``No act of a man's life requires
more practical common sense than the
naming of his book. If he would make
a grocer's sign or an invoice of a cellar
of goods or a city directory, he uses no
metaphors; his pen does not hesitate for
the plainest word. He must make himself
understood by common men. But
if he makes a book the case is different.
It must have the charm of a pleasing
title. If there is nothing new within, the
back at least must be novel and taking.
He tortures his imagination for something
which will predispose the reader in its
favour. Mr. Parker writes a series of
biographical sketches, and calls it _Morning
Stars of the New World_. Somebody prepares
seven religious essays, binds them
up in a book, and calls it _Seven Stormy
Sundays_. Mr. H. T. Tuckerman makes
a book of essays on various subjects, and
calls it _The Optimist_; and then devotes
several pages of preface to an argument,
lexicon in hand, proving that the
applicability of the term optimist is `obvious.'
An editor, at intervals of leisure, indulges
his true poetic taste for the pleasure of his