ed all their hopes; a few moments of
neglect led to the catastrophe narrated above.]

TITLES OF BOOKS.

Were it inquired of an ingenious writer what page of his work had
occasioned him most perplexity, he would often point to the
_title-page_. The curiosity which we there would excite, is, however,
most fastidious to gratify.

Among those who appear to have felt this irksome situation, are most of
our periodical writers. The "Tatler" and the "Spectator," enjoying
priority of conception, have adopted titles with characteristic
felicity; but perhaps the invention of the authors begins to fail in the
"Reader," the "Lover," and the "Theatre!" Succeeding writers were as
unfortunate in their titles, as their works; such are the "Universal
Spectator," and the "Lay Monastery." The copious mind of Johnson could
not discover an appropriate title, and indeed in the first "Idler"
acknowledged his despair. The "Rambler" was so little understood, at the
time of its appearance, that a French journalist has translated it as
"_Le Chevalier Errant_;" and when it was corrected to _L'Errant_, a
foreigner drank Johnson's health one day, by innocently addressing him
by the appellation of Mr. "Vagabond!" The "Adventurer" cannot be
considered as a fortunate title; it is not appropriate to those pleasing
miscellanies, for any writer is an adventurer. The "Lounger," the
"Mirror," and even the "Connoisseur," if examined accurately, present
nothing in the titles descriptive of the works. As for the "World," it
could only have been given by the fashionable egotism of its authors,
who considered the world as merely a circuit round St. James's Street.
When the celebrated father of reviews, _Le Journal des Scavans_, was
first published, the very title repulsed the public. The author was
obliged in his succeeding volumes to soften it down, by explaining its
general tendency. He there assures the curious, that not only men of
learning and taste, but the humblest mechanic, may find a profitable
amusement. An English novel, published with the title of "The Champion
of Virtue," could find no readers; but afterwards passed through several
editions under the happier invitation of "The Old English Baron." "The
Concubine," a poem by Mickle, could never find purchasers, till it
assumed the more delicate title of "Sir Martyn."

As a subject of literary curiosity, some amusement may be gathered from
a glance at what has been doing in the world, concer