Mrs Nutts. I’m sure I should have fainted.
Nutts. Not unlikely; you’re weak enough for anything. But don’t interrupt me. Well, in a minute the procession begins. The Earl of Zetland comes in first, carrying what’s called the Cup of Maintenance.
Nosebag. What’s the meaning of that?
Nutts. Why, it means taxes to maintain the Government. After him comes the Duke of Wellington with the Sword of State. And when I saw it, I couldn’t help it, but I thought to myself, “Well, we human creturs are a rum lot, when we make the thing that sheds blood the sign of human glory.”
Slowgoe. (Jumping up.) No; I’m determined! I will not stay in the shop.
Nutts. Don’t; but don’t interrupt me. Then comes Lord Lansdowne, carrying the Crown on a cushion—like a baby on a pillow—very careful and steady, as it was right to be, for fear of spillin’ it. Then comes the Queen herself, glistening with diamonds, as if she’d walked out of the centre of the sun——
Mrs Nutts. Oh! them diamonds!
Nutts. Along with Prince Albert. And then they took their seats in two chairs of state—and an empty one that’s waiting till he grows to fill it, was beside the Queen to signify the Prince of Wales. And then the Queen in the politest way desired the Peers to take their seats and make themselves comfortable, which they know’d how to do directly. And then the House of Commons came scramblin’ to the bar, a good many of ’em like very big schoolboys. And then the Queen read the Speech, and read it beautiful; for her voice seems as sweet and clear as melted sugar-candy. For my part, I never before heard such a voice.
Mrs Nutts. There, that will do, Mr Nutts. Of course; everybody before your own wife.
Nutts. And when the Queen read about Ireland, she read it out as if there was tears in her throat; but when she came to the Spanish match and the Cracow burglary, she spoke up, and her lip shook a little, and there was the smallest tint, no bigger than a single rose-leaf, in both of her cheeks.