5
With the re-election of the Ministers the work is at an end. The Administration has been duly constituted, according to long-established custom. However smoothly and rapidly it may have progressed, there are certain to be many sore hearts—those of the young with disappointed hopes, and, more pathetic still, those of the old, who are deemed to be no longer fit for office. But what of the outgoing Ministers? They no longer carry out of office the little perquisites which were permitted to some of their predecessors. At one time each Secretary of State, for instance, received on his appointment a silver inkstand, which he could retain and hand down as a keepsake to his children; but Gladstone, when Chancellor of the Exchequer, abolished this custom, and the only souvenir of office an outgoing Minister can take with him now is the red despatch box in which he used to carry his official papers to the House of Commons. How do they take their dismissal by the country? “There are two supreme political pleasures in life,” says Lord Rosebery. “One is ideal, the other real. The ideal is when a man receives the seals of office from the hands of his Sovereign; the real, when he hands them back.” It is the saying of a man who was sick and tired of office. But I beg leave to doubt its general application.