[Illustration:  PAGE 763—­ Usually stood, shaking at us his rod]

But besides this, there never was a realm in which the evils of a divided cabinet were more visible:  the truth is, the monarch himself was under the influence of female government—­an influence which he felt it either contrary to his inclination or beyond his power to throw off.  “Poor Norah, long may you reign!” we often used to exclaim, to the visible mortification of the “master,” who felt the benevolence of the wish bottomed upon an indirect want of allegiance to himself.  Well, it was a touching scene!—­how we used to stand with the waistbands of our small-clothes cautiously grasped in our hands, with a timid show of resistance, our brave red faces slobbered over with tears, as we stood marked for execution!  Never was there a finer specimen of deprecation in eloquence than we then exhibited—­the supplicating look right up into the master’s face—­the touching modulation of the whine—­the additional tightness and caution with which we grasped the waistbands with one hand, when it was necessary to use the other in wiping our eyes and noses with the polished sleeve-cuff—­the sincerity and vehemence with which we promised never to be guilty again, still shrewdly including the condition of present impunity for our offence:—­“this—­one—­time—­ master, if ye plaise, sir;” and the utter hopelessness and despair which were legible in the last groan, as we grasp the “master’s” leg in utter recklessness of judgment, were all perfect in their way.  Reader, have you ever got a reprieve from the gallows?  I beg pardon, my dear sir; I only meant to ask, are you capable of entering into what a personage of that description might be supposed to feel, on being informed, after the knot had been neatly tied under the left ear, and the cap drawn over his eyes, that her majesty had granted him a full pardon?  But you remember your own schoolboy days, and that’s enough.

The nice discrimination with which Norah used to time her interference was indeed surprising.  God help us! limited was our experience, and shallow our little judgments, or we might have known what the master meant, when with upraised arm hung over us, his eye was fixed upon the door of the kitchen, waiting for Norah’s appearance.

Long, my fair and virtuous countrywomen, I repeat it to you all, as I did to Norah—­may you reign in the hearts and affections of your husbands (but nowhere else), the grace, ornaments, and happiness of their hearths and lives, you jewels, you!  You are paragons of all that’s good, and your feelings are highly creditable to yourselves and to humanity.

When Norah advanced, with her brawny, uplifted arm (for she was a powerful woman) and forbidding aspect, to interpose between us and the avenging, terrors of the birch, do you think that she did not reflect honor on her sex and the national character!  I sink the base allusion to the miscaun* of fresh butter, which we had placed in her hands that morning, or the dish of eggs, or of meal, which we had either begged or stolen at home, as a present for her; disclaiming, at the same time, the rascally idea of giving it as a bribe, or from any motive beneath the most lofty minded and disinterested generosity on our part.