[Illustration: HIS MARK.]

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DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE STATUE OF GEORGE CANNING AND SIR ROBERT PEEL.

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?