gilance of antiquarian research. Before entering upon its
poetical merits, we must observe a striking peculiarity in the diction:
there is not a single word in it, but that is of Anglo-Saxon origin, so
that it may be considered as an admirable specimen of pure English, and
as calculated to inspire the infant mind with a distaste for the
numerous exotic terms, which, in the present age, disfigure our
language. It has been well remarked in the review of that ancient poem,
Jack and Jill, that the reader's interest in the hero and heroine is not
divided with subordinate characters. But the poem of Jack Horner
possesses this excellence in a more eminent degree; in the former the
interest, is divided between two, in the latter it is concentrated in
one; and, notwithstanding the ingenuity of the reviewer, it must be
confessed that so little is indicated by the poet, as to the character
of Jack and Jill, that we feel no more interest in their fate, tragical
as it is, than if they were designated by the letters X and Y of
algebraical notoriety; or by the names of those personages, who figure
in legal fictions, John Doe and Richard Roe.

Not so with Jack Horner: the very incident recorded in the first line
lets us into his character; he is evidently a lover of solitude and of
solitary contemplation. He is not, however, a gloomy ascetic; he takes
into his corner a Christmas pie, and, while he leisurely gratifies his
palate, his mind feasts on the higher luxury of an approving conscience.
It has been said that the man who loves solitude must be either an angel
or a demon. Horner had more of the former in his composition; he retired
from the busy haunts of his playmates not to meditate mischief, but to
feast upon the pie, which had probably been given him as a reward for
his good conduct, and indulge in the delightful thoughts to which the
consciousness of deserving it gave rise. But here it may be objected,
why instead of eating his pie in a corner, did he not share it with his
companions? The remark is pertinent, but the circumstance only evinces
the admirable management of the poet; to represent his hero without a
defect would be to outrage nature, and to render imitation hopeless.
Horner, it must be admitted, with all his excellence, was too fond of
good eating; it is in vain to deny it; his deliberately pulling out a
plum with his finger and thumb, shows the epicure, not excited by the
voracity of hunger, but evidently aiming to