the whole
book was written "by one who had seen but little," and therefore could
not be very interesting. His virulent attack on Johnson's Shakspeare
may be preserved for its total want of literary decency; and his "Love
in the Suds, a Town Eclogue," where he has placed Garrick with an
infamous character, may be useful to show how far witty malignity will
advance in the violation of moral decency. He libelled all the genius
of the age, and was proud of doing it.[100] Johnson and Akenside
preserved a stern silence: but poor Goldsmith, the child of Nature,
could not resist attempting to execute martial law, by caning the
critic; for which being blamed, he published a defence of himself in
the papers. I shall transcribe his feelings on Kenrick's excessive and
illiberal criticism.

"The law gives us no protection against this injury. The insults we
receive before the public, by being more open, are the more
distressing; by treating them with silent contempt, we do not pay a
sufficient deference to the opinion of the world. By recurring to
legal redress, we too often expose the weakness of the law, which only
serves to increase our mortification by failing to relieve us. In
short, every man should singly consider himself as a guardian of the
liberty of the press, and, as far as his influence can extend, should
endeavour to prevent its licentiousness becoming at last the grave of
its freedom."[101]

Here then is another calamity arising from the calamity of undue
severity of criticism, which authors bring on themselves by their
excessive anxiety, which throws them into some extremely ridiculous
attitudes; and surprisingly influences even authors of good sense and
temper. SCOTT, of Amwell, the Quaker and Poet, was, doubtless, a
modest and amiable man, for Johnson declared "he loved him." When his
poems were collected, they were reviewed in the "Critical Review" very
offensively to the poet; for the critic, alluding to the numerous
embellishments of the volume, observed that

"There is a profusion of ornaments and finery about this book not
quite suitable to the plainness and simplicity of the Barclean system;
but Mr. Scott is fond of the Muses, and wishes, we suppose, like
Captain Macheath, to see his ladies well dressed."

Such was the cold affected witticism of the critic, whom I intimately
knew--and I believe he meant little harm! His friends imagined even
that this was the solitary attempt at wit he had ever made in h