golden syllables. At length the doctor did speak: for casting about him a
look of the profoundest knowledge, and pointing to the steed, he said, in
a deep, solemn whisper,--"_Let the horse alone!_" Saying this, the doctor
vanished!

The reader will immediately make the application. The horse _John Bull_ is
prostrate. It will be remembered that Colonel SIBTHORP (that dull
mountebank) spoke learnedly upon glanders--that others declared the animal
needed a lighter burthen and a greater allowance of corn,--but that the
majority of the mob made way for a certain quacksalver PEEL, who being
regularly called in and fee'd for his advice, professed himself to be
possessed of some miraculous elixir for the suffering quadruped. All eyes
were upon the doctor--all ears open for him, when lo! on the 16th of
September,--PEEL, speaking with the voice of an oracle, said--"It is not
my intention in the present session of Parliament to submit any measures
for the consideration of the House!" In other words--"_Let the horse
alone!_"

The praises of the Tory mob are loud and long at this wisdom of the
doctor. He had loudly professed an intimate knowledge of the ailments of
the horse--he had long predicted the fall of the poor beast,--and now,
when the animal is down, and a remedy is looked for that shall once more
set the creature on his legs, the veterinary politician says--"_Let the
horse alone!_"

The speech of Sir ROBERT PEEL was a pithy illustration of the good old
Tory creed. He opens his oration with a benevolent and patriotic yearning
for the comforts of Parliamentary warmth and ventilation. He moves for
papers connected with "the building of the two houses of Parliament, and
with the adoption of measures for _warming and ventilating_ those houses!"