his greatness was
ripening;" he had decided that to have an heir was no easy task, and it
never came into his calculations that there could be a change in his
wife's figure. You might have added to it, subtracted from it, divided
it, or multiplied it, but as it was a zero, the result would be always
the same. Mrs Easy also was not quite sure--she believed it might be
the case, there was no saying; it might be a mistake, like that of Mrs
Trunnion's in the novel, and, therefore, she said nothing to her husband
about the matter. At last Mr Easy opened his eyes, and when, upon
interrogating his wife, he found out the astounding truth, he opened his
eyes still wider, and then he snapped his fingers, and danced, like a
bear upon hot plates, with delight, thereby proving that different
causes may produce similar effects in two instances at one and the same
time. The bear dances from pain, Mr Easy from pleasure; and again,
when we are indifferent, or do not care for anything, we snap our
fingers at it, and when we are overjoyed and obtain what we most care
for, we also snap our fingers. Two months after Mr Easy snapped his
fingers, Mrs Easy felt no inclination to snap hers, either from
indifference or pleasure. The fact was, that Mrs Easy's time was come,
to undergo what Shakespeare pronounces "the pleasing punishment that
women bear;" but Mrs Easy, like the rest of her sex, declared, "that
all men were liars," and most particularly poets.

But while Mrs Easy was suffering, Mr Easy was in ecstasies. He
laughed at pain, as all philosophers do when it is suffered by other
people, and not by themselves.

In due course of time, Mrs Easy presented her husband with a fine boy,
whom we present to the public as our hero.

CHAPTER TWO.

IN WHICH MRS. EASY, AS USUAL, HAS HER OWN WAY.

It was the fourth day after Mrs Easy's confinement that Mr Easy, who
was sitting by her bedside in an easy-chair, commenced as follows: "I
have been thinking, my dear Mrs Easy, about the name I shall give this
child."

"Name, Mr Easy! why, what name should you give it but your own?"

"Not so, my dear," replied Mr Easy; "they call all names proper names,
but I think that mine is not. It is the very worst name in the
calendar."

"Why, what's the matter with it, Mr Easy?"

"The matter affects me as well as the boy. Nicodemus is a long name to
write at full length, and Nick is vulgar. Besides, as there will be two
Nicks, they will nat