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.