PISISTRATUS, more hopefully.--"Ay! there is something in the Drama akin to the Novel. Now, perhaps, I may catch an idea." MR. CAXTON.--"For instance, the author of the _Curiosities of Literature_ (from whom, by the way, I am plagiarizing much of the information I bestow upon you) tells us of a Spanish gentleman who wrote a Comedy, by which he intended to serve what he took for Moral Philosophy." PISISTRATUS, eagerly.--"Well, sir?" MR. CAXTON.--"And called it 'The Pain of the Sleep of the World.'" PISISTRATUS.--"Very comic, indeed, sir." MR. CAXTON.--"Grave things were then called Comedies, as old things are now called Novels. Then there are all the titles of early Romance itself at your disposal--'Theagenes and Chariclea,' or 'The Ass' of Longus, or 'The Golden Ass' of Apuleius, or the titles of Gothic Romance, such as 'The most elegant, delicious, mellifluous, and delightful History of Perceforest, King of Great Britain.'"--And therewith my father ran over a list of names as long as the Directory, and about as amusing. "Well, to my taste," said my mother, "the novels I used to read when a girl (for I have not read many since I am ashamed to say)--" MR. CAXTON.--"No, you need not be at all ashamed of it, Kitty." MY MOTHER, proceeding.--"Were much more inviting than any you mention, Austin." THE CAPTAIN.--"True." MR. SQUILLS.--"Certainly. Nothing like them nowadays!" MY MOTHER.--"'_Says she to her Neighbor, What?_'" THE CAPTAIN.--"'_The Unknown, or the Northern Gallery_'--" MR. SQUILLS.--"'_There is a Secret; Find it Out!_'" PISISTRATUS, pushed to the verge of human endurance, and upsetting tongs, poker, and fire-shovel.--"What nonsense you are talking, all of you! For heaven's sake, consider what an important matter we are called upon to decide. It is not now the titles of those very respectable works which issued from the Minerva Press that I ask you to remember--it is to invent a title for mine--My Novel!" MR. CAXTON, clapping his hands gently.--"Excellent--capital! Nothing can be better; simple, natural, pertinent, concise--" PISISTRATUS.--"What is it, sir--what is it! Have you really thought of a title to My Novel?" MR. CAXTON.--"You have hit it yourself--'My Novel.' It is your Novel--people will know it is your Novel. Turn and twist the English language as you will--be as allegorical as Hebrew, Greek, Roman--Fabulist or Puritan--still, after all, it is your Novel, and nothing more nor less than your Novel." PISISTRATUS, thoughtfully, and sounding the words various ways.--"'My Novel'--um--um! 'My Novel!' rather bald--and curt, eh?" MR. CAXTON.--"Add what you say you intend it to depict--Varieties in English Life." MY MOTHER.--"'_My Novel; or, Varieties in English Life_'--I don't think it sounds amiss. What say you, Roland? Would it attract you in a catalogue?" My Uncle hesitates, when Mr. Caxton exclaims, imperiously, "The thing is settled! Don't disturb Camarina."