ILLUMINATION.

SOPHIA, my dear, how do you like this tea?

Sophia! zounds! can't you call her plain Sue, as ſhe was chriſtened?

I ſee, Mr. Skylight, you will never get rid of your vulgar ideras, notwithſtanding all the pains I take with you.

But what right have you to give your daugh⯑ter a higher name than plain Kate, Bridget, or Suſan? Are'nt theſe, think you, good enough for a tradeſman's wife, as ſhe muſt be? If you don't keep a tighter rein with that girl Bridget, ſhe'll reſemble her betters in more reſpects than her name: ay, and if ever ſhe gets a huſband, will put him in the faſhion as well as herſelf, or I'm out in my calculation.

Why, my dear, wasn't she baptiz'd Suſannah Sophia Serina?

Much againſt my will. She was call'd, Su⯑ſannah after her grandmother; and damme, if I, was a biſhop, but I'd pluck the blockhead's caſ⯑ſock [3] over his ears who tack'd the other two heatheniſh, nonſenſical additions to it—But don't ſit chatting nonſenſe all night over that ſlop— go to the ſhop, and ſee the cuſtomers ar'nt neglected—I expect a few panes knockt out in the beginning of the evening, and people don't care to let 'em ſtand all night without mending.

You may look after the cuſtomers yourſelf; Sophy and I are engag'd this evening.

Why, ſure, you hav'nt the impudence to leave the houſe of an illumination night? and the laſt I expect too, till we have news from the Weſt Indies.

Indeed, indeed, papa, we are engag'd to a coach-party, to drive through all the ſtreets, and ſee the windows; indeed we are, and can't polſitivey be off, if we would maintain any thing like character.

What, and have that haycock upon your head ſet fire to by ſquibs and crackers? I tell you what, Mrs. Prate-moſt, you're in the high road to loſe all characters; as for your part, Bridget, damn me! but I believe romances, hard-words and quality airs, have turn'd your head; you encourage your daughter to fly in her father's face.

Take no notice of him, my dear; I aſked you how you liked this tea?

Is this to be borne, now, in a man's own houſe?

I like it prodigiouſly, mama—it is Hoiſan, to be ſure.

It is real Gunpowder, child—I had it of Mr. Bamboo, of the Sea-horſe.

I wiſh, from the bottom of my ſoul, you were both in the Sea-horſe, half way to the Eaſt Indies.

You ſaw Billy Quillet himſelf, then?

Here's a fellow too! tho' I forbad him my houſe, he will have my daughter in ſpight of me—But madam, madam—I aſk you once more, will you go to the ſhop?

Take no notice of him—So then you ſaw Billy himſelf?

Will you go to the ſhop?—will you go to the ſhop?

As ſure as can be the man's non Pompey's prentice, as Billey Quillet ſays.

Damn me! I wiſh you were prentice for life to any man in the kingdom, ſo I cou'd get quit of your indentures.

Come, Sophy, we'll leave him to recover from his tantrums—[going.] You ſee, child, what you have to expect, if you marry a man who has no idera of the foſter commotions, and whoſe heart is more indurate than the glaſs which he glazes.

So, off they go, to that puppy Quillet, the lawyer's clerk, and Abraham Skylight has ſeen the laſt of them 'till to-morrow morning

Why did I marry? Was it not as clear as plate-glaſs, that a prudent glazier cou'd never live in peace with a woman of [7] her confounded extravagant turbulent ſpirit? Is there one part of her marriage vow ſhe has not broken? Yes, let me do her juſtice; her chaſtity; that I look, upon to be a whole pane yet; and I fancy, while her preſent head continues upon her ſhoulders, it is a pane few will think worth ſmaſhing.

What in the dumps, friend Skylight?

I have been thinking, Dip, what windows will be broke, 'twixt this and five to-morrow morn⯑ing.

Ay, always an eye to buſineſs, but what was done laſt night?—Any great ſtrokes ſtruck?

Great ſtrokes? I and my apprentices ſtruck in half the windows about Soho Square. But how was your demand for candles to-day?

Prodigious!—prodigious!—I ſold fifteen boxes between four o'clock and ſeven; but Lud-Hill is a mint of cuſtomers to me;—you know Doctor Solidſkull the apothecary, he has ſet that whole quarter in an blaze.

Oh! that's a fine fellow for our trade; he's a magazine of patriotiſm; all I am afraid of, is, that as he has ſo much combuſtible ſtuff about him, he'll blow up one of theſe days, to the great loſs of chandlers and glaziers. Did you take a ſurvey of the different ſtreets laſt night?

The greater part of them, from the Cat and Gridiron at Ratcliffe Highway, to the High⯑lander and Bag-pipe at Tyburn turnpike.

How was the City?

A bonfire, from Temple Bar to the Mino⯑ries.

How was the Strand?

For all the world like a bundle of matches lighted; a blaze all above, and brimſtone all below.

How was Bow-ſtreet?

I can't tell, for there was a file of muſketeers at both ends of it: but what was doing about White Hall? I know nothing of what paſs'd there.

Then you ſaw nothing.—Oh! my friend, how ſhall I relate the ever memorable action of [10] Charing-Croſs and the inveſture, ſtorming, and reduction of the Admiralty.

Let me hear it, let me hear it.

About eleven, I ſallied out at the head of two and thirty glaziers, all choice hands as ever put in or knockt out a pane of glaſs.

Then you did'nt meet my journeymen?

Oh! yes, I might have been reinforced by four chandlers at Northumberland Houſe, but I found 'em ſo well poſted, and doing ſo much execution, that I thought it a pity to diſturb them.

You were right not to take them from their work; it was a box of candles in my pocket this morning. Was the ſtatue illuminated?

The firſt night, — but a confounded Whig [...]erly wind blew the candles out, ſo the de⯑ [...] was dropt—but to the ſiege—from Cha⯑ [...]g Croſs, to Downing-ſtreet, the mob ſtow'd as [...] as a barrel of Colcheſter oyſters. But all [...] lads under my command were trained to [...] ſervice laſt war, when I believe I need not [...] you what work our admirals and generals [...]ut for us in the illumination way.

If we cou'd have perſuaded people to put up [...]dles as often as they ought, we ſhou'd have [...] no great reaſon to complain this war; [...]o for [...] our fleet did not as it generally does, prove [...] extinguiſher, it turned out for our trade a [...]pleat ſave-all—but on with the ſiege.

Well, Sir, through the crowd they darted, [...]ith the nimbleneſs of pickpockets, and gave [12] ſuch vigour to the aſſault on the great gate, that they were off the hinges in the glazing a garret window.—Down they thunder— ruſhed the mob—and Oh! my friend did ſu [...] buſineſs!—in ten minuits there was not a win⯑dow frame left ſtanding. The ground, Sir, w [...] covered with broken glaſs, and by the reflecti [...] of the lamps look'd like the ſky of a fro [...] night, thick ſet with ſtars as a cake with plum [...] at Chriſtmas—over the ruins I walked w [...] the triumph of a general a-croſs the field [...] battle after a victory.—Zounds what a fight [...] was for a glazier!

'Twas a glorious night,—but how were y [...] off for ammunition?

We crammed our pockets at Kenſing [...] Gravel Pits, for you muſt know I was af [...] to truſt to the Scotch pavement. But did [...] hear of any accident in the courſe of [...] night?

Why yes, a ſhort-ſighted gentleman was high having his eyes burnt out paſſing the General Advertiſer becauſe he did'nt illuminate his ſpectacles—and a coach full of ladies had like to have been burnt down to the ground oppoſite the London Tavern, owing to a ſquib which was thrown into one of the wo⯑men's heads, and raiſed ſuch a conflagration in a few ſeconds amongſt the wool, gauze, poma⯑tum, and falſe hair ſhe had on, that there was a hole burnt through the top of the coach be⯑fore the flames could be got under.

Lord, Sir, you'll loſe all the fun if you do'nt go out.

What you raſcal, have you left the ſhop and not a journeyman in the houſe but yourſelf?

Why, Sir, there's not another gentleman of the trade will ſuffer one of his men to finger a piece of putty till tomorrow morning—beſides, if you let me go out I'll engage to make work for myſelf before I come home.

Get in, ſirrah! and be ready to attend, if a cuſtomer ſhould call.

Don't you hear a ſhout? Something's going forward—Come, let us patrole the ſtreets, and ſee what our troops have done, then we'll finiſh the night at Aſhley's Punch Houſe, where we may ſmoak Rowley and get drunk pro bono publico.

The coaſt, I ſee, is clear—ſo we may be off as ſoon as we pleaſe—but firſt tell me what your mock preſs gang is made up of?

All limbs of the law, like your humble ſer⯑vant —their valiant commander is clerk to Title Deed the great conveyancer—a pretty, ſmart, tight, little fellow—juſt ſuch another as I am— ſports his figure every Sunday at the Dog and Duck—you may twig him under the organ with his head frizzed like a Porcupine and grid⯑iron buckles.

Oh, gemmini! I doat upon gridiron buckles— why don't you wear them, Billy?

I will, my love, when the days grow colder— but gridiron buckles are broiling wear in warm weather,.—My dear Mrs. Skylight, a word in your ear, as we ſay in our office, Mr. Skylight— how is he as to temperance?— does he drink of an afternoon?

Oh! heavens! like a fiſh— if he's ſober now it's a wonder. I never knew him ſober of an illumination night ſince I was married to him.

Truly I am very proud to hear this — for you muſt know I have no great dependence on the courage of my preſs-gang; but, Lord, what's to be expected from an army of Quills and parchment? Poor lids! not one of them ever fought a battle in his life, except with hard [17] words, and law Latin, In old acts of parlia⯑ment.

Now, Billy, if I underſtand this plot rightly, you are to come up when Mr. Skylight is preſſed, as it were on Souſong and refoſtulate the affair with the gang.

Yes, to be ſure he is, mama; and then my papa will be ſo thankful, when my dear Billy gets him out of the hands of the preſs gang, that I'm ſure he'll conſent to our wedding.

You have hit my plot, my angel, to the fineſt. hair ſtroke in a marriage ſettlement.

Oh, gemmini! my heart beats ſo with plea⯑ſure, that—Do, Billy, put your hand to it, for fear it ſhould jump out of my boſom into yours.

Come, come, I'll have no beating of hearts, or jumping into boſoms, truly; for as Friar Flo⯑rence ſays, in Romer and Julit, "by your leaves, you ſhall be alone, till Holy Church immortulate two in one."

Did you draw in the carriage yeſterday?

By my ſoul, you may ſay that I did—I was the right hand horſe, faſtened without harneſs, to the left ſide of it.

Now, why, do you ſee me, neighbours, ſhou'd we draw this here carriage, when there are beaſte [...]ſes enough to do it for us?

Becauſe, you fool, there's going to be a tax upon horſes.

By my ſoul I'm ſatisfied, provided there's no tax upon legs.

If legs were taxed by their ſize, you have more to pay for your calves, Paddy, than your head and ſhoulders are worth.

Arrah! don't you bother your head about my calves, — they'll always enable me to take a ride when I'm not able to pay for a horſe, by land or by ſea.

A preſs-gang! a preſs-gang! away, damn me! or we ſhall be nabb'd.

Here come the heroes of the night—Stand back a little and watch them.

Huzza! Old England and liberty for ever.

I ſay liberty—for what, do you ſee me, wou'd Old England be without liberty?

And what wou'd our trade be without li⯑berty?

Without liberty to break windows, 'tis moſt certain glazing wou'd ſoon go to pot.

Come, boys, advance—holloa! who goes there? Stand I ſay.

Stand! why ſuppoſe we can't ſtand, what's to be done in that caſe?

Come come, Sir, I fancy you don't know what company you are in.

If we may judge of our company by their breeding, we have got into damn'd bad company I think—but do you know who we are Sir? Do you know that I am Ezekel Dip the Chandler, and that this is Abraham Skylight the Glazier; two as reſpectable—I ſay reſpectable, honeſt ſo⯑ber tradeſmen, as any in the pariſh of—in the pariſh of—damn me! I have forgot the name of my own pariſh.

That's becauſe you never were a church-war⯑den—If you were, the poor-rate wou'd make you remember it.

Bring them away this moment—for you ſee they are both drunk.

Damn me! I'll lay you a crown we're not drunk, and I ſay done firſt.

Come, poſt your coal, my kiddy.

Bring them away, I ſay; if they reſiſt, hand cuff them.

I [...] [...]ch, watch—is this uſage for ſober citizen! Hoa! watch! watch!

Why, ſure, it is not poſſible!—What Mr. Skylight in the hands of a preſs-gang?

The very man himſelf—Old Abe Skylight, of St. Martin's in the Fields—as well known there as Bow bell in Cheapſide, tho' I can't ſay I has made quite ſo much noiſe in the pa⯑riſh.

Dear Sir, don't you know me?

Not I, as I'm a Chriſtian and a glazier.

What, not know Billy Quillet, the lawyer?

Damme, Sir, I hate the law.

Sir!

No, no, that's not my meaning—I love the law, but I hate a lawyer. The law is a dev'liſh good thing, if it wasn't ſpoilt by you confound⯑ [...]d rogues the lawyers.

Sir, I overlook every thing you ſay to me in your preſent condition.

Sir, I wiſh you'd overlook yourſelf about your buſineſs.—I am in as much dread of a lawyer as a mouſe of a large tabby—a man in the clutches of a lawyer, is like a ſheep in a thicket—he never gets clear, without leaving the bell of his wool amongſt the brambles;

I'll ſpeak to the gentleman for you, Sir, notwithſtanding your ill-treatment.

Where is he—where is this villain? What, in the hands of a preſs-gang, at laſt?

Oh! Mr. Quillet, you're a lawyer, can't you get my poor papa his liberty?

Don't attempt it, Mr. Quillet—let the drunk⯑en ſot go on board a man of war, it's the fit⯑tiſt place for him.

With your leave, my dear, I ſhould beg to be excuſed this voyage—diſagreeable as home [27] [...] you are to me, I ſhould prefer you both, [...] all your unpleaſant circumſtances, to cruiz⯑ [...]

I'll tell you what, Sir,

the [...]le neighbourhood is now alarmed—I am [...] known here, therefore be aſſured, if you [...] not ſet theſe gentlemen at liberty immediate⯑ [...] I'll take ſuch meaſures as will make you [...] your conduct as long as you have to [...].

Lord! Mr. Quillet, why will you trouble [...]r head ſo much about him?

Perhaps he may not repent it,

for I [...] to ſober a little, I think; but that's no won⯑ [...] —I have got a wife wou'd ſober any man in [...]gland.

Sir, if you'll anſwer for their not being vaga⯑bonds, — I'm ſatisfied.—They ſhall have their liberties.

But, dear Sir, — Had not you better keep them in cuſtody till to-morrow morning?—I ſhou'd be ſorry you were to ſuffer by your good nature.

If he does, love, that's more than ever you will —But, Sir, I am obliged to you for my freedom and if I have offended you, hope you will attr [...] ⯑bute my behaviour to the ſtate you found [...] in.

Why, Abraham, you have got your ſenſes again▪

Yes—my dear—tenderneſs, and affection like yours, would reſtore any huſband to his ſenſes.— I am heartily obliged to you, Mr. Quillet, for the pains you have taken on my account—From this hour you and I are friends—But as a hoſtage of my faith—here is my daughter.

Now you have acted like a man of ſenſe, for once in your life, as you have done juſt what your wife wou'd have you.—But where is your drunken companion?—Mr. Dip, are you alive yet?

Aſk me to-morrow morning—At preſent I'm planet ſtruck.

Now my dear Sophia.

Suſan, I inſiſt upon it.

I ſay Sophia.

Suſan I am determin'd ſhall be her name, if ever you hope to touch a ſhilling of her fortune.

Suſan, Sir, ſhall be her name, and I hope you will find, by my compliance to your wiſhes on every other occaſion, that I wiſh at leaſt to win your favour.

Win my favour, Sir! Win the favour of this circle, and I ſhall never tax you on the ſcore of diſobedience.