_Nutts._ Artful work, isn’t it, when a little petticoat like that stirs up a war, sets armies in motion and ships a-sailing, and fortifies batteries, and cuts down, and blows up, and brings, as I may say, Beelzebub himself upon the world, like an old showman, to play the pipes and beat the drum whilst the fun’s a-doing? I wonder, in the course o’ time, how many thousand will be cut and blown to bits, and all along of the Infanta’s marriage. Well, they may talk as they like, but the real gun-cotton’s in petticoats. _Slowgoe._ (_With paper._) I perceive that the Queen of Spain has ennobled the French Ambassador’s baby. Not weaned yet, and made a grandee of Spain! _Tickle._ And not the worst of the lot for that, I daresay. _Mrs Nutts._ Make a darling baby a grandee, Mr Slowgoe. Dear child! what good will that do it? better have given it a silver mug. _Tickle._ Only just hear, Mrs Nutts, and---- _Nutts._ I think, Mrs Nutts, you’d better look to your pudding, and never listen about babies. _Mrs Nutts._ Not listen about babies! Well, I’m sure--dear creturs!--we’re troubled enough with ’em. Never mind Nutts, Mr Tickle--he never deserved the babies he’s got. _Nutts._ No! but how rewards do rain upon some men! Well, make haste; read all about the baby, Tickle, or--well, it is odd--but you never can even start a baby without bringing a woman about with you. _Tickle._ Very proper, too. You see, Mrs Nutts, the ’Bassador’s baby is made Duke of Santa Isabel. He hasn’t done sucking his thumb yet; but he’s a duke, for all that. Made a duke because his father got the Infanta made a wife--a wife at fourteen, Mrs Nutts! _Mrs Nutts._ At fourteen! Well, where do they expect to go to? And the baby’s a grandee? _Tickle._ Of the first water; and as such--I’ve read it all afore and will tell it you short--as such, he can’t have a single day out from Spain without the Queen’s leave! And then, agin, he can’t marry--can’t give his heart away, as you did, Mrs Nutts---- _Mrs Nutts._ There! no rubbish!--go on with the child. _Tickle._ Baby can’t give away his heart and get married, if the Queen doesn’t like the young ’oman. _Mrs Nutts._ Little sufferer! _Tickle._ But now comes the honour and glory. Baby may keep his hat on in the presence of the Sov’ran of Spain! _Peabody._ And his head, too? Because ’tisn’t always so certain. _Tickle._ And further; baby has the right, in honour of the Sov’ran, at any of the royal bullfights, to rush in among the bulls, taking any of ’em by the horns he likes---- _Mrs Nutts._ Poor little innocent! _Tickle._ Or taking his chance o’ luck as it comes. In fact, doing as the boys do with the pie-man--risking a toss for it. And that’s what it is to be a grandee of Spain, Mrs Nutts! _Mrs Nutts._ Well, I thank my stars none o’ my precious babes are that. They are not called upon to wear their hats and show their ill-manners afore their lawful Queen; they are not called upon to----