parlor trick. And sometimes it _is_ just that. The command of a wide
vocabulary is in truth an accomplishment, and like any other
accomplishment it may be used for show. But not necessarily. Just as a man
may have money without "flashing" it, or an extensive wardrobe without
sporting gaudy neckties or wearing a dress suit in the morning, so may he
possess linguistic resources without making a caddish exhibition of them.
Indeed the more distant he stands from verbal bankruptcy, the less likely
he is to indulge in needless display.

Again, glibness of speech sometimes awakens our distrust. We like actions
rather than words; we prefer that character, personality, and kindly
feelings should be their own mouthpiece. So be it. But there are thoughts
and emotions properly to be shared with other people, yet incapable of
being revealed except through language. It is only when language is
insincere--when it expresses lofty sentiments or generous sympathies, yet
springs from designing selfishness--that it justly arouses misgivings.
Power over words, like power of any other sort, is for use, not abuse.
That it sometimes is abused must not mislead us into thinking that it
should in itself be scorned or neglected.

Our contempt and distrust do not mean that our fundamental ideas about
language are unsound. Beneath our wholesome dislike for shallow facility
and insincerity of speech, we have a conviction that the mastery of words
is a good thing, not a bad. We are therefore unwilling to take the vow of
linguistic poverty. If we lack the ability to bend words to our use, it is
from laziness, not from scruple. We desire to speak competently, but
without affectation. We know that if our diction rises to this dual
standard, it silently distinguishes us from the sluggard, the weakling,
and the upstart. For such diction is not to be had on sudden notice, like
a tailor-made suit. Nor can it, like such a suit, deceive anybody as to