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.