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friend Richard Wearing-, on his departure to London for the first
time, the 15th- of June, 1844," "Verses incribed to Mr. John
Swarbrick, butcher, Nicholas Street, on his birthday, celebrated at
the Boar's Head, on Thursday, 27th April, 1843," " The Sam
Weller," " Song - of Toasts," the words and air arranged for the
voice with pianoforte accompaniment, by "W.S." "Address written
on the occasion of the opening of the new Oddfellows' Hall, at
Lancaster, on Wednesday, the 24th of July, 1844, when a public
dinner took place, Dr. D. De Vitre, the Mayor, presided ; John
Armstrong, Esq., filled the vice-chair." " Aughton Pudding,''
" Stanzas, addressed to the Misses Smith, after the concert at
Lancaster, December 21st, 1838," and " Lines in memory of the
jate John Simpson, Esq., of Poulton."

From the first poem " Random Thoughts," I give the
following stanzas : —

Here in the merry month of June
Upon the banks of bonnie Lune,
Watching its sun-lit limpid course,
Which runs so calmly from its source
Unto the ocean mail-like flows
Lulling the soul to sweet repose ;
For like the music of a dream,
The murmurs of its ripples seem.

Whilst Halton's village, gay and neat.
Is mirror'd through them at my feet,
The muse once more upon me calls,
Although on me but loosely falls
The mantle which o'er Burns she threw,
Till through his soul her spirit flew,
Which stamp'd him as her fav'rite son,
Poet and patriot both in one.

Vet still his was a stormy life,

With few that car'd to ease its strife ;

It oft midst want and woe was led,

Fame's brightest wreath now binds his head,

For though death has his harp unstrung,

He o'er his native mountains flung

A mystic charm, which spreading round

Hill, stream, and dale, makes hallow d ground.


To have one spark of nature's fire
Was all his anxious fond desire ;
And she within him lit the flame
Which sheds a halo round his name,
Where'er now from their Highland home,
The hardy sons of Scotia roam
Each to his song with fondness turns,
Till Burns is Scotland — Scotland Burns.

The man with thousands in his chest
Sighing for more is often cjrst ;

Whilst he with peace of mind is blest
Who eats his crust, but earns it first.

So I'll ne'er quarrel with my lot,

Rich with a penny as a pound ;
Although whilst here no land I've got

I, dead shall have my share of ground.

And if, when nature's debt is paid,

My body should by chance, be laid

Near some great man's, whose haughty pride

Had, living, spurn'd me from his side,

I need not fear his might or power,

We're equal from that very hour.

To scorn me though he did aspire

And strove my title to refute ;
No crafty lawyer need I hire,

The worms will settle the dispute.

Most of this poem is Burns over again, indeed, the first part
reads like an ode to that Scottish bard. There is a full and easy_
flowing- rhythm throughout, and here and there one is forcibly
reminded of John Clare, the Northamptonshire poet, especially in
some of the stanzas. "Though low my lot, my wish is won," is a
poem of Clare's very much akin to this of Mr. Sanderson's. One
more verse from this production and we must leave it :—

Freedom ! I see thy banners wave,

Thy green robes floating in the gale,
Thou smilest at the fair and brave,

On mountain top, in lowly vale ;
Whilst blue-ey'd plenty wheat-ear crown'd

Her cornucopia dropping flowers,
Attends on peace, and all around,

With bounteous hand her riches showers.


This effusion bespeaks the very soul of Sanderson, who
allows fancy to waft him here and there, to show him things of
beauty, until he at last attains such a pitch that re-action sets in,
and the gioom of life re-appears.

The next selection I give is entitled "My Village Mary.'
It is Clare again : —

Talk not of beauty till you've seen

As lightly tripping as a fairy,
With milking pale across the green

My bonny charming village Mary.

She boasts not gems, she boasts not wealth,

No man need woo her for her riches ;
But yet her glance beslow'd by stealth,

Far more than wealth or gems bewitches.

Her lips, the rose's tint in May,

Sometimes is poutingly provoking;
But soon a dimpling smile would say,

Nay, be not vex'd, I was but joking.

And yet my Mary is no prude,

For virtue is her greatest blessing' ;
The man who dare to her be rude

Would rue the day of his transgressing

The haughty lord with rank and power,

The dashing gay fox-hunting squire,
Would gladly blight this village flower,

But vain, most vain, is his desire.

I've for her but a ploughman's hand,

An honest heart for each endeavour ;
A little farm I do command,

And Mary'll soon be mine for ever.

His "Maniac Maiden" is also a beautiful heart-touching
composition, as, for instance, you readily prove by these lines : —

But the path of my life now with darkness is shaded,
O'er mountains, through valleys I wander forlorn,

The sweets of the rose which love gave me have faded,
But ah ! there is left in my bosom its thorn.

In vain do I strive to forget my deceiver

His form seems before me for ever to flee,
With poor bleeding heart, and with brain in a fever.

I follow o'er rocks far more tender that he.


Vet ah ! it but adds to my pain to upbraid him,

I loved him so fondly, SO truly and well,
Although there are others who seek to degrade him,

The anguish they cause me no language can toll.

Although he now from me so cruelly ranges,

With vows which he gave me, another has won,

( rrant Heaven, that she, throughout life's fitful changes,
May cherish and love him as I would have done.

William Sanderson could turn out a very decent sonnet,
which is no light matter, for many a man who can fairly well
imitate Hudibras, is but a poor fist at a sonnet. Listen to this "In
Memoriam " —

And art thou gone I dear brother of my soul,
Nipp'd like a rose bud opening into bloom,
Thy sun hath set within an early tomb !
No more o'er thee shall nature's seasons roll.
But shall I mourn what man can not control ?
No, no, Faith's seraph whispers in my ear
" Thou art not dead, but only gone before ;
That I shall join thee in that boundless sphere
When all life's cankering cares and woes are o'er."
O, glorious thought ! what rapture doth it bring ;
Grief, wailing grief, can touch my heart no more,
E'en now my spirit panteth to take wing,
And leave its frail dark tenement of clay
To live with thee in Heaven's bright endless day.

■& 1

The poet wrote a very touching verse on an incident which
occurred at the Lancaster Assizes, held in February, 1844. A lad
named Edward Greenhalgh was tried for attempt to poison a
servant woman named Margaret Bury, at Habergham Eaves.
The jury acquitted him, and upon hearing the favourable verdict
his mother, who was in court, went down on her knees in a
transport of joy, and cried, " Thank you, my lord and gentlemen!"
The lad was only fifteen years old. The verse is as follows :

Then the mother's eye glistened with gratitude's joy,
For whatever his faults, her heart clung to her boy.
How sublimely mysterious, wondrous and strange,
Is a mother's affection ; it knoweth no change,
'Tis a feeling engender'd with infancy's birth,
For the holiest, purest and brightest on earth ;
For the babe she has suckled it burneth the same,
Through its manhood's proud rise, through its fall and its shame;
Yes, the victim of crime, lost, abandon'd, forlorn ;
The despis'd of his fellows, the world's pointed scorn,
Still will find when he's check'd in his guilty career,
Midst the gloom of his prison, his mother draw near.


In "The Joys of Mossing " we have a lively bucolic ring —

When in the merry month of May,

The flowers around are springing,
When birds from every leafy spray

Their songs of love are singing.

When crimson cups and cowslip bells,

Are all the fields adorning ;
And bees boom from their honey'd cells,

To sip the sweets of morning.

To where the purple heather blooms,
And lads the peats are tossing ;

O let's away,

Ye damsels gay,
And spend the hours in mossing.

Suppose a lad around one's waist

His arm is fondly throwing ;
In terror must we from him haste

Or be with anger glowing ?

Why should we seem to take alarm

When we are not offended ;
A kiss will never do one harm

When there's no wrong intended.

So then to where the heather blooms,
And lads the peats are tossing ;

O let's away,

Ye damsels gay,
And spend the hours in mossing.

Oft o'er those maids, to riches born,

Is sickness sadly stealing ;
A country lass they treat with scorn,

And say she has no feeling.

But if they would forget their wealth —

With us awhile be straying ;
And feel the balmy breeze of health

Which o'er the fell is playing.

Soon, where the purple heather blooms,
Smiles would their cheeks be glossing,

Their rank they'd spurn,

They'd ne'er return,
Nor quit the joys of mossing.

This poem seems like a song taken from some jovial part of a
libretto, and is very musical. The most humorous piece of
Sanderson's is his poem, "A Letter;" it is written in a running
style, and is likely to remind readers of Goldsmith's " Retaliation,"


or of a melody of Burns. His best effusion is his " Address to the
Greeks." The verse which strikes one as most classic, whatever
other folks may say to the contrary, is the one which says :

Oh ! daughters of Greece quickly arm each your lover,

In dalliance soft them no longer restrain ;
Delighted the shades of your fathers will hover

Around them, and aid them their rights to regain.

And again-

The past deeds of glory— of Sparta remember,
Recall the brave bands at Thermopylos straits ;

Fan ! fan to a flame the but smouldering ember,
Dear Liberty's garland to crown you a\vait>.

Yes, Lancaster has had its poet, and despite the chequered life, the
flights and falls of the bard, he must not willingly die. Indeed, he
cannot die while there is a true Lancastrian heart able to cry in
tones of dulcet sweetness : —

Be to his faults a little blind,
And to his virtues very kind.

Sanderson published a poem in pamphlet form, in honour of
Dr. Whewell and Sir Richard Owen, in 1842, in which year the
dinner given on the occasion of the two distinguished professors,
took place in the Assembly Rooms. From the poem I take the
following" stanzas : —


And thine 'tis Whewell, with thy master mind,
To teach the workings of the Great First Cause,

How wisely are sun, moon, and stars design'd,
Moving, unerring, by hx'd mystic laws ;

Happy for man that they are so confin'd

Which to reflect upon "should give him pause,"

For from its course did one a moment fly

Ruin would rush throughout both earth and sky.

And Owen ! though you differ in pursuit,
Worthy you are to be your friend's compeer ;

In Cuvier's steps with genius as acute,

Onward you press ; success in your career ;

Beasts, birds, and insects, reptiles, fishes mute.
Your speculation — then, with judgment clear,

As you compare their frame with that of man

You trace throughout one systematic plan.


A plan, how wise, how mighty, how sublime,
Which suits unto its state each living thing,

Dwelling in torrid or in frigid clime

Creeping on earth, or soaring on the wing ;

No change is brought them by revolving time,
Instinct and habit changeless with them spring,

The lion still is monarch of the wood,

The whale's vast empire still the briny flood.

These are the same, as when God out his hand

Shook the vast mountains, and let flow the sea :
And then sent forth that high sublime command —

" Let there be light'" — ejirth straight shone forth with glee ;
But all man's works, however proudly plann'd

Temple or tablet soon will ruined be ;
Crumbling to dust with each revolving year,

Even his pyramids shall disappear ;
Still, though these piles must " topple to their fall, - '

(Like card-built castles we in childhood raise),
Scarce leaving us a vestige to recall

Where once they stood, the wonder of past days ;
Though whirlwind sands shall overwhelm them all,

And on their site the deer and wild ox graze.
Man's glowing thoughts, Time's ravages decry
When seeking Truth through Him who rules on high.

And ye I sing of, Chieftains in Truth's sphere,

Whom error Hies, as mists the morn's bright sun :

If at the start, life's course seemed dark and drear,
Ye have indeed the prize most nobly won :

And this proud thought must oft your past toil cheer
Hoc opus feci "'This myself have done," —

The wreaths you wear, ye to no patron owe,

So their bright leaves with years shall greener grow.

Welcome, then welcome to " The good Old Town,'"
Your childhood's home and where your fathers dwelt ;

Oh ! could they witness this your " fair renown,"
How would their hearts with fond emotion melt ;

But see ! their spirits smilingly look down,
Their joy in heaven, as if on earth is felt ;

That thus your townsmen with one heart and voice

In the proud triumphs you have won — rejoice.

This talented author once issued a one-act serio-comico,
satirico, dramatic Interlude in verse, with marginal notes, entitled,
" The Vicar and Churchwarden, or the Morning" Visit." It was
printed in London by Saul Mathias, of Blackfriars, and published
by the Author and all booksellers in the United Kingdom. What-
ever William Sanderson may have been or not have been in private
life is a matter of no cognizance to me. I have to deal with such a


man as a man of true genius — to take him for what he is worth as
public property, and I have no sympathy with those who seek to
rake up every public individual's failings. I say this much with
dislike owing to the slights some have been apt to pass upon their
neighbours gifted far beyond themselves to such a degree as to
render their failings almost invisible.

Richard and James Lonsdale.

James Lonsdale was horn in Lancaster, in 1778. He was
the son of Richard Lonsdale, said by some authorities to have been
born at Garstang. Both father and son excelled as portrait
painters, and specimens of the elder artist's work are still to be
seen in the Lancaster Town Hall, the subjects of the canvas being
George HI., Lord Nelson, and Pitt. Richard Lonsdale was much
esteemed in his day and generation, and owing to his suavity of
manners and gentlemanly deportment, his company was sought by
the principal merchants of the Town. Early on in the century he
appears to have removed to London, where his son in due course
distinguished himself in the art of painting as well as his sire. The
elder Lonsdale executed the portraits of the Daltons of Thurnham
Hall. Sir Gerald Dalton Fitzgerald, Bart., states that the same
were painted about the year 1S20, and that they represent the late
John Dalton, Esq., his wife, his son, his son's wife, and four
daughters. The artist also produced a replica of Mr. Dalton.

According to the Kendal CJironiclc of November 30th, 1833,
the Rev. Dr. Lingard sat for his portrait before Mr. Lonsdale at

Cornelius Henderson.

Cornelius Henderson was the son of John Henderson, shoe-
maker. He was born on Castle Hill in one of the cottages which.
used to stand adjacent to the Gateway Tower. The register


book of St. Mary's Church contains this entry of baptism under the
year 1800 : —

"9th February, Cornelius, son of John and Betty Henderson,
born 9th October, 1799."

John Henderson, the father, was remarkably fond of art and
as an amateur used to paint local scenes in his leisure. A favourite
sketch of his was the view looking up the Lune from the Three-
mile House. The son had, however, the advantages of a training
in art which had been denied his father, and although he cannot
be considered by any means an artist of the same calibre as Richard
Lonsdale, it would be most unjust not to include his name in this
chapter, since some of his paintings bear the stamp of genius upon
them, a genius only requiring greater development in technicalities
and a study of the old masters on their native soil, in order to make
them perfect.

Sir Richard Owen.

The name of Richard Owen is known all over the world, and
Lancaster is justly proud of her distinguished son, whose laurels
have proved so numerous and unfading. Sir Richard Owen, C.B.,
M.D., D.C.L., L.L.D., F.R.S., &c, was the son of Richard Owen,
merchant. He was born in Dalton Square, Lancaster, on the 20th
of July, 1804. The following biographical remarks have for their
basis information kindly supplied at the request of the author at the
end of 1888. The career of this venerable scholar has indeed been
remarkable. After quitting the Grammar School, about 1816, he
became a pupil of Dr. Baxendale, then a prominent medical gentle-
man, and the local family adviser of the Duke of Hamilton and
Brandon. On leaving this gentleman he went to Edinburgh
University, where he matriculated in 1824. In 1826, he obtained
his M.R.C.S., Lon., and in 1828, became assistant curator of the
Hunterian museum. In 1834, he was appointed Professor of
Comparative Anatomy at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and a year


later was elected F.R.S. Between 1836 and 1856 this distinguished
man succeeded to the chair of the Professorship of Anatomy and
Physiology in the College of Surgeons, and first Hunterian
Professor. In 1839, he received the degree of L.L.D. from the
University of Cambridge. In 1840, Richard Owen did, perhaps, one
of the grandest of strokes that science has been able to accomplish,
for he founded the Microscopical Society of London, and became
its first president, then he received the Royal medal of the Royal
Society. In 1844, he was appointed one of the commissioners of
inquiry into the health of towns, and filled a similar post in 1846 in
regard to the health of the Metropolis. Next we find him honoured
with the Copley medal of the Royal Society, and in 1848 chosen
member of the Government Board of Health, and in 1849 a member
of the commission on Smithfield Market. In 185 1, he was president
of one of the juries at the great exhibition, and, in 1852, became
D.C.L. of Oxford. In 1855, we find him president of one of the
juries at the Exposition Universelle, Paris ; and shortly after is
decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honour. In 1856, he is
observed occupying the post of superintendent of the Natural
History Departments in the British Museum. There we note the
triennial award by the Institute of France for " Le Prix Cuvier,"
and, in 1857, his selection as lecturer on Palaeontology in the Royal
School of Mines. In 1858, he became Fullerian Professor of
Physiology in the Royal Institution of Great Britain, and, in 1859,
first lecturer on the revival of Sir " Robert Rede's Foundation," in
the University of Cambridge, and on the 3rd of June, 1873, he was
made a C.B. Professor Owen is the author of numerous papers in
the transactions of the various learned societies ; he is also a knight
of the Prussian Order of Merit, and a Foreign Associate of the
Institution of France. What a mighty past such a man has had !
Well may we conclude by saying that Sir Richard Owen stands
to-day far superior to kings and emperors, his crown being that of
science imperishable and enduring. To men like him may honour
and reverence be paid, instead of to rank that has but the poverty-
stricken alliances of blue blood, title, and landed areas, a few feet
of which will one day be revenged upon those who have held too


many acres, having the happiness or misery of thousands of their
fellow creatures at command. Sir Richard had another brother,
and three sisters, who at one time were engaged in school teaching.
The subject of our remarks married a Miss Clift, long ago deceased.
The veteran scientist realises the fine lines of Goldsmith, seeking —

To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose.

He often talks about his native town and the old folks that formed
its burgesses in his youthful days.

The Owen family is closely connected with the Eskriggs, for
the Rev. J. B. Eskrigg informs me that Elizabeth Eskrigg,
daughter of Richard Eskrigg, of Eskrigg, married William Owen,
whose son, Richard Owen, born December 5th, 1754, was the
father of Sir Richard Owen.

In his younger days Sir Richard was very fond of dissecting
bodies, which he secured for the purpose from the Castle after
execution. On one occasion he was carrying the head of a negro,
and the night being dark and the pathway from the Castle very
slipperv, he fell and the terrible contents of his basket rolled out
and entered the house of a laundry woman, whose door was wide
pen. The black head almost frightened the woman out of her wits.

Concerning Sir Richard Owen's career these sonnets were
written over two years ago.


.saw shall I turn into my sacristy

Impell'd by thoughts a power divine commands? —
Responsive may I wake the minstrelsy

Rever'd of old — and as the bay expands
Illume past years with the electric lamp

Charter'd by fancy ? What delightful strands
Have I before me ! River, hill and vale,

And towering rock which bears the immortal stamp,
Monarch divine impress'd when storm and gale

Dar'd to arrest success and Stirling fame.


Oh, as I view by light so rare, I see

Wisdom's aspirant, yea, a youth whose aim
Extends beyond the common wolds of life
Nailing his colours to the mast contemptuous of all strife.


Far, far away that youth has journey d on

Resting not on his oars, but toiling' hard,
Opening up fields where laurels may be won

Marshalling laws mankind must yet regard,
Teaching discrimination in the spheres

High priests and heroes live in, marking' too,

Each boundary of illimitable hue
Ordain'd to lead beyond these finite years.
Let me look once again — ah, what a change

Distinguished "mid the legions gather'd round
There stands a patriarch, one whose mental range

Oe'rshadows all Ohmpus. Thus renown'd
Watch we as western sunlight fades away
Noting a northern star shining all bright to-day.

Sir William Turner.

Lancaster has another native son who has reached the
higher rungs of the ladder of fame in the learned profession he
represents. This native son is Sir William Turner, who was born
in Moor Lane, Lancaster, in the year 1832. He is the son of the
late Mr. William Turner, of the firm of Battersby and Turner,
upholsterers, Lancaster. His mother was a Miss Aldren, daughter
of Mr. Robert Aldren, malster, of Skerton. He was educated at
the private school of Mr. Howard, of Green Ayre, and subsequently
became the pupil of Dr. Christopher Johnson. After remaining
the usual period with this gentleman he went to Edinburgh, and in
due course became Demonstrator of Anatomy in the Medical
College of which he is now a professor.

Sir William became a distinguished scholar under Sir James
Paget at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He obtained his member-
ship of the Royal College of Surgeons in 1853, and in 1854 gained
an Exhibition and a Gold Medal at the London University ; in the
same year he was appointed Senior Demonstrator of Anatomy at
Edinburgh, and in 1857 he took the degree of M. B. of London.


In 1861 he became F. R.C.S., and in 1867 was elected to the chair
which he now so ably fills, as the successor of the immortal Good-
sir. In 1886 he received the honour of knighthood in recognition
of his services to the University of Edinburgh. He was for some
time Examiner in Anatomy in the University of London, and
Lecturer in Anatomy and Physiology in the Royal College of
Surgeons, England.

When the British Association met at Edinburgh in the year
1 87 1, Professor Turner presided over the department of anthro-
pology, and in 1885, at Aberdeen, he was one of the vice-presidents
of the section. He is the author of many works on the anatomy
and histology of man and the lower animals, amongst which may
be mentioned the " Atlas of Human Anatomy and Physiology," the
articles on anatomy, anthropotomy, and the digestive organs in the
last edition of the "Encyclopaedia Britannica," and the report on
the whales and seals collected by H.M.S. Challenger. He also
wrote the monographs on the human crania and other bones
brought home by the "Challenger" expedition, a work which
forms one of the most important contributions to anthropological

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