a monkey was David now," says he, "to tell of his own disgrace!" And
in the course of that hour's chat he told me how he used to tease Garrick
by commendations of the tomb-scene in Congreve's 'Mourning Bride,'
protesting, that Shakespeare had in the same line of excellence nothing as
good. "All which is strictly TRUE," said he; "but that is no reason for
supposing Congreve is to stand in competition with Shakespeare: these
fellows know not how to blame, nor how to commend." I forced him one day,
in a similar humour, to prefer Young's description of "Night" to the so
much admired ones of Dryden and Shakespeare, as more forcible and more
general. Every reader is not either a lover or a tyrant, but every reader
is interested when he hears that

"Creation sleeps; 'tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause;
An awful pause--prophetic of its end."

"This," said he, "is true; but remember that, taking the compositions of
Young in general, they are but like bright stepping-stones over a miry
road. Young froths and foams, and bubbles sometimes very vigorously; but
we must not compare the noise made by your tea-kettle here with the roaring
of the ocean."

Somebody was praising Corneille one day in opposition to Shakespeare.
"Corneille is to Shakespeare," replied Mr. Johnson, "as a clipped hedge is
to a forest." When we talked of Steele's Essays, "They are too thin," says
our critic, "for an Englishman's taste: mere superficial observations on
life and manners, without erudition enough to make them keep, like the
light French wines, which turn sour with standing awhile for want of BODY,
as we call it."