whatever nourishment it requires. It must keep in touch with life in the
broadest acceptation of the word; and life at certain levels, obeying a
psychological law which must simply be accepted as one of the conditions
of the problem, will always express itself in dialect, provincialism,
slang.

America doubles and trebles the number of points at which the English
language comes in touch with nature and life, and is therefore a great
source of strength and vitality. The literary language, to be sure,
rejects a great deal more than it absorbs; and even in the vernacular,
words and expressions are always dying out and being replaced by others
which are somehow better adapted to the changing conditions. But though
an expression has not, in the long run, proved itself fitted to survive,
it does not follow that it has not done good service in its time.
Certain it is that the common speech of the Anglo-Saxon race throughout
the world is exceedingly supple, well nourished, and rich in forcible
and graphic idioms; and a great part of this wealth it owes to America.
Let the purists who sneer at "Americanisms" think for one moment how
much poorer the English language would be to-day if North America had
become a French or Spanish instead of an English continent.

I am far from advocating a breaking down of the barrier between literary
and vernacular speech. It should be a porous, a permeable bulwark,
allowing of free filtration; but it should be none the less distinct and
clearly recognised. Nor do I recommend an indiscriminate hospitality to
all the linguistic inspirations of the American fancy. All I say is that
neologisms should be judged on their merits, and not rejected with
contumely for no better reason than that they are new and (presumably)
American. Take, for instance, the word "scientist." It was originally
suggested by Whewell in 1840; but it first came into common use in