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
MOSAIC ORNAMENTS.