy
The rich reward of lives well-spent on earth.
That it has pleased Him to deliver us from
The miseries of this our sinful world,
My dear old friend—yet I were less than man 40
If I could part from him without a tear.
I know the gain is his, the loss is ours;
And I would not recall again to life
That worn-out body if I had the power.
The heart that now has ceased to beat, 45
When last I saw him, pump’d with too much power.
Ten million times it has forced the crimson tide
Through the remotest alleys of that frame
Which low lies colder that the marble bust
In his own hall: for Death soon levels down 50
Peasant and prince alike into the grave.
Then happiest they who in their souls possess
Treasures which Death can never take away.
My friend was not a fool when flattery pleased
When in the flesh, frail though all flesh may be; 55
Nor must his disembodied spirit now
Look down on fulsome funeral elegy,
All full of falsehood as it lacks in feeling.
No, honest MARK! There needeth not for thee
That we should rack invention how to say 60
Or sing fine things we mean not in thy praise.
Before I met thee, one whose soul is truth
Had told me how he wish’d I saw his face,
For ’t was so manly that it did one good
To look upon it: hence I was prepared 65
To see that honest open countenance
Which the dark tomb will hide now from my view.
But little could I dream that one so far
Removed above me by those social bars
Which separate too much on honest man

From his dear brother—honest too, though poor—
Should be kick’d by, as rather poles i’ the way
Of an advancing giant. So oft thy guest,
Truth prompts me to bear witness I ne’er met
A man more humble in those walks of life 75
Where weekly wages recompense the toil
Of lowliest labour. Practical
As I am dreamy, how such opposites
Delighted in each other, I wot not,—
Save that both loved the true and hated shams 80
That came forth cloked to prey the unwary‡
And, as we’ve stroll’d together o’er the grounds
Where SHAKSPERE oft had rambled—with delight
Have view’d the landscape circling Stratford round,
And traced the gentle Avon’s winding stream, 85
Calling up all their histories—I have faith
To fancy that we both may meet again,
In place e’en pleasanter than our loved Welcombe,
Where we shall part no more: and ’mong the good
And gifted we shall meet. Great SHAKSPERE’s shade 90
Will give us welcome there.
Rest then, O rest!
(I cannot say “perturbed spirit,” as
The Princely Dane did to his father’s ghost,)
For after life so well-spent, rest is there,
Or we believe in vain! In parliament 95
For fifteen years thou gave thy best of life,—
Not always with unfailing blest,
For thou wert human; but though labour’d well
For sacred rights of conscience. For just laws
’Tween man and man, and all thou thought would lend 100
To England’s greatness. And well were it, I ween,
If all our merchant-princes and the sons
Of Commerce kept their souls as pure as thine.
And thou, too, didst then Alms, without the sound
Of trumpet blaring forth the holy deed; 105
And some have broke thy bread who never knew
Whose bounteous hand it was their wants supplied.
But more thou loved to see the honest hands
Of useful industry win their own bread
By their own labour; and, from early life, 110
Fought for the freedom of the country’s trade,
Until we conquer’d.

Husbandry in thee,
When Cincinnatus-like thou sought to plough,
Found a good patron; and thy cottagers
Loved thee when living, and will now deplore 115
With me the loss of a warm-hearted friend.
Full well I know their feelings; more than once
Together we have met them; but no more
Shall we address them at the social board,
Thy tongue is silent now for them and me; 120
But thy example, like the words thou spoke,
Being manly, truthful, wise, and eloquent,
Will speak to us through life, although thy face
With genial smile no more will beam upon us.
Rest then, dear friend, after thy well-spent years; 125
For thou hast labour’d hard from early life,
And died in harness. Idleness ne’er seized
Upon thee. And temperate too wert thou
In thought and action. Calm as thou wert strong,
Ambition could lure thee with her wiles; 130
And when heredity honours were
Proffer’d unto thy good old sire§ and thee
Ye both the glitt’ring bauble could reject,
Which weaker minds would sell their souls to gain.
Honour enough for thee to represent 135
The first commercial city of the world,
Free-chosen by its people, and unsway’d
By smiles or frowns from what thou deem’d to right,
Men like thee help to make England’s greatness,
Not as mere money-bags, but men with souls 140
Worthy to live beyond the grave.
Dear friend, for a brief space!—Farewell for thou hast cross’d
In Charon’s boat a little time before us.
The Styx of Death is yet for us to pass,
But Christian light can brighten that dark stream, 145
And thy example nerve us for the voyage,—
Hoping to meet thee in that heavenly land
“Where the wicked cease from trembling, and
The weary are at rest.”

Stokesley - George Markham Tweddell

I think Tweddell would have met Mark Phillips while he was head of the Ragged School in Bury and visited Phillips when Tweddell visted Stratford. They both had involvement in the Anti Corn Lawe League and reform movements.

"The Manchester Guardian, a newspaper with a radical agenda, was established shortly afterwards. In 1832, following the Great Reform Act, Manchester elected its first MPs since the election of 1656. Five candidates, including William Cobbett stood and Liberals Charles Poulett Thomson and Mark Philips were elected. The Great Reform Act led to conditions favourable to municipal incorporation. Manchester became a Municipal Borough in 1837, and what remained of the manorial rights were later purchased by the town council."

Further info on Mark Phillips

Notes by GMT / Paul Tweddell

*EURIPIDES, the great Greek dramatist, put these words into the mouth of the
Nurse, in his tragedy of Hippolytus,—more than two thousand three hundred
years ago.
† This passage is designed as a paraphrase of a beautiful part of the Church
Burial Service.
‡ “The wise-hearted, as well as wise-headed man, knew mankind, and was
my friend: this is my only answer to such as are not.” The Confessions of
§ The late ROBERT PHILIPS, of The Park, Prestwich, Esq., one of the
merchant-princes of Manchester, “who dared be honest in the worst of
times,” was born April 3rd 1760, and descended from the ancient race of
Staffordshire squires,—one of whom first introduced the manufacture of
Tape into this country from Holland, to employ the poor people of his parish
during the Winter months; for benevolence has long run in the blood of the
Philipses. Having glutted the home market for miles around his manors of
Upper Teyne, Nether Teyne, and Checkley, he was under necessity either to
discontinuing that mode of employing those poor people whom he had
always deemed it his duty to see provided for, or to open out fresh markets
for their wares. Though he had never sought any pecuniary profit from his
laudable undertaking, he was exceeding loath to give it up, and thus throw his
little community out of employment: he therefore prevailed on one of his
sons to go to Manchester, and open a warehouse for the more extensive sale
of Philipses Tape. In order to make the warehouse self-supporting, and the
thing grew, by God’s blessing on the good judgement and strict integrity with
which it was conducted; and the Philipses Warehouse is to this day one of the
widest known and most prosperous of the institutions of Manchester. “And so
you see, TWEDDELL,” said the subject of this poem, as he narrated the brief
history to me over a cigar after dinner, one of my pleasant visits to him at his
hospitable seat in Snitterfield Park, “in endeavouring to do good to the people
of his parish, he was laying the foundation of the future prosperity of his own
family, without ever expecting to do so!” Verily, the Chronicles of
Commerce—if faithfully and fully written—would be more interesting than
those of War.
ROBERT PHILIPS walked worthily in the footsteps of his fathers. Upright and
charitable in all the transactions of life—though often pelted in the streets of
Manchester for his peaceable adherence to Constitutional Reform, and
regarded as little less than a traitor by sundry purblind politicians of that
period because he was wise enough to oppose the infamous war which
deservedly lost us our fine American Colonies—he was most dearly loved by
those who knew him best. He married, August 2nd 1798, ANNIE the daughter
of MATTHEW NEEDHAM, of Nottingham, Esq.; and it was from her motherly
teaching at the Park that my friend derived that intense love of flowers and
rural life, which never forsook him to the last. On the passing of the Reform
Bill, the government offered ROBERT PHILIPS a Baronetcy which was
exemplified in constant practice rather than in noisy profession, he died in
March 1844, and was buried on the 20th of that month at the Unitarian Chapel
at Stand,—nearly midway between Manchester and Bury, the important
places for which his sons have had the high honour to sit in Parliament,
without soliciting the vote of a single elector.