Steele is of less
importance; for, though a man of greater intellectual activity [4] than
Addison, he had far less of genius. So I turn him out, as one would turn
out upon a heath a ram that had missed his way into one's tulip preserve;
requesting him to fight for himself against Schlosser, or others that may
molest him. But, so far as concerns Addison, I am happy to support the
character of Schlosser for consistency, by assuring the reader that, of
all the monstrosities uttered by any man upon Addison, and of all the
monstrosities uttered by Schlosser upon any man, a thing which he says
about Addison is the worst. But this I reserve for a climax at the end.
Schlosser really puts his best leg foremost at starting, and one thinks
he's going to mend; for he catches a truth, viz., the following--that all
the brilliances of the Queen Anne period (which so many inconsiderate
people have called the Augustan age of our literature) 'point to this--
that the reading public wished to be entertained, not roused to think; to
be gently moved, not deeply excited.' Undoubtedly what strikes a man in
Addison, or _will_ strike him when indicated, is the coyness and
timidity, almost the girlish shame, which he betrays in the presence of
all the elementary majesties belonging to impassioned or idealized nature.
Like one bred in crowded cities, when first left alone in forests or
amongst mountains, he is frightened at their silence, their solitude,
their magnitude of form, or their frowning glooms.
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