a name as injurious to the Logographic News-Paper as Tristram was to Mr. Shandy’s Son—but Old Shandy forgot he might have rectified by confirmation the mistake of the parson at baptism, and with the touch of a Bishop have changed Tristram to Trismegestus.
The Universal Register, from the day of its first appearance to the day of its confirmation has like Tristram suffered from innumerable casualities, both laughable and serious, arising from its name, which on its introduction was immediately curtailed of its fair proportion by all who called for it, the word Universal being universally omitted, and the word Register, only, being retained. “Boy, bring me the Register.” The waiter answers, “Sir, we have not a library, but you may see it at the New Exchange Coffee House.” “Then I’ll see it there,” answers the disappointed politician, and he goes to the New Exchange and calls for the Register; upon which the waiter tells him he cannot have it if he is not a subscriber—or presents him with the Court and City Register, the Old Annual Register, or the New Annual Register; or if the Coffee House be within the Purlieus of Covent Garden, or the Hundreds of Drury—slips into the politician’s hand “Harris’s Register of Ladies.”
For these and other reasons, the parents of the Universal Register have added to its original name that of the
TIMES,
Which, being a monosyllable, bids defiance to corrupters and mutilaters of the language.
The Times! What