PUNCH AND PEEL
THE NEW CABINET.
PUNCH.—Well, Sir Robert, have you yet picked your men? Come, no mystery between friends. Besides, consider your obligations to your old crony, Punch. Do you forget how I stood by you on the Catholic question? Come, name, name! Who are to pluck the golden pippins—who are to smack lips at the golden fish—who are to chew the fine manchet loaves of Downing-street?
PEEL.—The truth is, my dear Punch—
PUNCH.—Stop. You may put on that demure look, expand your right-hand fingers across the region where the courtesy of anatomy awards to politicians a heart, and talk about truth as a certain old lady with a paper lanthorn before her door may talk of chastity—you may do all this on the hustings; but this is not Tamworth: besides, you are now elected; so take one of these cigars—they were smuggled for me by my revered friend Colonel Sibthorp—fill your glass, and out with the list.
PEEL.—(Rises and goes to the door, which he double locks; returns to his seat, and takes from his waistcoat pocket a small piece of ass’s skin.) I have jotted down a few names.
PUNCH.—And, I see, on very proper material. Read, Robert, read.
PEEL.—(In a mild voice and with a slight blush.)—“First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Robert Peel!”
PUNCH.—Of course. Well?
PEEL.—“First Lord of the Admiralty—Duke of Buckingham.”
PUNCH.—An excellent man for the Admiralty. He has been at sea in politics all his life.
PEEL.—“Secretary for Foreign Affairs—Earl of Aberdeen.”
PUNCH.—An admirable person for Foreign Affairs, especially if he transacted ’em in Sierra Leone. Proceed.
PEEL.—“Lord Lieutenant of Ireland—Lord Wharncliffe.”
PUNCH.—Nothing could be better. Wharncliffe in Ireland! You might as well appoint a red-hot poker to guard a powder magazine. Go on.
PEEL.—“Secretary for Home Department—Goulburn.”
PUNCH.—A most domestic gentleman; will take care of home, I am sure. Go on.
PEEL.—“Lord Chancellor—Sir William Follett.”
PUNCH.—A capital appointment: Sir William loves the law as a spider loves his spinning; and for the same reason Chancery cobwebs will be at a premium.
PEEL.—“Secretary for the Colonies—Lord Stanley.”
PUNCH.—Would make a better Governor of Macquarrie Harbour; but go on.
PEEL.—“President of the Council—Duke of Wellington.”
PUNCH.—Think twice there.—The Duke will be a great check upon you. The Duke is now a little too old a mouser to enjoy Tory tricks. He has unfortunately a large amount of common sense; and how fatal must that quality be to the genius of the Wharncliffes, the Goulburns, and the Stanleys! Besides, the Duke has another grievous weakness—he won’t lie.
PEEL.—“Secretary for Ireland—Sir H. Hardinge.”
PUNCH.—Come, that will do. Wharncliffe, the flaming torch of Toryism, and Hardinge the small lucifer. How Ireland will be enlightened, and how oranges will go up!
PEEL.—“Lord Chamberlain—Duke of Beaufort.”
PUNCH.—Capital! The very politician for a Court carpet. Besides, he knows the etiquette of every green-room from the Pavilion to the Haymarket. He is, moreover, a member of the Garrick Club; and what, if possible, speaks more for his State abilities—he used to drive the Brighton coach!
PEEL.—“Ambassador at Paris—Lord Lyndhurst.”
PUNCH.—That’s something like. How the graces of the Palais Royal will rejoice! There is a peculiar fitness in this appointment; for is not his Lordship son-in-law to old Goldsmid, whilom editor of the Anti-Galliean, and for many years an honoured and withal notorious resident of Paris! Of course BEN D’ISRAELI, his Lordship’s friend, will get a slice of secretaryship—may be allowed to nib a state quill, if he must not use one. Well, go on.
PEEL.—That’s all at present. How d’ye think they read?
PUNCH.—Very glibly—like the summary of a Newgate Calendar. But the truth is, I think we want a little new blood in the next Cabinet.
PEEL.—New blood! Explain, dear Punch.
PUNCH.—Why, most of your people are, unfortunately, tried men. Hence, the people, knowing them as well as they know the contents of their own breeches’ pockets, may not be gulled so long as if governed by those whose tricks—I mean, whose capabilities—have not been so strongly marked. With new men we have always the benefit of hope; and with hope much swindling may be perpetrated.
PEEL.—But my Cabinet contains known men.
PUNCH.—That’s it; knowing them, hope is out of the question. Now, with Ministers less notorious, the Cabinet farce might last a little longer. I have put down a few names; here they are on a blank leaf of Jack Sheppard.
PEEL.—A presentation copy, I perceive.
PUNCH.—-Why, it isn’t generally known; but all the morality, the wit, and the pathos, of that work I wrote myself.
PEEL.—And I must say they’re quite worthy of you.
PUNCH.—I know it; but read—read Punch’s Cabinet.
PEEL (reads).—“First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer—the Wizard of the North.”
PUNCH.—And, wizard as he is, he’ll have his work to do. He, however, promises that every four-pound loaf shall henceforth go as far as eight, so that no alteration of the Corn Laws shall be necessary. He furthermore promises to plant Blackheath and Government waste grounds with sugar-cane, and to raise the penny post stamp to fourpence, in so delicate a manner that nobody shall feel the extra expense. As for the opposition, what will a man care for even the speeches of a Sibthorp—who can catch any number of bullets, any weight of lead, in his teeth? Go on.
PEEL.—“First Lord of the Admiralty—T.P. Cooke.”
PUNCH.—Is he not the very man? Who knows more about the true interests of the navy? Who has beaten so many Frenchmen? Then think of his hornpipe—the very shuffling for a minister.
PEEL.—“Secretary for Foreign Affairs—Gold dust Solomons.”
PUNCH.—Show me a better man. Consider the many dear relations he has abroad; and then his admirable knowledge of the rates of exchange? Think of his crucible. Why, he’d melt down all the crowns of Europe into a coffee service for our gracious Queen, and turn the Pope’s tiara into coral bells for the little Princess! And I ask you if such feats ain’t the practical philosophy of all foreign policy? Go on.
PEEL.—“Lord Lieutenant of Ireland—Henry Moreton Dyer.”
PUNCH.—An admirable person. As Ireland is the hotbed of all crimes, do we not want a Lord Lieutenant who shall be able to assess the true value of every indiscretion, from simple murder to compound larceny? As every Irishman may in a few months be in prison, I want a Lord Lieutenant who shall be emphatically the prisoner’s friend. Go on.
PEEL.—“Secretary for Home Department—George Robins.”
PUNCH.—A man so intimately connected with the domestic affairs of the influential classes of the country. Go on.
PEEL.—“Lord Chancellor—Mr. Dunn, barrister.”
PUNCH.—As it appears to me, the best protector of rich heiresses and orphans. Go on.
PEEL.—“Secretary for the Colonies—Money Moses.”
PUNCH.—A man, you will allow, with a great stake, in fact, with all he has, in one of our colonial possessions. Go on.
PEEL.—“President of the Council—Mrs. Fry.”
PUNCH.—A lady whose individual respectability may give a convenient cloak to any policy. Go on.
PEEL.—“Secretary for Ireland—Henry Moreton Dyer’s footman.”
PUNCH.—On the venerable adage of “like master like man.” Go on.
PEEL.—“Lord Chamberlain—The boy Jones.”
PUNCH.—As one best knowing all the intricacies, from the Royal bed-chamber to the scullery, of Buckingham Palace. Besides he will drive a donkey-cart. Go on.
PEEL.—“Ambassador at Paris—Alfred Bunn, or any other translator of French Operas.”
PUNCH.—A person who will have a continual sense of the necessities of his country at home; and therefore, by his position, be enabled to send us the earliest copies of M. Scribe’s printed dramas; or, in cases of exigency, the manuscripts themselves. And now, Bobby, what think you of Punch’s Cabinet?
PEEL.—Why, really, I did not think the country contained so much state talent.
PUNCH.—That’s the narrowness of your philosophy; if you were to look with an enlarged, a thinking mind, you’d soon perceive that the distance was not so great from St. James’s to St. Giles’s—from the House of Commons to the House of Correction. Well, do you accept my list?
PEEL.—Excuse me, my dear Punch, I must first try my own; when if that fails—
PUNCH.—You’ll try mine? That’s a bargain.