Can any thing be more clear! more natural! more agreeable to the true spirit of simplicity! Here are no tropes,--no figurative expressions,--not even so much as an invocation to the Muse. He does not detain his readers by any needless circumlocution; by unnecessarily informing them, what he _is_ going to sing; or still more unnecessarily enumerating what he _is not_ going to sing: but according to the precept of Horace, ----in medias res, Non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit,---- That is, he at once introduces us, and sets us on the most easy and familiar footing imaginable, with her Majesty of Hearts, and interests us deeply in her domestic concerns. But to proceed, "The Queen of Hearts "She made some Tarts, "All on a Summer's Day." Here indeed the prospect brightens, and we are led to expect some liveliness of imagery, some warmth of poetical colouring;--but here is no such thing.--There is no task more difficult to a Poet, than that of _Rejection_. _Ovid_, among the ancients, and _Dryden_, among the moderns, were perhaps the most remarkable for the want of it. The latter from the haste in which he generally produced his compositions, seldom paid much attention to the "_limae labor_," "the labour of correction," and seldom therefore rejected the assistance of any idea that presented itself. _Ovid_, not content with catching the leading features of any scene or character, indulged himself in a thousand minutiae of description, a thousand puerile prettinesses, which were in themselves uninteresting, and took off greatly from the effect of the whole; as the numberless suckers, and straggling branches of a fruit tree, if permitted to shoot out unrestrained, while they are themselves barren and useless, diminish considerably the vigour of the parent stock. _Ovid_ had more genius, but less judgement than _Virgil_; _Dryden_ more imagination, but less correctness than _Pope_; had they not been deficient in these points, the former would certainly have equalled, the latter infinitely outshone the merits of his countryman.--_Our Author_ was undoubtedly possessed of that power which they wanted; and was cautious not to indulge too far the sallies of a lively imagination. Omitting therefore any mention of--sultry Sirius,--silvan shade,--sequestered glade,--verdant hills,--purling rills,--mossy mountains,--gurgling fountains,--&c. &c.--he simply tells us that it was "_All on a Summers Day_." For my own part, I confess, that I find myself rather flattered than disappointed; and consider the Poet as rather paying a compliment to the abilities of his readers, than baulking their expectations. It is certainly a great pleasure to see a picture well painted; but it is a much greater to paint it well oneself. This therefore I look upon as a stroke of excellent management in the Poet. Here every reader is at liberty to gratify his own taste; to design for himself just what sort of "_Summer's Day_" he likes best; to choose his