"
* * * * *
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.
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