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 tinRay the tin ker," 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

T. W. L.

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 com

municated 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 66 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, "6 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 Whitechapei 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 eastend corner of the metropolis,"-at least it marked it as strongly as ever Hyde Parkcorner 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 drolf 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 VOL. II.-No. 80.

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."

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature ... 58 · 85

June 23

ST. JOHN'S EVE.

An ancient custom is still maintained

by the inhabitants of Ripon, in Yorkshire. On midsummer-eve, every housekeeper, who, in the course of the year, has changed his residence into a new neighbourhood, spreads a table before his door in the street, with bread, cheese, and ale, for those who choose to resort to it. The guests, after staying awhile, if the master is of ability, are invited to supper, and the evening is concluded with mirth and good humour. The origin of this usage is unknown, but it probably was instituted for the purpose of introducing new comers to an early acquaintance with their neighbours; or, with the more laudable design of settling differences, by the meeting and mediation of friends.

The late rev. Donald M'Queen, of Kilmuir, in the Isle of Sky, in certain reflections on ancient customs preserved in that island, mentions what he observed at this season in Ireland, where he conceives the catholic religion to have accommodated itself to the ancient superstitions of the natives, and grafted christianity on pagan rites. He remarks, that "the Irish have ever been worshippers of fire and of Baal, and are so to this day. The chief festival in honour of the sun and fire is upon the 21st of June (23d?) when the sun arrives at the summer solstice, or rather begins its retrograde motion."

Mr. M'Queen says, "I was so fortunate in the summer of 1782 as to have my curiosity gratified. At the house where I was entertained, it was told me that we should see at midnight the most singular sight in Ireland, which was the lighting of fires in honour of the sun. Accordingly, exactly at midnight, the fires began to appear; and going up to the leads of the house, which had a widely extended view, I saw, on a radius of thirty miles, all around, the fires burning on every