And thus ends the first part, or beginning, which is simple and unembellished, opens the subject in a natural and easy manner, excites, but does not too far gratify our curiosity, for a reader of accurate observation may easily discover that the hero of the poem has not, as yet, made his appearance. I could not continue my examination at present through the whole of this poem without far exceeding the limits of a single paper. I have therefore divided it into two, but shall not delay the publication of the second to another week, as that, besides breaking the connection of criticism, would materially injure the unities of the poem. Having thus gone through the first part, or beginning of the poem, we may, naturally enough, proceed to the consideration of the second. The second part, or middle, is the proper place for bustle and business, for incident and adventure:-- "The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts". Here attention is awakened, and our whole souls are intent upon the first appearance of the hero. Some readers may perhaps be offended at his making his _entree_ in so disadvantageous a character as that of a thief. To this I plead precedent. The hero of the Iliad, as I observed in a former paper, is made to lament very pathetically that "life is not like all other possessions, to be acquired by theft". A reflection, in my opinion, evidently showing that, if he _did_ refrain from the practice of this ingenious art, it was not from want of an inclination that way. We may remember, too, that in Virgil's poem almost the first light in which the pious AEneas appears to us is a deer-stealer; nor is it much excuse for him that the deer were wandering without keepers, for however he might, from this circumstance, have been unable to ascertain whose property they were, he might, I think, have been pretty well assured that they were not his. Having thus acquitted our hero of misconduct, by the example of his betters, I proceed to what I think the master-stroke of the poet. "The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts, And--took them--quite away!!" Here, whoever has an ear for harmony and a heart for feeling must be touched! There is a desponding melancholy in the run of the last line! an air of tender regret in the addition of "quite away!" a something so expressive of irrecoverable loss! so forcibly intimating the _Ad nunquam reditura!_ "They never can return!" in short, such an union of sound and sense as we rarely, if ever, meet with in any author, ancient or modern. Our feelings are all alive, but the poet, wisely dreading that our sympathy with the injured Queen might alienate our affections from his hero, contrives immediately to awaken our fears for him by telling us that-- "The King of Hearts Called for those tarts". We are all conscious of the fault of our hero, and all tremble with him, for the punishment which the enraged monarch may inflict: "And beat the Knave full sore!"