be met with in the world." — "Why," replied he, "authors are as jealous of their prerogative as kings; and can no more bear a rival in the empire of wit, than a monarch could in his dominions." Mrs. Pilkington then observing a latin sentence writ in italick, desired the dean to explain it. "No," replied he, smiling, "I'll leave that for your husband to do. I'll send for him to dine with us, and in the mean time we'll go and take a walk in Naboth's vineyard." — "Where may that be, sir?" said she. "Why, a garden," said the dean, "I cheated one of my neighbours out of." When they entered the garden, or rather the field, which was square, and enclosed with a stone wall, the dean asked her how she liked it? "Why, pray, sir," said she, "where is the garden?" "Look behind you," said he. She did so; and observed the south wall was lined with brick, and a great number of fruit trees planted against it, which being then in blossom, looked very beautiful, "What are you so intent on?" said the dean. "The opening bloom," replied she; which brought Waller's lines to her remembrance,
"Hope waits upon the flow'ry prime."
"Oh!" replied he, "you are in a poetical vein; I thought you had been taking notice of my wall. It is the best in Ireland. When the masons were building it, (as most tradesmen are rogues) I watched them very close, and as often as they could, they put in a rotten stone; of which however I took no notice, until they had built three or four perches beyond it. Now, as I am an absolute monarch in the liberties, and king of the rabble, my way with them was, to have the wall thrown down to
