Marm Crowningshield herself, lookin as proud as if she would not call the President her cousin; and she gave the Lawyer a look, as much as to say, I guess when Mr. Slick is gone, I’ll pay you off that are kiss with interest, you dear you—­I’ll answer a bill at sight for it, I will, you may depend.  I believe, said he agin, you are right Increase, my dear, its an expensive kind of honor that bein Governor, and no great thanks neither; great cry and little wool, all talk and no cider—­its enough I guess for a man to govern his own family, aint it, dear?  Sartin, my love, said she, sartin, a man is never so much in his own proper sphere as there; and beside, said she, his will is supreme to home, there is no danger of any one non-concurring him there:  and she gave me a sly look, as much as to say, I let him think he is master in his own house, for when ladies wear the breeches, their petticoats ought to be long enough to hide them; but I allot, Mr. Slick, you can see with half an eye that the “grey mare is the better horse here.”

What a pity it is, continued the Clockmaker, that the Blue Noses would not take a leaf out of Marm Crowninshield’s book—­talk more of their own affairs and less of politics.  I’m sick of the everlastin sound of “House of Assembly,” and “Council,” and “great folks.”  They never alleviate talking about them from July to etarnity.  I had a curious conversation about politics once, away up to the right here.  Do you see that are house, said he, in the field, that’s got a lurch to leeward, like a north river sloop, struck with a squall, off West Point, lopsided like?  It looks like Seth Pine, a tailor down to Hartford, that had one leg shorter than tother, when he stood at ease at militia trainin, a restin on the littlest one.  Well, I had a special frolic there the last time I passed this way.  I lost the linch pin out of my forred axle, and I turned up there to get it sot to rights.  Just as I drove through the gate, I saw the eldest gall a makin for the house for dear life—­she had a short petticoat on that looked like a kilt, and her bare legs put me in mind of the long shanks of a bittern down in a rush swamp, a drivin away like mad full chizel arter a frog.  I could not think what on airth was the matter.  Thinks I, she wants to make herself look decent like afore I get in, she don’t like to pull her stockings on afore me; so I pulls up the old horse and let her have a fair start.  Well, when I came to the door, I heard a proper scuddin; there was a regular flight into Egypt, jist such a noise as little children make when the mistress comes suddenly into school, all a huddlin and scroudgin into their seats, as quick as wink.  Dear me, says the old woman, as she put her head out of a broken window to avail who it was, is it you, Mr. Slick?  I sniggers, if you did not frighten us properly, we actilly thought it