Our Garrick 's A Salad;

I Find You Want Me To Furnish You With Argument And Intellects Too. No, Sir, These, I Protest You, Are Too Hard For Me.

Amid Thy Desert-walks The Lapwing Flies, And Tires Their Echoes With Unvaried Cries.

But Times Are Alter'd; Trade's Unfeeling Train Usurp The Land, And Dispossess The Swain; Along The Lawn, Where Scatter'd Hamlets Rose, Unwieldy Wealth And Cumbrous Pomp Repose.

Wit Generally Succeeds More From Being Happily Addressed Than From Its Native Poignancy. A Jest, Calculated To Spread At A Gaming-table, May Be Received With, Perfect Indifference Should It Happen To Drop In A Mackerel-boat.

Novels Teach The Youthful Mind To Sigh After Happiness That Never Existed.