A proprietor of a large estate in a distant part of the island, but who resided in the capital, met one morning a labourer of his coming from the country, and of course asked what news there was, and how they were coming on. “So, so, massa,” returned the negro— “we hab fine rain last night.” “Say you so, my fine fellow?” quoth his master, his heart enlarged at the prospect of his canes flourishing, “well, here’s a quarter-dollar for you, as a reward for your good news.” In the course of the same day, the manager of the estate arrived in town, and upon seeing the proprietor, was congratulated by him upon the “fine rains” he had so fortunately experienced in the country. “_Fine rains!_” said the manager, in surprise, “do I hear you aright, or are you joking? (although I think you’ll find it no joke in the end;) we have had no rain at all, and I came into town this morning to consult with you upon the subject; for from the excessive drought, the canes are all burnt up, the cattle dying in all directions, and the labourers themselves are dropping down exhausted from want of water.” The proprietor stormed and raved—that fellow Cato told me you had had fine rains last night; and I was so pleased to hear it, that— that—I actually gave the black rascal a quarter-dollar for his information. “Here, John! go and call that fellow back,” turning to a domestic, “and tell him to make haste—do you hear?” In the course of a short time Cato returned, rolling up his eyes until only the whites (or rather yellows) were visible, holding his little flannel cap in one hand, and in the other, what was once designated as a _pipe_, and uttering a mysterious noise, which was intended as half interrogative, half conciliatory, waited until his master, who was puffing and blowing, and looking “unutterable things,” should speak.