June 22.
1826. General Election.
Parliament having existed to its utmost legal duration, the electors exercised, or withheld the exercise of their franchise, according to their individual wishes or hopes, desires or fears, intelligence or ignorance; or as feelings of independence directed, or influence over weakness misdirected. Contests were as numerous and fierce as usual; and, as might have been expected, in some places, the numerical state of the poll-books intimated more of intellectual enlargement than the final results. No new arguments or means were resorted to. The following paragraph is only inserted as an instance, that to buy as cheap, and sell as dear as possible, as a principle of trade, was not thoroughly lost sight of by dealers.
Price of Provisions during Elections.
During the election at Sudbury, four cabbages sold for 10l., and a plate of gooseberries fetched 25l.; the sellers, where these articles were so dear, being voters. At Great Marlow, on the contrary, things were cheap, and an elector during the election bought a sow and nine young pigs for a penny.[218]
Election for Garrett.
The “County History” says, that the Hamlet of Garrett is in the road from Wandsworth to Tooting. About two centuries ago it appears to have been a single house called the Garvett. In it was the mansion-house of the Brodrick family, pulled down about fifty years ago; the ground is let to a market gardener; part of the garden wall remains. Garrett now contains about fifty houses, amongst which are some considerable manufactures. This used to be for many years the scene of a mock election, and much indecency on the meeting of every new parliament, when several characters in low life appeared as candidates, being furnished with fine clothes and gay equipages by the publicans, who made a good harvest. The last of these, known by the name of Sir Harry Dimsdale, was a deformed dwarf, little better than an idiot, who used to cry muffins in the streets about St. Ann’s, Soho, and died about 1809. It has been dropped at the two last general elections; but the memory of it will be preserved by Foote’s diverting farce of “The Mayor of Garrett.”—There are three prints displaying the proceedings on occasion of this election.[219]
Since the preceding statement, which is almost in the words of Lysons, Garrett has been increased, and may be said, in 1826, to contain double the number of houses. Lysons and Bray call it a “hamlet;” and this denomination, if taken to mean “a small village,” is applicable to this place.
For particulars concerning the “Mock Election,” with a view to insertion in the Every Day-Book, Garrett itself has been visited, and persons seen there, and in the neighbourhood, who took part in the proceedings, and well remember them. Their statements of this public burlesque will be laid before the reader presently.
As a preliminary, it may be remarked that in the election for Garrett, there was a whimsical assumption of office, and an arbitrary creation of officers and characters unknown in the elections of other boroughs. In particular, there was a “Master of the Horse.” The person so dignified at its latter elections was pointed out as the oldest individual in Wandsworth, who had figured in the “solemn mockery,” and as, therefore, most likely to furnish information, from “reminiscences” of his “ancient dignity.” He was described as “Old Jack Jones the sawyer;” and it was added, “You’ll find him by the water side; turn down by the church; he is lame and walks with a crutch; any body’ll tell you of him; he lives in a cottage by the bridge; if you don’t find him at home, he is most likely at the Plume of Feathers, or just in the neighbourhood; you’ll be sure to know him if you meet him—he is a thorough oddity, and can tell all about the Garrett Election.” The “Plume” was resorted to, and “old Jack Jones” obligingly sought by Mr. Attree the landlord, who for that purpose peregrinated the town; and the “Master of the Horse” made his entry into the parlour with as much alacrity as his wooden assistants helped him to. It was “the accustomed place,” wherein he had told his story “many a time and oft;” and having heard, “up town” that there was “somebody quite curious about the Garrett Election,” he was dragging his “slow length along,” when “mine host of the Feathers” met him on the way.
John Jones may be described as “one of the has beens.” In his day he was tall of stature, stout of body, and had done as much work as any man of his time—when he was at it. But, then, he had overstrained himself, and for some years past had not been able to do a stroke of work; and he had seen a deal of “ran-dan,” and a racketty life had racketted his frame, and
——————————“Time
Had written strange defeatures on his brow.”
After the first civilities, and after he had deposited his crutch and stick by the side of a chair, and himself in an adjoining one, and after the glowing pleasure from seeing a fresh face had subsided, and been replaced by a sense of the importance which attaches to the possession of something coveted by another, he talked of the “famous doings,” and “such sights as never were seen before, nor never would be seen again;” and he dimmed the hope of particular information, by “quips, and quirks, and wanton wiles;” and practised the “art of ingeniously tormenting,” by declarations of unbounded knowledge, and that “he could a tale unfold,” but would not; because, as he said, “why should I make other people as wise as I am?” Yet there was a string which “discoursed most excellent music”—it was of himself and of the fame of his exploits. His “companions in arms” had been summoned to their last abiding-place, and, alas,
“They left him alone in his glory!”
John Jones’s topic was not a dry one, nor was John Jones dry, but in the commencement he had “preferred a little porter to any thing else in the world,” except, and afterwards accepted, “a drop of something by itself;” and, by degrees, he became communicative of all he could recollect. In the course of the present article his information will be embodied, with other memoranda, towards a history of the elections of the “borough of Garrett.”
Had an artist been present at the conversation, he might have caught the features of the “Ex-master of the Horse,” when they were heightened by his subject to a humorous expression. He was by no means unwilling to “have his head taken off;” but he deemed the “execution” an affair of so much importance as to solemnize his features from their wonted hilarity while speaking, to the funereal appearance which the writer has depicted, and the engraver perpetuated, in the following [representation]:—
John Jones, of Wandsworth,
MASTER OF THE HORSE AT THE LAST ELECTIONS FOR GARRETT.
As a memorial of a remarkable living character, this [portrait] may be acceptable; he is the only person alive at Wandsworth, of any distinction in the popular elections of its neighbourhood.
The following interesting account respecting Garrett is in “A Morning’s Walk to Kew”—
By Sir Richard Phillips.
Wandsworth having been the once-famed scene of those humorous popular elections of a mayor, or member for Garrat; and the subject serving to illustrate the manners of the times, and abounding in original features of character, I collected among some of its elder inhabitants a variety of amusing facts and documents, relative to the eccentric candidates and their elections.
Southward of Wandsworth, a road extends nearly two miles to the village of Lower Tooting, and nearly midway are a few houses, or hamlet, by the side of a small common, called Garrat, from which the road itself is called Garrat Lane. Various encroachments on this common led to an association of the neighbours about three-score years since, when they chose a president, or mayor, to protect their rights; and the time of their first election being the period of a new parliament, it was agreed that the mayor should be re-chosen after every general election. Some facetious members of the club gave, in a few years, local notoriety to this election; and, when party spirit ran high in the days of Wilkes and Liberty, it was easy to create an appetite for a burlesque election among the lower orders of the Metropolis. The publicans at Wandsworth, Tooting, Battersea, Clapham, and Vauxhall, made a purse to give it character; and Mr. Foote rendered its interest universal, by calling one of his inimitable farces, “the Mayor of Garrat.” I have indeed been told, that Foote, Garrick, and Wilkes, wrote some of the candidates’ addresses, for the purpose of instructing the people in the corruptions which attend elections to the legislature, and of producing those reforms by means of ridicule and shame, which are vainly expected from solemn appeals of argument and patriotism.
Not being able to find the members for Garrat in Beatson’s Political Index, or in any of the Court Calendars, I am obliged to depend on tradition for information in regard to the early history of this famous borough. The first mayor of whom I could hear was called Sir John Harper. He filled the seat during two parliaments, and was, it appears, a man of wit, for, on a dead cat being thrown at him on the hustings, and a bystander exclaiming that it stunk worse than a fox, Sir John vociferated, “that’s no wonder, for you see it’s a poll-cat.” This noted baronet was, in the metropolis, a retailer of brick-dust; and, his Garrat honours being supposed to be a means of improving his trade and the condition of his ass, many characters in similar occupations were led to aspire to the same distinctions.
He was succeeded by Sir Jeffery Dunstan, who was returned for three parliaments, and was the most popular candidate that ever appeared on the Garrat hustings. His occupation was that of buying OLD WIGS, once an article of trade like that in old clothes, but become obsolete since the full-bottomed and full-dressed wigs of both sexes went out of fashion. Sir Jeffery usually carried his wig-bag over his shoulder, and, to avoid the charge of vagrancy, vociferated, as he passed along the street, “old wigs;” but, having a person like Esop, and a countenance and manner marked by irresistible humour, he never appeared without a train of boys, and curious persons, whom he entertained by his sallies of wit, shrewd sayings, and smart repartees; and from whom, without begging, he collected sufficient to maintain his dignity of mayor and knight. He was no respecter of persons, and was so severe in his jokes on the corruptions and compromises of power, that this street-jester, was prosecuted for using what were then called seditious expressions; and, as a caricature on the times, which ought never to be forgotten, he was in 1793 tried, convicted, and imprisoned! In consequence of this affair, and some charges of dishonesty, he lost his popularity, and, at the general election for 1796, was ousted by Sir Harry Dimsdale, muffin-seller, a man as much deformed as himself. Sir Jeffery could not long survive his fall; but, in death as in life, he proved a satire on the vices of the proud, for in 1797 he died, like Alexander the Great, and many other heroes renowned in the historic page—of suffocation from excessive drinking!
Sir Harry Dimsdale dying also before the next general election, and no candidate starting of sufficient originality of character, and, what was still more fatal, the victuallers having failed to raise a PUBLIC PURSE, which was as stimulating a bait to the independent candidates for Garrat, as it is to the independent candidates for a certain assembly; the borough of Garrat has since remained vacant, and the populace have been without a professed political buffoon.
None but those who have seen a London mob on any great holiday can form a just idea of these elections. On several occasions, a hundred thousand persons, half of them in carts, in hackney-coaches, and on horse and ass-back, covered the various roads from London, and choked up all the approaches to the place of election. At the two last elections, I was told, that the road within a mile of Wandsworth was so blocked up by vehicles, that none could move backward or forward during many hours; and that the candidates, dressed like chimney-sweepers on May-day, or in the mock fashion of the period, were brought to the hustings in the carriages of peers, drawn by six horses, the owners themselves condescending to become their drivers[220]!
Before relating certain amusing facts which have never before appeared in print, or giving further particulars respecting Sir Jeffery Dunstan and Sir Henry Dimsdale, it seems fitting to add from the “Gentleman’s Magazine” of 1781, as follows:—
“Wednesday June 25, the septennial mock election for Garrat was held this day; and upwards of 50,000 people were, on that ludicrous occasion, assembled at Wandsworth.”
In the same volume there is an article which, as it is the only other notice in that useful miscellany concerning this celebrated usage, and as there is not any notice of it in other magazines of the time, is here annexed.
July, 25.
Mr. Urban.—The learned antiquary finds a pleasure in tracing the origin of ancient customs, even when time has so altered them as totally to obliterate their use. It may therefore not be unpleasing to the generality of your readers, while it is yet recent in memory, to record in your Magazine the laudable motive that gave rise to the farcical custom of electing a Mayor of Garrat, which is now become truly ridiculous.
I have been told, that about thirty years ago, several persons who lived near that part of Wandsworth which adjoins to Garrat Lane, had formed a kind of club, not merely to eat and drink, but to concert measures for removing the encroachments made on that part of the common, and to prevent any others being made for the future. As the members were most of them persons in low circumstances, they agreed at every meeting to contribute some small matter, in order to make up a purse for the defence of their collective rights. When a sufficient sum of money was subscribed, they applied to a very worthy attorney in that neighbourhood, who brought an action against the encroachers in the name of the president (or, as they called him, the MAYOR) of the club. They gained their suit with costs; the encroachments were destroyed; and ever after, the president, who lived many years, was called “The Mayor of Garrat.”
This event happening at the time of a general election, the ceremony upon every new parliament, of choosing outdoor members for the borough of Garrat, has been constantly kept up, and is still continued, to the great emolument of all the publicans at Wandsworth, who annually subscribe to all incidental expenses attending this mock election.
M. G.
The late eminent antiquary, Dr. Ducarel, made inquiries respecting this custom of the late Mr. W. Massey of Wandsworth, who answered them in the following letter:—
Wandsworth, June 25, 1754.
Dr. Ducarel.—I promised to give you an account of the mock election for Garrat, a district within the compass of the parish of Wandsworth. I have been informed, that about 60 or 70 years ago, some watermen, belonging to this town, went to the Leather Bottle, a public house at Garrat, to spend a merry day, which, being the time of a general election for members of Parliament, in the midst of their frolick they took it into their heads to chuse one of their company a representative for that place; and, having gone through the usual ceremonies of an election, as well as the occasion would permit, he was declared duly elected. Whether the whimsical custom of swearing the electors upon a brick-bat, ‘quod rem cum aliqua muliere, intra limites istius pagi, habuissent,’ was then first established, or that it was a waggish after-thought, I cannot determine, but it has been regarded as the due qualification of the electors for many elections last past.
This local usage, from that small beginning, has had a gradual increase; for no great account was made of it, that I can remember or hear of, before the two elections preceding this last, which has been performed with uncommon pomp and magnificence, in the plebeian mode of pageantry. And, as it has been taken notice of in our public newspapers, it may probably have a run, through those channels, to many parts of the kingdom, and, in time, become the inquiry of the curious, when and why such a mock usage was commenced.
I have herewith sent you copies of some of the hand-bills of the candidates, that were printed and plentifully dispersed (in imitation of the grand monde) before the election came on, by which you may judge of the humour in which the other parts of it were conducted. Their pseudo-titles, as you will observe, are Lord Twankum, Squire Blow-me-down, and Squire Gubbins. Lord Twankum’s right name is John Gardiner, and is grave-digger to this parish; Blow-me-down is —— Willis, a waterman; and Squire Gubbins, whose name is —— Simmonds, keeps a publichouse, the sign of the Gubbins’ Head, in Blackman-street, Southwark.
Some time hence, perhaps, also it may be a matter of inquiry what is meant by the Gubbins’ Head. This Simmonds formerly lived at Wandsworth, and went from hence to keep a public-house in Blackman-street; he being a droll companion in what is called low-life, several of his old acquaintance of this town used to call at his house, when they were in London, to drink a pot or two; and, as he generally had some cold provisions (which by a cant name he usually called “his gubbins”), he made them welcome to such as he had, from whence he obtained that name; and putting up a man’s head for the sign, it was called the “Gubbins’ Head.” A hundred years hence, perhaps, if some knowledge of the occasion of the name of this sign should not be preserved in writing, our future antiquaries might puzzle themselves to find out the meaning of it. I make no question, but that we have many elaborate dissertations upon antique subjects, whose originals, being obscure or whimsy, like this, were never truly discovered. This leads me to the commendation of the utility of your design in recording singular accidents and odd usages, the causes and origin of which might otherwise be lost in a long tract of time.
Garrett Election, 1826.
It seems to be the desire of certain admirers of certain popular customs to get up another burlesque election for Garrett; the last was thirty years ago.
The following is a copy of a Notice, now executing (June 23, 1826) at a sign-painters, on a board ten feet high, for the purpose of being publicly exhibited. It need scarcely be observed that the commencing word of this very singular composition, which ought to be Oyez, is improperly spelt and divided, and “yes” is unaccountably placed between three inverted commas; the transcript is verbatim, and is arranged in this column as the original is on the signboard.
O ‘‘‘Yes’’’
NOTICE
That on Thursday
6th July, 1826
In conformity of
THE HIGH
AUTHORITIES,
Of the United
KINGDOM
will assemble
THROUGHOUT
the EMPIRE
and particularly
at the Hustings at
GARRAT,
to whit, conformable
to the Custom
Of our Ancient
LIBERTY.
SIR JOHN
PAUL PRY,
now offers himself
to a Generous
PUBLIC
GOD SAVE THE
KING
The last representative of Garrett was a “remarkable character” in the streets of the metropolis for many years. His ordinary costume was very different from the court dress he wore on the hustings, wherein he is [here] represented—
Sir Jeffery Dunstan, M. P. for Garrett,
COSMOPOLITE, AND MUFFIN-SELLER.
The individual who figured as conspicuously as the most conspicuous, and who may be regarded as the last really humorous candidate at this election was
Sir Jeffery Dunstan, M. P. for Garrett,
AND ITINERANT DEALER IN OLD WIGS.
The kind of oratory and the nature of the argument employed by the candidates in their addresses to their constituents, can scarcely be better exemplified than by the following
Speech of Sir Jeffery Dunstan.
My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen,
A landed property being the only unexceptionable qualification that entitles me to a seat in the august parliament of Great Britain, I presume my estate in the Isle of Mud will, in point of propriety, secure to me your votes and interests, to represent you in the ensuing parliament.
Ladies and gem’men, I propose, for the good of mankind, to anticipate a few promises like other great men, but which I will strictly adhere to, that is, as long as I find it’s my interest so to do.
First, in regard to his Majesty’s want of money, I am determined to make him easy on that point—(Lord bless him!)—by abolishing the use of it entirely, and reducing the price of gold, it being the worst canker to the soul of man; and the only expedient I can think of to prevent bribery and corruption, an evil which all the great big wigs of Westminster cannot prevent, notwithstanding all their gravity and knowledge, as the late proceedings against governor Green Peas can fully testify.
Next, as my worthy constituents may be assured, I shall use all my honest endeavours to get a majority in the house. I shall always take the popular side of the question; and to do all I can to oblige that jewel of a man, Sugar-Plumb Billy, I shall assist him in paying off the national debt, without wetting a sponge. My scheme for this, ladies and gem’men, is to unmarry all those who choose it, on such terms as the minister shall think fit. This being a glorious opportunity for women of spirit to exert themselves, and regain their long lost empire over their husbands, I hope they will use all their coaxing arts to get me elected in their husband’s place; and this will greatly increase the influence of the crown, and vastly lower India bonds.
As I detest the idea of a placeman, I pledge myself not to accept of anything less than the government of Duck Island, or the bishoprick of Durham, for I am very fond of a clean shirt, and lawn sleeves, I think, look well; besides, the sine qua non is the thing I aim at, like other great men. The India Company, too, I will convey from Leadenhall-street to Westminster, and, according to my own wig principles, I will create all the directors’ and nabobs’ titles, and, besides, show them how to get what they have been long aiming at—the way to Botany Bay. I shall likewise prove the Excise Office to be the greatest smuggle in the nation, for they smuggled the ground from the public on which their office stands, and for which I shall conjure up Old Gresham’s ghost, to read them a lecture upon thieving.
Like the great men, I pledge my honour, life, and fortune, that I will remove all heavy taxes, and by a glorious scheme, contrived by me and my friend Lord George Gordon, I shall, by a philosophical, aristocratical thermometer, or such-like hydraulics, discover the longitude among the Jews of Duke’s Place, and the secret of Masonry.
City honours I never courted, nor would I give an old wig to be drawn in idle state through Cheapside’s foggy air on a 9th of November.—No, I would rather sit by the side of my great friend Mr. Fox, in the Duke of Devonshire’s coach, and make another coalition, or go with him to India, and be a governor’s great man; for,
Hated by fools, and fools to hate,
Was always Jeffery Dunstan’s fate.
Though my Lord George has turned Jew, and wears a broom about his chin[221], I never intend to do so until his informer is dead, or the time elapsed of his imprisonment in the county castle, when we shall both go into Duke’s Place, and be sworn true friends; then woe be to the informing busy bookseller of Spitalfields, who was lately turned out of the Snogo for eating pork with the rind on. Depend upon it his windows shall chatter more Hebrew than he ever understood. All this shall be done by me, in spite of him. Yes, by me, your humble servant,
Sir Jeffery Dunstan, M.P.
Exparte Dimsdale, Bart.
“Two single Gentlemen roll’d into one.”
TAKE NOTICE.
Whereas, on or upon the last page but one of the last sheet, that is to say, [columns 829] and [830] of the Every-Day Book, there are two whole length portraits, each whereof is subscribed, or inscribed beneath, with one name.
And whereas each, and both, is and are, thereby, that is to say, by the said one name, called, or purported to be called, “Sir Jeffery Dunstan, M.P. for Garrett, &c.”
And whereas the said two engravings are portraits of two several, separate, and distinct individuals.
And whereas it is hereby declared to be true and certain, and not to be gainsayed or denied, that two neither are, nor is, nor can be, one.
Therefore, All whom it may concern are hereby intended, and required to be instructed, and informed thereof.
And further, that the first, or top, or uppermost portrait, although subscribed “Sir Jeffery Dunstan, &c.” is to be seen, taken, and received, as and for the true and faithful likeness of sir Harry Dimsdale, Bart. M.P. for Garrett, and for no or none other.
And furthermore, that the second, or last portrait is, in truth, a like true, and faithful likeness of sir Jeffery Dunstan, as is there truly stated:
And more, furthermore, that the misnomer, as to the said Sir Harry Dimsdale, was unpurposed and accidentally made and written by the undersigned, and overseen by the overseer, when the same was set up or composed in type by the compositor; and that he, the said compositor, was bound in duty not to think, but unthinkingly, and without thought, to do as he did, that is to say, follow his copy, and not think:
And lastly, that the last portrait, subscribed “Sir Jeffery Dunstan,” is rightly and truly so subscribed:
Wherefore, the portrait of the “cosmopolite and muffin seller,” was, and is, only, and alone, and no other, than the just and faithful likeness of sir Harry Dimsdale, according, and notwithstanding as aforesaid.
And therefore, the well-disposed are enjoined and required to dele, or strike out, the misnomer thereof, or thereto affixed, and in tender consideration of the premises to forget and forgive the same, which proceeded wholly, solely, entirely, and unhappily from
A. B.
June 28, 1826.
Attestation, &c.
This is to certify, that so much of the above contents as are within my knowledge, and the whole thereof, according to my full and perfect belief, is, and are, strictly and entirely true: And that the signature thereto subjoined is true and honest, in manner and form following, to wit,—the letter “A” is, of itself alone, what it purports to be, that is to say, “A,” by itself, “A;” And the letter “B,” in alphabetical order, is, also in nominal order, the literal beginning, or initial, of the real name, which is, or ought, or is meant to be attached thereto, namely—“Blunder:” And that the said “Blunder” is altogether honest, and much to be pitied; and is known so to be, by every one as well acquainted with the said “Blunder,” and the rest of the family, as myself.—
The Printer.
Mock Election at Garrett,
25th of June, 1781.
This is the burlesque election referred to at [column 825], when “upwards of 50,000 people were, on that ludicrous occasion, assembled at Wandsworth.”
That notice, with the interesting letter concerning the origin of this popular custom, from Mr. Massey to Dr. Ducarel, on [column 826], was inserted with other particulars, in the last sheet, for the purpose of inciting attention to the subject and under an expectation that the request there urged, for further information, might be further complied with. The hope has been realized to a certain extent, and there will now be placed before the reader the communications of correspondents, and whatever has been obtained from personal intercourse with those who remember the old elections for Garrett.
To mention the earliest within remembrance, it is proper to say that this public burlesque was conducted in 1777 with great spirit; sir John Harper was then elected, and a man in armour rode in that procession. The name of this champion was “Jem Anderson,” a breeches-maker of Wandsworth, and a wonderful humorist.
At sir John Harper’s election, on the 25th of June, 1781, he had six rivals to contend with. A printed bill now before the editor, sets forth their titles and qualifications in the following manner:—
“THE GARRATT ELECTION.
“The Possessions and Characters of the Seven Candidates that put up for that Great and Important Office, called
THE MAYOR OF GARRETT.
“Sir Jeffery Dunstan, sir William Blase, sir Christopher Dashwood, sir John Harper, sir William Swallowtail, sir John Gnawpost, and sir Thomas Nameless.
“On Wednesday, the 25th instant, being the day appointed for the Garrat election, the candidates proceeded from different parts of London to Garrat-green, Wandsworth.
“Sir Jeffery Dunstan: he is a man of low stature, but very great in character and abilities; his principal view is to serve his king and country, his worthy friends and himself.
“The next gentleman that offered himself was sir William Blase, a man of great honour and reputation, and was of high rank in the army, serving his king and country near forty years, and had the honour to be a corporal in the city trainbands, the last rebellion.
“The third, admiral Dashwood, well known in the county of Surry, to many who has felt the weight of his hand on their shoulders, and shewing an execution in the other.
“Sir John Harper is a man of the greatest abilities and integrity, and his estate lies wherever he goes; his wants are supplied by the oil of his tongue, and is of the strictest honour: he made an oath against work when in his youth, and was never known to break it.
“Sir William Swallow-tail is an eminent merchant in the county of Surry, and supplies most of the gardeners with strawberry-baskets, and others to bring their fruit to market.
“Sir John Gnawpost is a man well known to the public; he carries his traffic under his left arm, and there is not a schoolboy in London or Westminster but what has had dealings with him:—His general cry is ‘twenty if you win, and five if you lose.’
“Sir Thomas Nameless,”—of reputation unmentionable.
Having thus described the candidates from the original printed “Hustings paper,” it is proper to state that its description of them is followed by a woodcut representing two figures—one, of sir Jeffery Dunstan, in the costume and attitude of his portrait given at [column 830], but holding a pipe in his right hand, and one of another candidate, who, for want of a name to the figure, can scarcely be guessed at; he is in a court dress, with a star on the right breast of his coat, his right arm gracefully reposing in the pocket of his unmentionables, and his left hand holding a bag, which is thrown over his left shoulder.
Beneath that engraving is
“The speech of sir Jeffery Dunstan, Bart. delivered from the hustings.
“Gentlemen,
“I am heartily glad to see so great a number of my friends attend so early on the great and important business of this day. If I should be so happy as to be the object of your choice, you may depend on it that your great requests shall be my sole study both asleep and awake. I am determined to oppose lord N(ort)h in every measure he proposes; and that my electors shall have porter at threepence a pot; that bread shall be sold at four pence a quartern loaf, and corn be brought fairly to market, not stived up in granaries to be eat by rats and mice; and that neither Scotchmen or Irishmen shall have a seat in our parliament.
“Gentlemen, as I am not an orator or personable man, be assured I am an honest member. Having been abused in the public papers, I am resolved, if it cost me a thousand pounds, to take the free votes of the electors. It is true, it has cost me ten shillings for a coach, to raise which, I have pawned my cloathes; but that I regard not, since I am now in a situation to serve my king, whom I wish God to bless, also his precious queen, who, under the blessing of a king above, hath produced a progeny which has presaged a happy omen to this country.
“Gentlemen, I can assure you with the greatest truth, that the cloaths I have on are all my own, for the meanness of borrowing cloaths to appear before you, my worthy electors, I highly detest; and bribery and other meanness I abhor;—but if any gentleman chuse to give me any thing, I am ready to receive their favours.”
The above oration is headed by “This is my original speech;” below it is added as follows:—
“N. B. When sir John Harper’s man arrived on the hustings with flying colours, he began to insult sir Jeffery, who immediately made him walk six times round the hustings, ask his honour’s pardon, drop his colours and dismount.”
With this information the bill concludes.
A song printed at the time, but now so rare as not to be met with, further particularizes some of the candidates at this election. In the absence of an original copy, the parol evidence of “old John Jones of Wandsworth,” has been admitted as to certain verses which are here recorded accordingly.
Garrett Election Song, 1781.
Recited by the “ex-master of the horse,”
at the “Plume of Feathers,” Wandsworth,
on the 14th of June, 1826.
At Garratt, lackaday, what fun!
To see the sight what thousands run!
Sir William Blase, and all his crew,
Sure, it was a droll sight to view.
Sir William Blase, a snob by trade,
In Wandsworth town did there parade;
With his high cap and wooden sword
He look’d as noble as a lord!
Sir William Swallowtail came next
In basket-coach, so neatly drest;
With hand-bells playing all the way,
For Swallowtail, my boys, huzza!
Sir Christopher Dashwood so gay,
With drums and fifes did sweetly play;
He, in a boat, was drawn along,
Amongst a mighty gazing throng.
In blue and gold he grand appeared,
Behind the boat old Pluto steer’d;
The Andrew, riding by his side,
Across a horse, did nobly stride.
On sir John Harper next we gaze
All in his carriage, and six bays,
With star upon his breast, so fine,
He did each candidate outshine.
And when he on the hustings came
He bow’d to all in gallant strain,
The speech he made was smart and cute,
And did each candidate confute.
In this procession to excel,
The droll sir William acted well;
And when they came to Garrett green,
Sure what laughing there was seen!
No Wilkes, but liberty, was there;
And every thing honest and fair,
For surely Garrett is the place,
Where pleasure is, and no disgrace!
Sir William Swallowtail was one William Cock, a whimsical basket-maker of Brentford, who deeming it proper to have an equipage every way suitable to the honour he aspired to, built his own carriage, with his own hands, to his own taste. It was made of wicker, and drawn by four high hollow-backed horses; whereon were seated dwarfish boys, whimsically dressed for postilions. In allusion to the American war, two footmen rode before the carriage tarred and feathered, the coachman wore a wicker hat, and sir William himself, from the seat of his vehicle, maintained his mock dignity in grotesque array, amidst unbounded applause.
The song says, that sir William Swallowtail came “with hand-bells playing all the way,” and “old John Jones,” after he “rehearsed” the song, gave some account of the player on the hand-bells.
The hand-bell player was Thomas Cracknell, who, at that time, was a publican at Brentford, and kept the “Wilkes’s Head.” He had been a cow-boy in the service of lady Holderness; and after he took that public-house, he so raised its custom that it was a place of the first resort in Brentford “for man and horse.” With an eye to business, as well as a disposition to waggery, he played the hand-bells in support of sir William Swallowtail, as much for the good of the “Wilkes’s Head” as in honour of his neighbour Cock, the basket-maker, who, with his followers, had opened Cracknell’s house. Soon after the election he let the “Wilkes’s Head,” and receiving a handsome sum for good-will and coming-in, bound himself in a penalty of 20l. not to set up within ten miles of the spot. In the afternoon of the day he gave up possession, he went to his successor with the 20l. penalty, and informed him he had taken another house in the neighbourhood. It was the sign of the “Aaron and Driver,” two race-horses, of as great celebrity as the most favoured of the then Garrett candidates. Cracknell afterwards became a rectifier or distiller at Brentford.
Sir John Harper was by trade a weaver, and qualified, by power of face and speech, and infinite humour, to sustain the burlesque character he assumed. His chief pretensions to represent Garrett were grounded on his reputation, circulated in printed hand-bills, which described him as a “rectifier of mistakes and blunders.” He made his grand entry through Wandsworth, into Garrett, in a phaeton and six bays, with postilions in scarlet and silver, surrounded by thousands of supporters, huzzaing, and declaring him to be “able to give any man an answer.”
MOCK ELECTION FOR GARRETT.
Sir John Harper’s Election, 1781.
Long as we live there’ll be no more
Such scenes as these, in days of yore,
When little folks deem’d great ones less,
And aped their manners and address;
When, further still to counterfeit,
To mountebanks they gave a seat,
By virtue of a mobbing summons,
As members of the House of Commons.
Through Garrett, then, a cavalcade,
A long procession, longer made.
For why, the way was not so wide
That horsemen, there, abreast, could ride,
As they had rode, when they came down,
In order due, to Wandsworth town;
Whence, to the Leather Bottle driven,
With shouts that rent the welkin given,
And given also, many blows
In strife, the great “Sir John” arose
On high, in high phaeton, stood,
And pledged his last, best, drop of blood,
As sure as he was “Harper,” to
Undo all things that wouldn’t do,
And vow’d he’d do, as well as undo,
He’d do—in short, he’d do—what none do:
Although his speech, precisely, is
Unknown, yet here, concisely, is
Related all, which, sought with pains,
Is found to be the last remains,
Of all, at Garrett, done and said;
And more than elsewhere can be read.
The preceding [engraving] is from a large drawing, by Green, of a scene at this election in 1781, taken on the spot. Until now, this drawing has not been submitted to the public eye.
In the above accurate representation of the spot, the sign of the Leather Bottle in Garrett-lane is conspicuous. Its site at that time was different from that of the present public-house bearing that name.
It is further observable, that “Harper for ever” is inscribed on the phaeton of the mock candidate for the mock honours of the mock electors; and that the candidate himself is in the act of haranguing his worthy constituents, some of whose whimsical dresses will give a partial idea of the whimsical appearance of the assembled multitude. Every species of extravagant habiliment seems to have been resorted to. The little humourist in a large laced cocked hat, and his donkey in trappings, are particularly rich, and divide the attention of the people on foot with sir John Harper himself. The vender of a printed paper, in a large wig, leers round at him in merry glee. The sweeps, elevated on their bit of “come-up,” are attracted by the popular candidate, whose voice seems rivalled by the patient animal, from whose back they are cheering their favourite man.
In this election, we find the never-to-be-forgotten sir Jeffery Dunstan, who it is not right to pass without saying something more of him than that on this occasion he was a mere candidate, and unsuccessful. He succeeded afterwards to the seat he sought, and will be particularly noticed hereafter; until when, it would perhaps be more appropriate to defer what is about to be offered respecting him; but the distinguished favour of a communication from C. L. on such a subject, seems to require a distinguished place; his paper is therefore selected to prematurely herald the fame of the celebrated crier of “old wigs” in odd fashioned days, when wigs were a common and necessary addition to every person’s dress.
Reminiscence of Sir Jeffery Dunstan
By C. L.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
To your account of sir Jeffery Dunstan in [columns 829]-[30] (where, by an unfortunate Erratum the effigies of two Sir Jefferys appear, when the uppermost figure is clearly meant for sir Harry Dimsdale) you may add, that the writer of this has frequently met him in his latter days, about 1790 or 1791, returning in an evening, after his long day’s itinerancy, to his domicile—a wretched shed in the most beggarly purlieu of Bethnal Green, a little on this side the Mile-end Turnpike. The lower figure in that leaf most correctly describes his then appearance, except that no graphic art can convey an idea of the general squalor of it, and of his bag (his constant concomitant) in particular. Whether it contained “old wigs” at that time I know not, but it seemed a fitter repository for bones snatched out of kennels, than for any part of a Gentleman’s dress even at second hand.
The Ex-member for Garrat was a melancholy instance of a great man whose popularity is worn out. He still carried his sack, but it seemed a part of his identity rather than an implement of his profession; a badge of past grandeur; could any thing have divested him of that, he would have shown a “poor forked animal” indeed. My life upon it, it contained no curls at the time I speak of. The most decayed and spiritless remnants of what was once a peruke would have scorned the filthy case; would absolutely have “burst its cearments.” No, it was empty, or brought home bones, or a few cinders possibly. A strong odour of burnt bones, I remember, blended with the scent of horse-flesh seething into dog’s meat, and only relieved a little by the breathings of a few brick kilns, made up the atmosphere of the delicate suburban spot, which this great man had chosen for the last scene of his earthly vanities. The cry of “old wigs” had ceased with the possession of any such fripperies; his sack might have contained not unaptly a little mould to scatter upon that grave, to which he was now advancing; but it told of vacancy and desolation. His quips were silent too, and his brain was empty as his sack; he slank along, and seemed to decline popular observation. If a few boys followed him, it seemed rather from habit, than any expectation of fun.
Alas! how changed from him,
The life of humour, and the soul of whim,
Gallant and gay on Garrat’s hustings proud.
But it is thus that the world rewards its favourites in decay. What faults he had, I know not. I have heard something of a peccadillo or so. But some little deviation from the precise line of rectitude, might have been winked at in so tortuous and stigmatic a frame. Poor Sir Jeffery! it were well if some M. P.’s in earnest have passed their parliamentary existence with no more offences against integrity, than could be laid to thy charge! A fair dismissal was thy due, not so unkind a degradation; some little snug retreat, with a bit of green before thine eyes, and not a burial alive in the fetid beggaries of Bethnal. Thou wouldst have ended thy days in a manner more appropriate to thy pristine dignity, installed in munificent mockery (as in mock honours you had lived)—a Poor Knight of Windsor!
Every distinct place of public speaking demands an oratory peculiar to itself. The forensic fails within the walls of St. Stephen. Sir Jeffery was a living instance of this, for in the flower of his popularity an attempt was made to bring him out upon the stage (at which of the winter theatres I forget, but I well remember the anecdote) in the part of Doctor Last.[222] The announcement drew a crowded house; but notwithstanding infinite tutoring—by Foote, or Garrick, I forget which—when the curtain drew up, the heart of Sir Jeffery failed, and he faultered on, and made nothing of his part, till the hisses of the house at last in very kindness dismissed him from the boards. Great as his parliamentary eloquence had shown itself; brilliantly as his off-hand sallies had sparkled on a hustings; they here totally failed him. Perhaps he had an aversion to borrowed wit; and, like my Lord Foppington, disdained to entertain himself (or others) with the forced products of another man’s brain. Your man of quality is more diverted with the natural sprouts of his own.
C. L.
The Garrett Oath.
Almost all that can be said of the oath of qualification, administered to the electors at the Garrett hustings, has been already said in the [letter] to Dr. Ducarel, on [column 826]. It was printed, and from one of these once manifold documents, which are now so rare as not to be attainable in a perfect state, the following title, &c. is copied literally.
“The
OATH
of
Qualification
for the
Ancient Borough of
GARRAT
According as it stands in the
Old Record handed down to us
By the
Grand Volgee
by order of the Great
CHIN KAW CHIPO
First Emperor of the Moon
Anno Mundi 75.
“That you have been admitted peaceably and quietly into possession of a Freehold—
****
[Here the original, referred to, is so defective as not to be copyable.]
****
——“within the said manor of Garrat; and that you did (bona fide) keep (ad rem) possession —— (durante bene placito) without any let, suit, hindrance, or molestation whatever ——
****
“Sworn (coram nobis) at our
Great Hall on Garrat Green,
covered with the plenteous harvest
of the Goddess Ceres, and dedi-
cated to the Jovial God Comus.”
}
More than this it is not possible to give of the Garrett oath.
During a Garrett election all Wandsworth was in an uproar. It was the resort of people of all descriptions, and the publicans entertained them as conveniently as possible; yet, on one occasion, the influx of visiters was so immense that every ordinary beverage was exhausted, and water sold at twopence a glass.
By “old John Jones,” “the doings at Wandsworth” on the election day are described as “past description.”
Besides the “hustings” at Garrett, scaffoldings and booths were erected in Wandsworth at every open space: these were filled with spectators to the topmost rows, and boys climbed to the tops of the poles; flags and colours were hung across the road; and the place was crowded by a dense population full of activity and noise. For accommodation to view the humours of the day extraordinary prices were paid to the proveditors.
John Jones remembers “when Foote the player came to Wandsworth, to have a full view of all the goings on.” According to his account, the English Aristophanes “paid nine guineas for the fore room at surgeon Squire’s, facing the church, for himself and his friends to sit in and see the fun.” There was an immense scaffolding of spectators and mob-orators, at the corner by the churchyard, opposite the window where Foote and his companions were seated.
It has been already noticed, that Foote dramatised this mock election by his “Mayor of Garratt:” the first edition, printed in 1764, is called “a comedy in two acts; as it is performed at the theatre-royal in Drury-lane.” On turning to the “dramatis personæ,” it will be found he performed Major Sturgeon himself, and, likewise, Matthew Mug in the same piece: Mrs. Clive playing Mrs. Sneak to Weston’s Jerry Sneak.
Foote’s “Mayor of Garratt” may be deemed an outline of the prevailing drollery and manners of the populace at Wandsworth: a scene or two here will be amusing and in place. This dramatist sketched so much from the life, that it is doubtful whether every marked character in his “comedy” had not its living original. It is certain, that he drew Major Sturgeon from old Justice Lamb, a fishmonger at Acton, and a petty trading justice, whose daughter was married by Major Fleming, a gentleman also “in the commission of the peace,” yet every way a more respectable man than his father-in-law.
Referring, then, to Foote’s “comedy,” sir Jacob Jollup, who has a house at Garratt, holds a dialogue with his man Roger concerning the company they expect—
Sir J. Are the candidates near upon coming?
Roger. Nic Goose, the tailor from Putney, they say, will be here in a crack, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Has Margery fetch’d in the linen?
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Are the pigs and the poultry lock’d up in the barn?
Roger. Safe, sir Jacob.
Sir J. And the plate and spoons in the pantry?
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Then give me the key; the mob will soon be upon us; and all is fish that comes to their net. Has Ralph laid the cloth in the hall?
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Then let him bring out the turkey and chine, and be sure there is plenty of mustard; and, d’ye hear, Roger, do you stand yourself at the gate, and be careful who you let in.
Roger. I will, sir Jacob.[exit.
Sir J. So, now I believe thing: are pretty secure.—
Mob. [Without.] Huzza!
Re-enter Roger.
Sir J. What’s the matter now, Roger?
Roger. The electors desire to know if your worship has any body to recommend?
Sir J. By no means; let them be free in their choice: I shan’t interfere.
Roger. And if your worship has any objection to Crispin Heeltap, the cobler, being returning officer?
Sir J. None, provided the rascal can keep himself sober. Is he there?
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob. Make way there! stand further off from the gate: here is madam Sneak in a chaise along with her husband.
Sir Jacob has work enough on his hands with his relations, and other visiters, who have arrived to see the election from his mansion; he calls his “son Bruin” to come in;—“we are all seated at table man; we have but just time for a snack; the candidates are near upon coming.”
Then, in another scene,—
Enter Mob, with Heeltap at their head; some crying “a Goose,” others “a Mug,” others “a Primmer.”
Heel. Silence, there; silence!
1 Mob. Hear neighbour Heeltap.
2 Mob. Ay, ay, hear Crispin.
3 Mob. Ay, ay, hear him, hear Crispin: he will put us into the model of the thing at once.
Heel. Why then, silence! I say.
All. Silence.
Heel. Silence, and let us proceed, neighbours, with all the decency and confusion usual on these occasions.
1 Mob. Ay, ay, there is no doing without that.
All. No, no, no.
Heel. Silence then, and keep the peace; what! is there no respect paid to authority? Am not I the returning officer?
All. Ay, ay, ay.
Heel. Chosen by yourselves, and approved of by sir Jacob?
All. True, true.
Heel. Well then, be silent and civil; stand back there that gentleman without a shirt, and make room for your betters. Where’s Simon Snuffle the sexton?
Snuffle. Here.
Heel. Let him come forward; we appoint him our secretary: for Simon is a scollard, and can read written hand; and so let him be respected accordingly.
3 Mob. Room for master Snuffle.
Heel. Here, stand by me: and let us, neighbours, proceed to open the premunire of the thing: but first, your reverence to the lord of the manor: a long life and a merry one to our landlord, sir Jacob huzza!
Mob. Huzza!
Sneak. How fares it, honest Crispin?
Heel. Servant, master Sneak. Let us now open the premunire of the thing, which I shall do briefly, with all the loquacity possible; that is, in a medium way; which, that we may the better do it, let the secretary read the names of the candidates, and what they say for themselves; and then we shall know what to say of them. Master Snuffle, begin.
Snuffle. [Reads.] “To the worthy inhabitants of the ancient corporation of Garratt: gentlemen, your votes and interest are humbly requested in favour of Timothy Goose, to succeed your late worthy mayor, Mr. Richard Dripping, in the said office, he being”——
Heel. This Goose is but a kind of gosling, a sort of sneaking scoundrel. Who is he?
Snuffle. A journeyman tailor from Putney.
Heel. A journeyman tailor! A rascal, has he the impudence to transpire to be mayor? D’ye consider, neighbours, the weight of this office? Why, it is a burthen for the back of a porter; and can you think that this cross-legg’d cabbage-eating son of a cucumber, this whey-fac’d ninny, who is but the ninth part of a man, has strength to support it?
1 Mob. No Goose! no Goose!
2 Mob. A Goose!
Heel. Hold your hissing, and proceed to the next.
Snuffle. [Reads.] “Your votes are desired for Matthew Mug.”
1 Mob. A Mug! a Mug!
Heel. Oh, oh, what you are ready to have a touch of the tankard; but fair and soft, good neighbours, let us taste this master Mug before we swallow him; and, unless I am mistaken, you’ll find him a bitter draught.
1 Mob. A Mug! a Mug!
2 Mob. Hear him; hear master Heeltap.
1 Mob. A Mug! a Mug!
Heel. Harkye, you fellow with your mouth full of Mug, let me ask you a question: bring him forward. Pray is not this Matthew Mug a victualler?
3 Mob. I believe he may.
Heel. And lives at the sign of the Adam and Eve?
3 Mob. I believe he may.
Heel. Now, answer upon your honour and as you are a gentleman, what is the present price of a quart of home-brew’d at the Adam and Eve?
3 Mob. I don’t know.
Heel. You lie, sirrah: an’t it a groat?
3 Mob. I believe it may.
Heel. Oh, may be so. Now, neighbours, here’s a pretty rascal; this same Mug, because, d’ye see, state affairs would not jog glibly without laying a farthing a quart upon ale; this scoundrel, not contented to take things in a medium way, has had the impudence to raise it a penny.
Mob. No Mug! no Mug!
Heel. So, I thought I should crack Mr. Mug. Come, proceed to the next, Simon.
Snuffle. The next upon the list is Peter Primmer, the schoolmaster.
Heel. Ay, neighbours, and a sufficient man: let me tell you, master Primmer is a man for my money; a man of learning, that can lay down the law: why, adzooks, he is wise enough to puzzle the parson; and then, how you have heard him oration at the Adam and Eve of a Saturday night, about Russia and Prussia. ’Ecod, George Gage, the exciseman, is nothing at all to un.
4 Mob. A Primmer.
Heel. Ay, if the folks above did but know him. Why, lads, he will make us all statesmen in time.
2 Mob. Indeed!
Heel. Why, he swears as how all the miscarriages are owing to the great people’s not learning to read.
3 Mob. Indeed!
Heel. “For,” says Peter, says he, “if they would but once submit to be learned by me, there is no knowing to what a pitch the nation might rise.”
1 Mob. Ay, I wish they would.
Sneak. Crispin, what, is Peter Primmer a candidate?
Heel. He is, master Sneak.
Sneak. Lord I know him, mun, as well as my mother: why, I used to go to his lectures to Pewterers’-hall, ’long with deputy Firkin.
Heel. Like enough.
Mob. [Without.] Huzza!
Heel. Gad-so! the candidates are coming.[Exeunt Mob, &c.
Re-enter Sir Jacob Jollup, Bruin, and Mrs. Bruin, through the garden gate.
Sir J. Well, son Bruin, how d’ye relish the corporation of Garratt?
Bruin. Why, lookye, sir Jacob, my way is always to speak what I think; I don’t approve on’t at all.
Mrs. B. No?
Sir J. And what’s your objection?
Bruin. Why, I was never over fond of your May-games: besides corporations are too serious things; they are edgetools, sir Jacob.
Sir J. That they are frequently tools, I can readily grant: but I never heard much of their edge.
Afterwards we find the knight exclaiming—
Sir J. Hey-day! What, is the election over already?
Enter Crispin, Heeltap, &c.
Heel. Where is master Sneak!
Sneak. Here, Crispin.
Heel. The ancient corporation of Garratt, in consideration of your great parts and abilities, and out of respect to their landlord, sir Jacob, have unanimously chosen you mayor.
Sneak. Me? huzza! Good lord, who would have thought it? But how came master Primmer to lose it?
Heel. Why, Phil Fleam had told the electors, that master Primmer was an Irishman; and so they would none of them give their vote for a foreigner.
Sneak. So then I have it for certain.[Huzza!
ELECTION FOR GARRETT,
June 25, 1781.
Sir William and Lady Blase’s Equipage,
BETWEEN THE SPREAD EAGLE AND THE RAM AT WANDSWORTH, ON THE ROAD TO GARRETT.
This [engraving] is from another large unpublished drawing by Green, and is very curious. Being topographically correct, it represents the signs of the inns at Wandsworth as they then stood; the Spread Eagle carved on a pillar, and the Ram opposite painted and projecting. The opening, seen between the buildings on the Spread Eagle side, is the commencement of Garrett-lane, which runs from Wandsworth to Tooting, and includes the mock borough of Garrett.
This animated scene is full of character. The boat is drawn by horses, which could not be conspicuously represented here without omitting certain bipeds; it is in the act of turning up Garrett-lane. Its chief figure is “my lady Blase” dressed beyond the extreme, and into broad caricature of the fashion of the times. “I remember her very well,” says Mrs. ——, of Wandsworth, “and so I ought, for I had a good hand in the dressing of her. I helped to put together many a good pound of wool to make her hair up. I suppose it was more than three feet high at least: and as for her stays, I also helped to make them, down in Anderson’s barn: they were neither more nor less than a washing tub without the bottom, well covered, and bedizened outside to look like a stomacher. She was to be the lady of sir William Blase, one of the candidates, and, as she sat in his boat, she was one of the drollest creatures, for size and dress, that ever was seen. I was quite a girl at the time, and we made her as comical and as fine as possible.”
In Green’s drawing, [here] engraven in miniature, there is an excellent group, which from reduction the original has rendered almost too small to be noticed without thus pointing it out. It consists of a fellow, who appears more fond of his dog than of his own offspring; for, to give the animal as good a sight of lady Blase as he had himself, he seats him on his own shoulders, and is insensible to the entreaty of one of his children to occupy the dog’s place. His wife, with another child by her side, carries a third with its arms thrust into the sleeves of her husband’s coat, which the fellow has pulled off, and given her to take care of, without the least regard to its increase of her living burthen. Before them are dancing dogs, which have the steady regard of a “most thinking” personage in a large wig. Another wigged, or, rather, an over-wigged character, is the little crippled “dealer and chapman,” who is in evident fear of a vociferous dog, which is encouraged to alarm him by a mischievous urchin. The one-legged veteran, with a crutch and a glass in his hand, seems mightily to enjoy the two horsemen of the mop and broom. We see that printed addresses were posted, by an elector giving his unmixed attention to one of them pasted on the Ram sign-post. The Pierrot-dressed character, with spectacles and a guitar, on an ass led by a woman, is full of life; and the celebrated “Sam House,” the bald-headed publican of Westminster, with a pot in his hand, is here enjoying the burlesque of an election, almost as much, perhaps, as he did the real one in his own “city and liberties” the year before, when he distinguished himself, by his activity, in behalf of Mr. Fox, whose cause he always zealously supported by voice and fist.
The last Westminster election, wherein Sam House engaged, was in 1784, when on voting, and being asked his trade by the poll-clerk, he answered, “I am a publican and republican.” This memorable contest is described by the well-known colonel Hanger. He says:—
“The year I came to England the contested election for Westminster, (Fox, Hood, and Wray, candidates,) took place. The walking travellers, Spillard and Stewart; the Abyssinian Bruce, who feasted on steaks cut from the rump of a living ox; and various others, who, in their extensive travels, encountered wild beasts, serpents, and crocodiles; breakfasted and toasted muffins on the mouth of a Volcano; whom hunger compelled to banquet with joy on the leavings of a lion or tiger, or on the carcase of a dead alligator; who boast of smoking the pipe of peace with the little carpenter, and the mad dog; on having lived on terms of the strictest intimacy with the Cherokees, the Chickasaws, the Chuctaws, and with all the aws and ees of that immense continent, who from the more temperate shore of the Mississippi, have extended their course to the burning soil of India, and to the banks of the Ganges; from the frozen ocean to the banks of the more genial Po;—may boast their experience of the world, and their knowledge of human life: but no one, in my opinion, has seen real life, or can know it, unless he has taken an active part in a contested election for Westminster!
“In no school can a man be taught a better lesson of human life;—there can he view human nature in her basest attire; riot, murder, and drunkenness, are the order of the day, and bribery and perjury walk hand in hand:—for men who had no pretensions to vote, were to be found in the garden in as great plenty as turnips, and at a very moderate rate were induced to poll.
“A gentleman, to make himself of any considerable use to either party, must possess a number of engaging, familiar, and condescending qualities; he must help a porter up with his load, shake hands with a fisherman, pull his hat off to an oyster wench, kiss a ballad-singer, and be familiar with a beggar. If, in addition to these amiable qualities, he is a tolerable good boxer, can play a good stick, and in the evening drink a pailful of all sorts of liquors, in going the rounds to solicit voters at their various clubs, then, indeed, he is a most highly finished useful agent. In all the above accomplishments and sciences, except drinking, which I never was fond of, I have the vanity to believe that I arrived nearer to perfection than any of my rivals. I should be ungrateful, indeed, if I did not testify my thanks to those gallant troops of high rank and distinguished fame—the knights of the strap, and the black diamond knights, (the Irish chairmen and coal heavers,) who displayed such bravery and attachment to our cause.”[223]
This was the cause to which Sam House was attached; and, perhaps, there was not greater difference between the scenes described by Hanger, and those at Garrett, than between the same scenes, and more recent ones, on similar occasions in the same city.
What has hitherto been related concerning the Garrett election, in 1781, is in consequence of the editor having had recourse to the remarkable drawings from whence the present engravings have been made. From that circumstance he was strongly induced to inquire concerning it, and, as a faithful historian, he has recorded only what he is able to authenticate. A few facts relating to the elections between that period and a much later one, are so blended as to defy positive appropriation to particular dates, from want of accurate recollection in the persons relating them; they are, therefore, annexed, as general traits of the usual mode of conducting these burlesques.
At one of the Garrett elections, after 1781, there was a sir Christopher Dash’em started as candidate. “Old John Jones” says he was a waterman, that his real name was Christopher Beachham, (perhaps Beauchamp,) that he was a fellow of “exceeding humour” and ready wit, and, as an instance of it, that being carried before a magistrate for cutting fences and posts, the justice was informed that the delinquent was no other than the celebrated sir Christopher Dash’em.—“Oh,” said the justice, “you are sir Christopher Dash’em, are you?”—“It’s what they please to style me,” observed sir Christopher.—“Oh! oh!” remarked the magistrate, “I have heard of your character a long while ago.”—“Then,” said sir Christopher, “I’ll be greatly obliged to your worship to tell me where it is, for I lost it a long while ago.”
Sir Solomon Hiram, another Garrett candidate, was a shrewd, clever carpenter, of Battersea, named Thomas Solomon. It was his constant saying, that he “never bowed to wooden images,” by which he meant rank without talent. He succeeded in his election. The motto on his carriages was “Gin gratis! Porter for nothing!”
Our living chronicler, “John Jones,” says, that on the day of election, sir Solomon Hiram was “dressed like an old king, in a scarlet coat with gold lace, large sleeves with very large hanging cuffs; a wig such as George the Second wore, with large falling curls, and the tail in a silk bag: he held a roll of parchment in his hand, and looked for all the world—like a king.”
Nor must “old John Jones” himself be forgotten, for he rode as “master of the horse” at four elections in a marvellous proper dress. He was mounted on the largest dray horse that could be got, in the full regimentals of the Surrey yeomanry, grey, blue, and red: he had a cap on his head twenty-three inches high; and bore in his hand a sword seven feet long and four inches wide, like the sword of the “ancient and honourable Lumber Troop.” His boots were up to his hips, and he wore wooden spurs thirteen inches long, with steel rowels three inches in diameter. The mane of his horse was plaited with ears of corn, denoting a plentiful harvest and the coming cheapness of bread; and he had two pages to lead his horse.
The “Garrett cavalry” or troop of “horse guards,” of which “John Jones” was the commander, were forty boys of all ages and sizes, for whom flannel uniforms were purposely made, of the exact pattern of the Surrey yeomanry. They wore enormous cockades made of shavings, and were put a-straddle on horses of all sizes, and sorted thereto, as much as possible, by contraries. The smallest boys were on the largest horses, and the biggest boys on the least. It was their duty to join the candidates’ procession, and with the “master of the horse” at their head, proceed to the hustings in order “to preserve the freedom of election.”
At Richmond theatre, about thirty years ago, Foote’s “Mayor of Garratt” was performed for the benefit of Follett, a celebrated comedian and clown, and he was so happy as to secure sir Solomon Hiram, with every person who figured at Garratt, to represent the election as it had been really held just before. Sir Solomon came on the stage “just like a King,” with “old John Jones” on his right, as “master of the horse,” and “Robert Bates,” another great officer, on his left, all in their full election uniforms. The house was crowded to excess. Sir Solomon delivered all his speeches, “old John Jones” commanded and manœuvred his troop of horse, and every thing was performed that had been exhibited at Wandsworth, or on the hustings, by the real characters in the election. There was so great an audience, that the audience crowded on the stage, and it was with difficulty that the scenes were shifted.
Sir Jeffery Dunstan.
In the year 1785, sir John Harper, who had succeeded to the representation of Garrett, by the unbiassed choice of the electors, vacated his seat by death, and sir Jeffery Dunstan again became a candidate for their suffrages.
This distinguished individual was a child of chance—a foundling. He was picked up in the year 1759 at a churchwarden’s door in St. Dunstan’s in the East, and not being owned, was reared in the workhouse so as ultimately to attain about two-thirds the usual height of manhood, with knock-knees, and a disproportionately large head. At twelve years old, he was bound apprentice for nine years to the art, trade, mystery, and occupation of a green grocer; this was a long time to serve, and Jeffery, soaring to independence, adopted as a principle that “time was made for slaves, and not for freemen;” he therefore broke through time and servitude, and ran away to Birmingham. It was his pride that, though the hard labour in the factories of the “workshop of Europe” increased the malformation of his person, it added strength to his mind; and in 1776, he returned to London with his knees and ideas knocking together much more than before. He soon afterwards formed a matrimonial connection, and had two daughters, whom he called “Miss Nancy” and “Miss Dinah,” and who testified their filial politeness by uniformly calling him “papa.”
From the earliest period of sir Jeffery’s life, he was a friend to “good measures”—especially those for “spirituous liquors;” and he never saw the inside of a pot without going to the bottom of it. This determination of character created difficulties to him: for his freedom was not always regulated by the doctrines of the great Blackstone “on the rights of persons,” and consequences ensued that were occasionally injurious to sir Jeffery’s face and eyes. The same enlightened judge’s views of “the rights of things” do not seem to have been comprehended by sir Jeffery: he had long made free with the porter of manifold pots, and at length he made free with a few of the pots. For this he was “questioned,” in the high commission court of oyer and terminer, and suffered an imprisonment, which, according to his manner of life, and his notions of the liberty of the subject, was frivolous and vexatious. On his liberation, he returned to an occupation he had long followed, the dealing in “old wigs,” and some circumstances developed in the course of the preceding inquiry seem to favour a supposition, that the bag he carried had enabled him to conceal his previous “free trade” in pots. But, be that as it might, it is certain that to his armorial bearings of four wigs, he added a quart pot for a crest.
From the period that he obtained a “glorious minority” by his opposition to sir John Harper for Garrett, he looked for the first opening in the representation of that borough with a view to fill it himself. On the death of sir John, he issued an address to the electors, committees were formed, and an active canvass was commenced at every public-house to which the constituent body resorted for refreshment and solace. On the day of election, sir Jeffery left London in a splendid phaeton, with a body of friends in every possible description of vehicle, from a coal-waggon to a wheel-barrow drawn by dogs; the procession extended a mile in length, and sir Jeffery Dunstan was elected by an immense majority. At successive elections he was successively successful, and maintained his seat for Garrett until his death.
One of the answers to the editor’s request for particulars concerning the Garrett election, is the following letter:—
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Sir,—After frequently promising to do something for the Every-Day Book, I yesterday threw hastily together a few particulars regarding “sir Jeffery Dunstan:” they are authentic and at your service. Sir Jeffery, towards the latter part of his life, had a hoarse rough voice and bad utterance, from having lost the whole of his front teeth. The manner of his losing them is curious enough, and worth relating. He was one evening reciting his speeches at the “London Hospital” public-house, Whitechapel, where some young students were amusing themselves, who, seeing “sir Jeffery” in “merry mood,” hit upon a plan to have the teeth out of his head. A bargain was soon struck, ten shillings were clubbed among them, a pint of “Hodges’s best” was brought in—sir Jeffery sat down in the chair, and out came tooth the first—in the same manner out came another—and so, time after time, the wicked wags proceeded till they got them all.
At this house sir Jeffery was near losing his life, in addition to his teeth. He was “in the chair,” as usual, which was placed on the table, and he was supported by his friends “Ray the tinker,” who now lies in the same grave with him, and a “sir Charles Hartis,” a deformed fidler, and an unsuccessful candidate for Garratt honours. Such a trio was scarcely ever seen, and very attractive. The sixpences collected from visiters, on entering, lay in a plate on the table, and “sir Jeffery” was on his legs giving them “old wigs,” in his best style, when, being top-heavy with liquor, he suddenly lost his balance, and over he went. “Ray the tinker” was upset, and the fiddle of “sir Charles” knocked into the fire; in a moment the candles were put out, and all was darkness and confusion; when a light was brought, sir Jeffery and the money were both missing, and he was considered the purloiner: but the fact was, some knaves who had an eye to the cash, took advantage of sir Jeffery’s fall, blew out the lights, stole the money, and picking up “sir Jeff” at the same moment, dragged him out of the house to fix the fraud on him. The poor fellow was found the next morning by some workmen almost frozen to death and pennyless, in a miserable hole, into which they had dropped him!
Sir Jeffery wore his shirt open, and the collar turned down. This was in him a sort of pride; for he would frequently in an exulting manner say to inferiors, “I’ve got a collar to my shirt, sir.” In life his face was dark and dirty, but when coffined, says Mr. Thomas Michael, his skin was remarkably fair and clear.
Sir Jeffery once kept an ass that had but one ear, the other being close cropped off; with this poor creature, who carried the “wigs, &c.” he for many years collected a crowd but a few paces from the writer’s habitation. His wit and smart sayings flew about. Now the joke fell on himself, and now on his one-eared ass. Then he varied the cry of “old wigs,” by mimicking another’s singing-cry of, “lilly, lilly, lilly, lilly white—sand oh!” After the pence had well tumbled in, he would retire to his favourite retreat, the “Horse and Leaping Bar,” to dine on “duck and green peas,” or “roast goose and apple sauce,” &c.
At this house, which is on the south side of the high street, “sir Jeff,” in a “regular” manner, got “regularly drunk.” Here he sung the “London cries;” recited his mock speeches on the corruptions of parliament; and, placed in an arm chair on the table, nightly afforded sport to a merry company.
No sooner had sir Jeffery ceased to breathe, than the resurrection men were on the alert to obtain his body. They had nearly succeeded prior to interment, by drawing him through the window of the room in which he lay.
The surgeons of the day were eager to obtain a prize, but their hopes were disappointed by the late John Liptrap, esq. who had the body removed to a place of safety. This gentleman paid all the expences of sir Jeffery’s funeral; a grave ten feet deep was dug close to the north wall of the watchhouse of St. Mary, Whitechapel, where he now lies. The head of the coffin somewhat undermines the church-rail, and the public footway. His wife lies at his feet, and his daughter Dinah, sleeps the “sleep of death” at his side.
“Miss Nancy,”—sir Jeffery used to say, “Miss Nancy, make the gentlemen a curtsey,”—“Miss Nancy” survived them all; she married a costermonger, or to speak a little more politely, a knight of the “whip and hamper,” who is said to have added to his avocations that of snatching bodies for the surgeons, till death, the final snatcher, snatched him. Miss Nancy still survives.
Respecting sir Jeffery Dunstan’s death, his grave digger, Thomas Michael, relates this story. Sir Jeffery had called in at the sign of the Red Lion, opposite the London Hospital, a house where low company resorted. It was then kept by one George Float (who afterwards met a premature death himself) who supplied sir Jeffery with liquor at the expense of others, till he was completely “non compos.” He was then carried to the door of his house on the north side of the “Ducking pond,” and there left to perish, for he was found a corpse on the same spot the next morning.
It was strongly suspected that sir Jeffery’s death was purposely caused by resurrection men, for the liquor he was made to swallow was drugged. One of this fraternity endeavoured to stop the burial of the body, by pretending a relation from Ireland was on his way to claim it. The fellow disguised himself, and endeavoured to personate a native of that country, but the fraud was detected.
I am, &c.
T. W. L.
June 19, 1823.
This obliging correspondent, who knew so much respecting sir Jeffery Dunstan, was likely to furnish more; particular inquiries were therefore addressed to him by letter, and he has since obligingly communicated as follows:—
For the Every-Day Book.
Sir Jeffery Dunstan’s descendants.—Sir Jeffery’s Hut.—Whitechapel Obelisk.—Dipping for old wigs.
To oblige Mr. Hone I set out in pursuit of “Miss Nancy,” who is now called “lady Ann,” thinking she might be able to furnish me with particulars regarding her father, “sir Jeffery,” and the “Garrett election.” Near the sign of the “Grave Maurice,” in the “road side” of Whitechapel, I addressed myself to a clean, elderly looking woman, whose brow bespoke the cares of three score years at least, and asked her if she could inform me whether sir Jeffery’s daughter, “Miss Nancy” was living or not? “Lord bless you, sir!” said she, “living! aye; I saw her pass with her cats-meat barrow not five minutes ago; and just now I saw running by, a little girl, the fourth generation from sir Jeffery.” I soon ascertained that “lady Ann” lived with her son and his wife, at No. 7, North-street, opposite the Jews’ burying ground, where I knocked boldly, and, to my surprise, was answered by a fine dark little girl of eleven, that her grandmother could not be seen, because she was “very drunk.”
At seven in the evening, by appointment I called, and saw the same little girl again, and was told her father was “drunk also,” and that her mother had instructed her to say, that many similar applications had been made, and “a deal of money offered,” for the information I sought; which spoke in plain terms they had nothing to communicate, or if they had, a good price must be paid for it.
Recollecting that I had been informed that a good likeness of “sir Jeffery” was to be seen at the “Blind Beggar,” near the turnpike, and supposing it not unlikely, from that circumstance, that the landlord of that house might know more of the man than I did myself, I resorted thither. The bar was crowded with applicants for “full proof,” and “the best cordials.” I took my station at the lower end, and calling for a glass of ale, it was served me by Mr. Porter himself, when I took the opportunity of asking him if he had not a portrait of sir Jeffery Dunstan in his parlour; he said there had been one there till lately, but that during the alterations it was removed. On my right hand was a man with a pint of ale and a glass in his hand, and a woman with him, seated on the top of a barrel. At this juncture the man called out to the landlord, “is it not somebody that ‘I knows,’ that you are talking about?” An answer was given in the affirmative. I looked at the man, and perceiving that he was about my own age, observed that his years, like mine, did not warrant much personal knowledge of the person of whom we had been speaking. “Why,” said Mr. Porter, smiling, “that is his grandson; that is sir Jeffery’s grandson.” I, too, could not help smiling on calling to mind that this was the very man that was “also drunk,” and that this, his money-loving wife, who had denied me an interview, I was addressing. I told them the nature of my visit to their house. She said her daughter had informed her of every thing. I then, to use a nautical phrase, “boxed all points of the compass,” without effect. They evidently knew nothing, or did not care to know; the wife, however, told me that her sister, who was either dead, or “abroad,” knew “all sir Jeffery’s speeches from the beginning to end;” and the husband recounted ’squire Liptrap’s kindness in many times escorting and protecting, by a file of soldiers, his grandfather to his home; and said, moreover, that he himself was blamed for not claiming the goold (gold) picked up with the foundling which is now accumulating in the funds of St. Dunstan’s parish.
I urged, “that none of us had any thing to boast of in point of ancestry, and that were I sir Jeffery’s grandson, my great grandfather’s great natural talent and ready flow of wit would induce me to acknowledge him as my great ancestor under any circumstances.” This produced nothing more than that his grandfather, “though he could neither read nor write, could speak many languages.” I left them—the husband, as we say, “top heavy,” the wife expostulating to get him home, and at the same time observing they must be up by three o’clock in the morning “to be off with the cart.”
On my road homewards, I turned up Court-street to “Ducking-pond side,” to take a view of “sir Jeffery’s hut;” it is adjoining his late patron’s distillery, who permitted him to live there rent free. The door is bricked up, and it now forms part of a chandler’s shop. The thick black volumes of smoke from the immense chimnies were rolling above my head to the west, while beneath, in the same direction, came the pestiferous stench from those deadly slaughtering places for horses, that lie huddled together, on the right. It brought to my mind Mr. Martin’s story in the “House,” of the poor starving condemned “animals” and the “truss of hay.” I turned hastily away from the scene, and I conjure thee, reader, go not near it, for it breathes
“Pestilence, rottenness, and death.”
In my preceding notice of “sir Jeffery and his ass,” perhaps I have not been sufficiently explicit. In the “season,” he would sometimes carry the best of fruit in his hampers for sale, as well as his “bag of wigs.” The allusion to the “duck and green peas,” &c. was a sort of joke, which sir Jeffery used constantly, in his witty way, to put off to “standers-by” when “lady Ann,” or “Miss Dinah,” came from their “lady mother” to inform him that his dinner was ready.
An elderly friend of mine perfectly well recollects sir Jeffery’s “one-eared ass,” his hamper of russetings, and sir Jeffery himself, with his back placed against the side of the stone obelisk which then stood at the corner of the road, opposite Whitechapel church rails. There he kept the boys and girls at bay with the ready use of his hands; while his ready tongue kept the elder folks constantly laughing. But where is the stone obelisk. Gone—like sir Jeffery. The spirit of destruction, miscalled improvement, wantonly threw it down. It fell in the pride of its age and glory, before Time’s effacing hand had marked it. Away with destroyers, I say! They may have bettered the condition of the pathway by substituting an iron railway for one of wood, but have they done so by removing that excellent unoffending barrier, the “pillar of stone,” and placing in its stead a paltry old cannon choaked with a ball?
I recollect in my boyish days I never passed that “obelisk” without looking up, and reading on its sculptured sides, “twelve miles to Romford,” “seventeen to Epping.” Then it told the traveller westward, the exact distance to the Royal Exchange and Hyde Park-corner. All beyond it, in an easterly direction, to my youthful fancy, was fairy land; it spoke of pure air, green fields, and trees; of gentle shepherdesses, and arcadian swains. Delightful feelings, which only those who are born and bred in towns can fully enter into! It had originally a tongue of another description, for it seemed to say, in legible characters, “this is the east-end corner of the metropolis,”—at least it marked it as strongly as ever Hyde Park-corner did the west. Pardon the digression, reader, and I will conclude.
When sir Jeffery raised the cry of “old wigs,” the collecting of which formed his chief occupation, he had a peculiarly droll way of clapping his hand to his mouth, and he called “old wigs, wigs, wigs!” in every doorway. Some he disposed of privately, the rest he sold to the dealers in “Rag-fair.” In those days, “full bottoms” were worn by almost every person, and it was no uncommon thing to hear sea-faring persons, or others exposed to the cold, exclaim, “Well, winter’s at hand, and I must e’en go to Rosemary-lane, and have ‘a dip for a wig.’” This “dipping for wigs” was nothing more than putting your hand into a large barrel and pulling one up; if you liked it you paid your shilling, if not, you dipped again, and paid sixpence more, and so on. Then, also, the curriers used them for cleaning the waste, &c. off the leather, and I have no doubt would use them now if they could get them.
Sir Jeffery’s ideas of “quality” ran very high at all times, and were never higher than when his daughter Nancy, “beautiful Miss Nancy,” was married to “lord Thompson,” a dustman.—“Twenty coaches,” said sir Jeffery, “to lady Ann’s wedding, madam, and all filled with the first nobility.” A dustman on his wedding-day, in our days, is content with a seat in a far different vehicle, and being carried on his brethren’s shoulders to collect a little of the “needful” to get drunk with at night. To the honour of “lord Thompson” be it said, after such a noble alliance, he soon “cut” the fraternity, and, as I have before observed, became a knight of the “whip and hamper,” vulgo “a costermonger.”
June 23, 1826.
T. W. L.
The last representative of Garrett was sir Jeffery Dunstan’s successor, the renowned sir Harry Dimsdale. From the death of sir Harry the seat remained vacant.
It must be added, however, that for this borough sir George Cook demanded to sit. No committee determined on the claims of the “rival candidates;” but the friends of sir George, an eminent dealer in apples and small vegetables near Stangate, maintained that he was the rightful member in spite of sir Harry Dimsdale’s majority, which was alleged to have been obtained by “bribery and corruption.”
Whatever distaste refinement may conceive to such scenes, it must not be forgotten that they constitute a remarkable feature in the manners of the times. It is the object of this work to record “manners,” and the editor cannot help expressing somewhat of the disappointment he feels, on his entreaties for information, respecting the elections for Garrett, having failed to elicit much information, which it is still in the power of many persons to communicate. He has original facts, of a very interesting nature, ready to lay before the public on this topic; but he omits to do it, in order to afford a few days longer to those who have the means of enabling him to add to his reserved collection. To that end he once more solicits the loan of hand-bills, advertisements, addresses, scraps, or any thing any way connected with the subject. He begs, and hopes, to be favoured with such matters with all possible speed. It is his wish to dispose of this election in the following sheet, and therefore “not a moment is to be lost.”