And here let me remark episodically, that I pride myself on titles; what compositors call "monkeyfying the title-page" is known to be a talent of itself, and one moreover to which in these days of advertisements and superficialities many a meagre book has owed its popular acceptance.

The titles of generations back seemed not to have been regarded honest, if they did not exhibit on their face a true and particular table of contents; whereas in these sad times, (with many, not with me,) mystery is a good rule, but falsehood is a better.

Again, those honest-speaking authors of the past scrupled not to designate their writings as '_A Most Erudite Treatise_' on so-and-so, or a '_A Right Ingenious Handling of the Mysteries_' of such-and-such, whereas modern hypocrisy aims at under-rating its own pet work; and more than one book has been ruined in the market, for having been carelessly titled by the definite THE; as if, forsooth, it were the world's arbiter of that one topic, self-constituted pundit of, e.g., title-pages.

And this word brings me back: consider the truly English music of this one: THE SQUIRE, AND HIS BEAUTIFUL HOME, a fine old country gentleman, pleasantly located, affluent, noble-minded, wise, and patriotic.

This was to have been shown forth, in wish at least, as somewhat akin to, or congenerous with '_The Doctor_, &c.,'-- that rambling wonder of strange and multifarious reading: or '_The Rectory of Valehead_,' or '_Vicar of Wakefield_,' or '_The Family Robinson Crusoe_,' still unwrecked; or many another hearty, cheerful or pathetic tale of home, sweet home: and yet as to design and execution strictly original and unplagiaristic.