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?