no importance; but he described him as “a broken Wit,” who had sought notoriety “by raking the Channel” (i.e. Kennel), and “pelting his Superiors.” He accused him, with a scandalised gravity that is as edifying as Chesterfield’s irony, of attacking “Religion, Laws, Government, Priests, Judges, and Ministers.” He called him, either in allusion to his stature, or his pseudonym in the Champion, a “Herculean Satyrist,” a “Drawcansir in Wit”—“who, to make his Poetical Fame immortal, like another Erostratus, set Fire to his Stage, by writing up to an Act of Parliament to demolish it. I shall not,” he continues, “give the particular Strokes of his Ingenuity a Chance to be remembered, by reciting them; it may be enough to say, in general Terms, they were so openly flagrant, that the Wisdom of the Legislature thought it high time, to take a proper Notice of them.”
Fielding was not the man to leave such a challenge unanswered. In the Champion for April 22, 1740, and two subsequent papers, he replied with a slashing criticism of the Apology, in which, after demonstrating that it must be written in English because it was written in no other language, he gravely proceeds to point out examples of the author’s superiority to grammar and learning—and in general, subjects its pretentious and slip-shod style to a minute and highly detrimental examination. In a further paper he returns to the charge by a mock trial of one “Col. Apol.“ (i.e. Colley-Apology), arraigning him for that, “not having the Fear of Grammar before his Eyes,” he had committed an unpardonable assault upon his mother-tongue. Fielding’s knowledge of legal forms and phraseology enabled
