oonoko_

The party were up at an early hour on the ensuing morning, that they
might enjoy the delightful freshness of the air, which so soon
evaporates before the scorching rays of the tropical sun. They were
joined at breakfast by the doctor who attended the estate, and who had
called in to announce the birth of a little negro boy in the early part
of the night.

"Who did you say, doctor?" answered the planter, "Mattee Sally? Why, I
thought Jane Ascension was in advance of her."

"They were running it _neck and neck_, sir," replied the surgeon.

"How is she--quite hearty?"

"Quite, sir; but very anxious about the child's name, and requests to
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 daresay 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 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 sart a name you call dat, sar?" replied the woman, tossing
up her head. "Snob! no, sar, you '