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.

PEEL.--I have an answer ready for all comers--"Wait awhile!" 'Tis a famous
soother for all impatient grumblers. It kept the Whigs in office for ten
years, and I see no reason why it should not serve our turn as long.
Depend upon it, "Wait awhile" is the great secret of Government.

STATUE.--Ah! I believe you are right. I now see that I was only a novice
in the trade of politics. By the bye, Bob, I don't at all like my
situation here; 'tis really very uncomfortable to be exposed to all
weathers--scorched in summer, and frost-nipped in winter. Though I am only
a statue, I feel that I ought to be protected.

PEEL.--Undoubtedly, my dear sir. What can I do for you?

STATUE.--Why, I want to get into the Abbey, St. Paul's, or Drury Lane.
Anywhere out of the open air.

PEEL.--Say no more--it shall be done. I am only too happy to have it in my
power to serve the statue of a man to whom his country is so deeply
indebted.

STATUE.--But _when_ shall it be done, Bob? To-morrow?

PEEL.--Not precisely to-morrow; but--

STATUE.--Next week, then?

PEEL.--I can't say; but don't be impatient--rely on my promise, and _wait
awhile, wait awhile_, my dear friend. Good night.

STATUE.--Oh! confound your _wait awhile_. I see I have nothing to expect.

* * * * *

THE BEAUTY OF BRASS.

Tom Duncombe declares he never passes McPhail's imitative-gold mart
without thinking of Ben D'Israeli's speeches, as both of them are so
confoundedly full of fantastic

[Illustration: MOSAIC ORNAMENTS.]

* * * * *

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