The new Premier was taking a solitary stroll the other evening through Palace-yard, meditating upon the late turn which had brought the Tories to the top of the wheel and the Whigs to the bottom, and pondering on the best ways and means of keeping his footing in the slippery position that had cost him so much labour to attain.  While thus employed, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and his hands buried in his breeches-pockets, he heard a voice at no great distance, calling in familiar tone—­

“Bob!  Bob!—­I say, Bob!”

The alarmed Baronet stopped, and looked around him to discover the speaker, when, casting his eyes upon the statue of George Canning in the enclosure of Westminster Abbey, he was astonished to perceive it nodding its head at him, like the statue in “Don Giovanni,” in a “How d’ye do?” kind of way.  Sir Robert, who, since his introduction to the Palace, has grown perilously polite, took off his hat, and made a low bow to the figure.

STATUE.—­Bah! no nonsense, Bob, with me!  Put on your hat, and come over here, close to the railings, while I have a little private confab with you.  So, you have been called in at last?

PEEL.—­Yes.  Her Majesty has done me the honour to command my services; and actuated by a sincere love of my country, I obeyed the wishes of my Royal Mistress, and accepted office; though, if I had consulted my own inclinations, I should have preferred the quiet path of private—­

STATUE.—­Humbug!  You forget yourself, Bob; you are not now at Tamworth, or in the house, but talking to an old hand that knows every move on the political board,—­you need have no disguise with me.  Come, be candid for once, and tell me, what are your intentions?

PEEL.—­Why, then, candidly, to keep my place as long as I can—­

STATUE.—­Undoubtedly; that is the first duty of every patriotic minister!  But the means, Bob?

PEEL—­Oh!  Cant—­cant—­nothing but cant!  I shall talk of my feeling for the wants of the people, while I pick their pockets; bestow my pity upon the manufacturers, while I tax the bread that feeds their starving families; and proclaim my sympathy with the farmers, while I help the arrogant landlords to grind them into the dust.

STATUE.—­Ah!  I perceive yon understand the true principles of legislation.  Now, I once really felt what you only feign.  In my time, I attempted to carry out my ideas of amelioration, and wanted to improve the moral and physical condition of the people, but—­

PEEL.—­You failed.  Few gave you credit for purely patriotic motives—­and still fewer believed you to be sincere in your professions.  Now, my plan is much easier, and safer.  Give the people fair promises—­they don’t cost much—­but nothing besides promises; the moment you attempt to realise the hopes you have raised, that moment you raise a host of enemies against yourself.

STATUE.—­But if you make promises, the nation will demand a fulfilment of them.