_Nutts._ Well, he was a very decent man, I believe; but I never knew anything illustrious that he did. What made him illustrious--does anybody know? _Tickle._ Why, the same thing that makes a weathercock illustrious--gold. _Nutts._ And they call this “lying in state.” “Ostrich feathers--Genoa velvet--and an unparalleled coffin.” Well, when we think what coffins hold at the best, such a show is rightly named; it is “_Lying_ in State,” and nothing better. _Slowgoe._ Of course you’ll sneer, Mr Nutts; anything against the aristocracy. But I’m happy to say that the funeral was of corresponding splendour, and went off remarkably well. A great many of the ambassadors and nobility--though they didn’t go themselves--in the very handsomest manner sent their carriages. _Nutts._ Well, that’s making woe easy, isn’t it, when--poor things!--it’s put upon the horses? _Tickle._ (_With newspaper._) I’m the veriest varmint, if the Church isn’t really in danger now. _Slowgoe._ What do you mean? How so? _Tickle._ Why, here’s Lord John Russell’s word for it; he’s going to make three more bishops. Manchester’s to be the smallest; I suppose not exactly a fine lawn bishop, but a cotton one. _Slowgoe._ Three more? I wish it was thirty. _Tickle._ All the worse for the Church, then, I say again. Don’t tell me. Poor old soul! When we think of the money her sons, the bishops, do get through--when we think of their palaces and their coaches--and their bankers’ books--and their coal-mines and their sulphur-mines, for what I know--when we think of all this, and remember the precepts--I think they’re so called--of Lady Church herself, I think her sons can’t be called the most dutiful of children. On the contrary, I do believe they’re getting the old lady every day into greater discredit; and where it will end, who shall say? Thus, it’s my opinion--the more bishops, the more danger. _Nutts._ I wonder if Mr Barry’s had orders in the House of Lords to make seats for ’em. _Tickle_. Oh, they’re not to go to Parliament, says Lord John, “except as vacancies in the bench of bishops occur.” _Slowgoe_. I don’t quite understand that. And I must confess it--whenever I see a Whig meddling with the Church, I feel as if I was looking at a cat in a china-closet; nobody can say what precious article mayn’t be smashed. _Nutts._ Perhaps his Lordship means that the bishops, like the soldiers, should take the House of Lords in turn; mounting guard in the Church one after t’other. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XIX. _=NOSEBAG= comes in; at intervals, other customers._ _Nosebag._ Servant, Mrs Nutts. Where’s the master? _Mrs Nutts._ If you mean Mr Nutts, he’s jest run with the pie to the bakehouse. I don’t know how it is, but the older he grows, the more partic’lar he gets with his dinners. I am sorry to say it of my own husband, but I don’t think an angel could make a crust to suit him now--for I try, I’m sure.