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A certain American altiloquent was once talking of liberty, when he said, “White-robed liberty sits upon her rosy clouds above us; the Genius of our country, standing on her throne of mountains, bids her eagle standard-bearer wind his spiral course full in the sun’s proud eye; while the Genius of Christianity, surrounded by ten thousand cherubim and seraphim, moves the panorama of the milky clouds above us, and floats in immortal fragrance—the very aroma of Eden through all the atmosphere.”

An altiloquent was one day about taking a journey into the country.

One altiloquent rendered “Give us this day our daily bread” as follows: “Confer upon us during this mundane sphere’s axillary revolution our diurnal subsistence.”

You remind me of an occasion some time past when reading a book of an altiloquent style.

The altiloquent talker may be called a word-fancier, searching for all the fine words discoverable, and then putting them together in a sort of mosaic-pavement style or artificial-flower order, making something to be considered pretty, or fascinating, or profound.