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 naturally call my boy young Nick, and of course I shall be styled old Nick, which will be diabolical.”

“Well, Mr. Easy, at all events then let me choose the name.”

“That you shall, my dear, and it was with this view that I have mentioned the subject so early.”

“I think, Mr. Easy, I will call the boy after my poor father—his name shall be Robert.”

“Very well, my dear, if you wish it, it shall be Robert. You shall have your own way. But I think, my dear, upon a little consideration, you will acknowledge that there is a decided objection.”

“An objection, Mr. Easy?”

“Yes, my dear; Robert may be very well, but you must reflect upon the consequences; he is certain to be called Bob.”

“Well, my dear, and suppose they do call him Bob?”

“I cannot

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