“I admit the justice of the view you take, with that limitation; and I trust it is with a sense of such accountability I have written,” said I.  “May I, then, flatter myself with the hope that you will grant me your imprimatur?”

“You have it,” said he; “and may no critic regard your book with less indulgent eyes than mine.  But what name do you give the bantling?”

“Oh,” said I, “I have not concluded, I fancy that one name is nearly as good as another.”

“I don’t know about that,” said the Rev. Increase.  “A couple who brought their child lately to me to be baptized did not think so, at any rate.  I inquired what was the name chosen, when, to my astonishment, I heard sounds which resembled very much one of the titles bestowed upon the arch enemy of mankind.  Supposing that my ears deceived me, I inquired again, when the same word, to my horror, was more distinctly repeated.  ‘Lucifer!’ said I, to myself, ’impossible!  I cannot baptize a child by such a name.’  I bent over once more, and a third time asked the question.  The answer was the same, and repeated louder and with an emphasis, as if the parents were determined to have that name or none.  By this time my situation had become embarrassing, for there was I, in the presence of the whole waiting congregation, standing up with the baby in my arms, which, to add to my consternation, set up a squall as if to convince me that he was entitled to the name.  My bachelor modesty could stand the scene no longer; so, hastily dipping my fingers in the font, and resolving he should have a good name, as opposite as possible to the diabolical one so strangely selected, I baptized the infant George Washington.  I thought the parents looked queerly at the time, but the rite was performed, the baby had got an excellent name, and I was relieved.  But conceive, if you can, my confusion, when, after service, the father and mother came into the vestry, and the latter bursting into tears, exclaimed:  ’Oh, thir, what have you done?  Ith a girl, ith a girl! and you’ve called her George Wathington!  My poor little Luthy, my dear little Luthy!’ Alas! the mother lisped, and when I asked for the name, meaning to be very polite, and to say, Lucy, sir, in reply to my question, she had said, ‘Luthy, thir,’ which I mistook for Lucifer.  What was to be done?  I consoled the afflicted parents as well as I was able, and promised to enter the name in the parish registry and town records as Lucy, which I did; but for all that, the girl’s genuine, orthodox name is George Washington!”

“I see,” said I, paying him for his joke with the expected laugh, “there is something in a name, and we must be cautious in its choice.”  The result was, that I followed my friend’s advice in adopting the one which was finally selected.  Soon after the Rev. gentleman took his hat and left me to my meditations.  Thereupon I resumed my pen, and vainly endeavored to write a preface.  At last, in despair, I could hit upon no better expedient