The ratification by the sovereign of the Prime Minister's choice in the matter of colleagues is a brief but not unimposing ceremony. To each of the three Secretariats of State there belongs a seal which is the outward and visible sign of the authority attaching to the post. When a Government goes out of office and a fresh Ministry is appointed, the seals are delivered up in person to the sovereign by the outgoing Ministers. His Majesty then hands them to the members of the new Administration, who receive their badges of office in a suitably humble attitude, on their knees, and kiss the royal hand that confers these favours. [Illustration: A CABINET MEETING (THE COALITION MINISTRY OF 1854) FROM THE DRAWING BY SIR JOHN GILBERT] The seals of office have been the unconscious cause of more indifferent puns than any other parliamentary institution. Statesmen who have never previously been guilty of a sense of humour, and have otherwise led blameless lives, seem unable to refrain from making little jokes on the subject of seal fisheries--jokes which their biographers affectionately enshrine as epigrams in their published Lives.[151] We have fortunately outgrown such humour as this, and puns are nowadays only to be found elsewhere among the _obiter dicta_ of our judges and magistrates upon their respective benches. [151] Lord Chancellors and Keepers of the Great Seal are very prone to puns. When Lord Campbell replaced Lord Plunket as Chancellor of Ireland he had to cross the Channel in a storm. Plunket's secretary remarked that if the new Chancellor were not drowned, he would be very sick. "Perhaps," said Plunket, "he'll throw up the seals!" Lord Chancellor Westbury once told an eminent counsel that he was getting as fat as a porpoise. "In that case," replied the other, "I am evidently a fit companion of the great Seal." Lord Lyndhurst is another Chancellor who made a joke of this sort. There must be something, too, in the atmosphere of a change of Ministry which evokes bad puns. When Disraeli was appointed to Lord Derby's Cabinet in 1852, more than one eminent politician facetiously remarked that now Benjamin's mess would be five times as great as that of the others. And, fourteen years later, when the same statesman was bidden to form a Ministry of his own, Lord Chelmsford, whom he had relieved of the Chancellorship of the Exchequer, shamelessly observed that if the old Government was "the Derby," this new one was certainly "the Hoax" (see Martin's "Life of Lyndhurst," p. 481 n., and the "Life of Lord Granville," vol. i. p. 479, etc.).