From an “Essay on Words.”

WORDS are most effective when arranged in that order which is called style. The great secret of a good style, we are told, is to have proper words in proper places. To marshal one’s verbal battalions in such order that they may bear at once upon all quarters of a subject, is certainly a great art. This is done in different ways. Swift, Temple, Addison, Hume, Gibbon, Johnson, Burke, are all great generals in the discipline of their verbal armies, and the conduct of their paper wars. Each has a system of tactics of his own, and excels in the use of some particular weapon. The tread of Johnson’s style is heavy and sonorous, resembling that of an elephant or a mailclad warrior. He is fond of leveling an obstacle by a polysyllabic battering-ram. Burke’s words are continually practicing the broadsword exercise, and sweeping down adversaries with every stroke. Arbuthnot “plays his weapon like a tongue of flame.” Addison draws up his light infantry in orderly array, and marches through sentence after sentence, without having his ranks disordered or his line broken. Luther is different. His words are “half battle”; “his smiting idiomatic phrases seem to cleave into the very secret of the matter.” Gibbon’s legions are heavily armed, and march with precision and dignity to the music of their own tramp. They are splendidly equipped, but a nice eye can discern a little rust beneath their fine apparel, and there are suttlers in his camp who lie, cog, and talk gross obscenity. Macaulay, brisk, lively, keen, and energetic, runs his thoughts rapidly through his sentence, and kicks out of the way every word which obstructs his passage. He reins in his steed only when he has reached his goal, and then does it with such celerity that he is nearly thrown backwards by the suddenness of his stoppage. Gifford’s words are mosstroopers, that waylay innocent travelers and murder them for hire. Jeffrey is a fine “lance,” with a sort of Arab swiftness in his movement, and runs an ironclad horseman through the eye before he has had time to close his helmet. John Wilson’s camp is a disorganized mass, who might do effectual service under better discipline, but who under his lead are suffered to carry on a rambling and predatory warfare, and disgrace their general by flagitious excesses. Sometimes they steal, sometimes swear, sometimes drink, and sometimes pray. Swift’s words are porcupine’s quills, which he throws with unerring aim at whoever approaches his lair. All of Ebenezer Elliot’s words are gifted with huge fists, to pummel and bruise. Chatham and Mirabeau throw hot shot into their opponents’ magazines. Talfourd’s forces are orderly and disciplined, and march to the music of the Dorian flute; those of Keats keep time to the tones of the pipe of Phœbus; and the hard, harsh-featured battalions of Maginn are always preceded by a brass band. Hallam’s word infantry can do much execution, when they are not in each other’s way. Pope’s phrases are either daggers or rapiers. Willis’s words are often tipsy with the champaign of the fancy, but even when they reel and stagger they keep the line of grace and beauty, and though scattered at first by a fierce onset from graver cohorts, soon reunite without wound or loss. John Neal’s forces are multitudinous and fire briskly at everything. They occupy all the provinces of letters, and are nearly useless from being spread over too much ground. Everett’s weapons are ever kept in good order, and shine well in the sun, but they are little calculated for warfare, and rarely kill when they strike. Webster’s words are thunderbolts, which sometimes miss the Titans at whom they are hurled, but always leave enduring marks when they strike. Hazlitt’s verbal army is sometimes drunk and surly, sometimes foaming with passion, sometimes cool and malignant, but drunk or sober are ever dangerous to cope with. Some of Tom Moore’s words are shining dirt, which he flings with excellent aim. This list might be indefinitely extended, and arranged with more regard to merit and chronology. My own words, in this connection, might be compared to ragged, undisciplined militia, which could be easily rooted by a charge of horse, and which are apt to fire into each other’s faces.