nearer to it," replied Newton.

"Well, then, that point's settled," said the planter to the woman. "Is
it all right, Mattee?"

"Es, massa; many tanks to gentleman--very fine name, do very well, sar."

"Doctor, put the name down opposite the register of the birth. Now,
Mattee, all's right, good bye," said the planter, leaving the room, and
followed by the others.

"Do you really intend to call the child by that name?" inquired Mr
Berecroft.

"Why not? it pleases the woman, and is as good as any other; it is of no
consequence. They almost all have names, certainly not quite so long as
the present; but, as they grow longer, their names grow shorter. This
name will first be abbreviated to Chrony; if we find that too long, it
will be reduced again to Crow; which by the bye, is not bad name for a
negro," said the planter, laughing at the coincidence.

Reader, did you ever perchance, when in a farm-yard, observe hen or
other domestic fowl, who having pounced upon half a potato, or something
of the same description too large to be bolted down at once, tries to
escape with her prize, followed by all the rest, until she either drops
it or eludes their vigilance? If so, you form some idea of a negro
woman, with a hard word in her mouth; which, although she does not know
the meaning of, she considers as an equal treasure.

Newton had turned round to the court-yard, in the centre of which
several women were sitting down at various employments; when one who had
been busied in some little offices for the woman whom they had just
visited, and had in consequence been present at the choice of the name,
took her seat with the party in question. To several queries put to
her, she replied with extreme hauteur, as if she considered them as
impertinent, and frowned upon her companions most majestically.

After a short time she rose, and turning round, with the look of an
empress, said, "Now I shall go look after my Hoton-poton-polybass."

"Eh?" cried one, opening her eyes in wonder.

"What dat?" screamed another.

"How you call dat long ting?" demanded a third.

"Eh! you stupid black tings," replied the proud possessor of the new
word, with a look of ineffable scorn, "you no know what um call
Poton-hoton-poll-fuss. Me _no tell_ you," continued she, as she walked
away, leaving the others almost _white_ with envy and astonishment.

Shortly after this Mr Kingston with his party took their leave of the
hospitable old planter