speak with you as soon as you have breakfasted."

"We will go to her. You have no idea," observed the planter to Mr
Berecroft and Newton, "what importance these people attach to the naming
of their children. Nothing but a fine long name will satisfy them. I
really believe, that if I refused her, or called the boy Tom, she would
eat dirt. I believe we have all done; Boy Jack, bring the sangoree.
Doctor, I dare say that your clay wants moistening, so take the first
pull."

This important commencement and finale to the repast having been duly
administered, they proceeded to the range of buildings before mentioned,
in one of which they found the lady _in the straw_, sitting up, and
showing her white teeth at her master's approach, as if nothing very
particular had occurred.

"Well, Mattee, how are you?" said the planter. "Where's the
piccaninny?"

"Ab um here, sar--keep im warm," replied the woman, pointing to a roll
of blanket, in which the little creature was enveloped.

"Let us see him, Mattee."

"No, sar, too cold yet--bye bye, massa, see um; make very fine sleep
now.--Suppose white piccaninny, suppose black piccaninny--all same,--
like plenty sleep. Um know very well, hab plenty work to do bye and
bye--sleep all dey can, when lilly."

"But you'll smother him," observed Newton.

"Smoder him?--what dat--eh?--I know now massa mean, stop um breath.--No:
suppose him no smoder before, no smoder now, sar. Massa," continued the
woman, turning to the planter, "no ab name for piccaninny?"

"Well, Mattee, we must find one; these gentlemen will give him a name.
Come, captain, what name do you propose?"

"Suppose we christen him _Snub_," replied Berecroft, winking at the
rest.

"Snob! What sort a name you call dat, sar?" replied the woman, tossing
up her head. "Snob! no, sar, you 'front me very much. Snob not proper
name."

"Well, then Mr Forster," said the planter, "try if _you_ can be more
fortunate."

"What do you think of Chrononhotonthologus?" said Newton to the woman.

"Eh! what dat?--say dat again, sar," replied the woman.

"Chrononhotonthologus."

"Eh! dat real fine name for piccaninny," cried the woman, with delight
in her countenance. "Many tanky, sar. Chroton-polygarse."

"No, no," replied Newton, laughing; "Chrononho-tonthologus."

"Es, hab now--Hoten-tolyglass."

"No, that's only part. Chronon-hoton-thologus."

"I see--very fine name--Proton-choton-polly-glass."

"Yes, that's