_Nutts._ No; and they’re not called upon to eat up the apples and sugar, but they’re doing it. (_Mrs Nutts rushes to back parlour: squalling heard._) Best children in the world: I know ’em; they won’t cry above half an hour. Tell me where did they ring the married couples? _Nosebag._ At the Church of A-toucher. _Peabody._ Atocha, my good sir. The Virgin of Atocha is the saint of all the Queens of Spain. _Nutts._ Ecod, she must have had her hands full in her time! Queen Christina, I don’t know how it is--I never saw the lady, don’t think I ever shall--but, somehow, I never read or hear about her that I don’t think of that beautiful female panther that Mr Tyler’s got in the ’Logical Gardens. _Slowgoe._ There you are agin. Flinging at kings and queens! If you _will_ go on being an infidel, I _must_ leave the shop. How can a she-panther be like a Queen of Spain? _Nutts._ Not a bit, if you come to reason on it; and yet I can’t get it out o’ my head. Whenever I hear of Christina, I do think of that beautiful, soft, velvet-looking beast, so very handsome and so very treacherous. Then there’s Mr Louis Philippe, he’s like---- _Slowgoe._ There now! I won’t stop! I know what you’re arter. In a minute you’ll be putting all the Continental crowned heads into cages and ticketing ’em. _Nutts._ Nothin’ o’ the sort. Though, when you speak of cages, there is certainly some o’ the Continentals, as you call ’em, safest seen on this side o’ the bars. _Peabody._ Talking of the Virgin, here is something about her from the _Constitutionnel_ (_reads_): “It is said that the Virgin of Atocha, on the day of the marriage, was covered _with a magnificent chemisette_, a present of Ferdinand VII. on his return in 1814, and a petticoat, _admirably embroidered_, by Don Antonio, the uncle of Ferdinand.” _Nutts._ “Admirably embroidered!” Now isn’t it a pity, Mr Slowgoe, when you see fortin’ taking people out of their proper spear, making ’em kings, when they should ha’ been men-milliners? Carrying swords and sceptres, and golden--what you call them round things, eh, Mr Peabody?--you’ve been a schoolmaster. _Peabody._ The ball--the ball of sovereignty. When a king holds that ball in his hand, at his coronation, the ball is typical of the whole earth; the world is in his hand. _Nutts._ And I’m blessed if some on ’em don’t play worst tricks with it than an ape plays with a cocoa-nut! But I was going to say, isn’t it a thing to cry over, to think that fellows like Ferdinand---- _Slowgoe._ I _must_ leave the shop. I do not agree with all the principles of that revere--I mean of that monarch; nevertheless, he once wore a crown upon his head, and I must respect him. _Nutts._ Well, then, I suppose if all the monkeys in the world was to go mad, and crown an ourangoutang for their king--I suppose you’d respect him? _Slowgoe._ I can’t answer for myself; but I think I should. _Nosebag._ Worked “a magnificent chemisette”! Well, for a king, that was a precious thimble-rig!