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.