These were my thoughts when I noticed how clumsily and unintuitively two masters in the art of prose writing have been confounded: one, whose words drop down hesitatingly and coldly, as from the roof of a damp cave he counts on their dull sound and echo; and another who manipulates his language like a flexible sword, and from his arm down into his toes feels the dangerous bliss of the quivering, over sharp blade, which wishes to bite, hiss, and cut.