the task has grown more stupendous, special machineries in the way of day and night schools and settlement clubs and classes have been devised in the larger centres, and are maintained at the expense of the public. The immigrant, safely arrived, finds himself still outside the unyielding wall of the English language. He cannot ask for food or work. Even those from his former country talk English together, and jeer at his ignorance. By hard experience and whatever help is offered, he qualifies himself in this first requisite. With his English he acquires much else. He learns words which express ideas peculiar to Pan-Angle psychology. From the words he progresses to the ideas themselves. Thus he learns somewhat of the theory of law and government, and of the aspirations and ideals, and of the expected privileges that have evolved with this language. The pride of the Pan-Angle comes over him, and a faith in those precepts of individual freedom of which he {26} had never dreamed, it may be, until he learned to read and talk of them in English. "An Englishman's house is his castle." Here is a promise of privacy perhaps unknown in the land he has quitted. "Government derives its just powers from the consent of the governed." This is a long step from the doctrine of the Divine Right of kings. Thus with the language goes an atmosphere of many things that are not to be translated, historical heritages which the immigrant must substitute for those of his birth. As he practises the new tongue amid increased material and spiritual comforts, his perception quickens and he is already fairly started to become one of us. "I am an American," he cries; or "I am a Canadian": more noisily, perhaps, because his liberties are newer, but speaking none the less from the same fountains of pride that inspire—"I am an Englishman."

On the second generation the same force operates; the stubbornness of the English-speaking people for their language acts firmly as the Inquisition and gently as a blessing. They attend free schools, read only books written in English from the point of view of English-speaking people and on subjects interesting to such people. Non-Pan-Angle theories of government are non-existent; alien moral standards unheard of. The wall that once hedged the father out, hedges the children in. More often than not they cannot speak the tongue their parents were born to. With Ivanhoe and King Lear they are familiar; they quote Burns and Wordsworth and Longfellow; after local history they study that of England. The history and poets of their fathers' native lands are foreign {27} and unknown. If oratory be demanded, it is Burke or Lincoln who furnish the words and sentiments to young Hans and Pietro.[27-1]

This is a consideration of English-speaking whites, and as such is not concerned with the non-whites of various races and various and inconsistent degrees of subjection or citizenship, who dwell in Pan-Angle countries. The aborigines of the United States and Canada, of New Zealand and Australia, are now problems of the past, solved according to nature's rule of the survival of the fittest. They could not live and increase in the environment the white man was strong enough to throw about them. The negro, numbering almost four times the whites in South Africa[27-2] and one-eighth of the whites in America,[27-3] is a problem yet unsolved, for nature has not yet made it clear which, all things considered, is the most fit. He not only thrives in contact with whites, but with his low standard of living multiplies more rapidly. The Asiatic races are the problem of the future. In every quarter we see a determination that it shall not grow beyond its present incipient stage. All Pan-Angle nations may not be able to obtain, as Australia wishes to, an exclusively white population. {28} But each nation, whenever non-whites appear to endanger the success of white local self-government, are able to exclude from the privilege of the franchise any non-assimilable inhabitants. In each of these seven nations white local autonomy is recognized as necessary. The existence of these problems in no way modifies the definition of Pan-Angles as English-speaking whites who are the self-governing forces in the seven above-named nations.

The language Pan-Angles speak grew out of the Germanic tongues of the Saxons, Angles, Danes, and Jutes. Our most common and familiar words have been in uninterrupted use since the days of those invaders.[28-1] To this Teutonic basis was added the French of the Northmen called Normans. A proclamation of 1258 is sometimes called the first specimen of English,[28-2] but its resemblance to modern speech is not for the uninstructed to discern. Through the thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen hundreds English took on a form more intelligible to us of to-day. In the latter part of the fifteen hundreds a great poet and playwright employed it so effectively that his diction and style became a standard.[28-3] From the same epoch dates the translation of the Bible and its popular use. "The English version of the Bible remains the noblest example of the English tongue, while its perpetual use made it from the {29} instant of its appearance the standard of our language."[29-1]

Thus it came about that in the Mayflower and other early emigrant ships was carried to the new countries an English of authenticated stamp. The standards then recognized are still recognized. This was, however, the English of books and education. Each shire of England in its own speech bore witness to its past. Kent and Yorkshire often could not understand each other, and words used in one were unknown to the other. The emigrating Englander carried with him accordingly, besides the English as established for educated men, the common dialect of his neighbourhood. In the colonies these differences tended to vanish under the influence of the press, free schools, and easy methods of travel; though occasionally in a word, or here and there a pronunciation, the delighted etymologist sees the ghost of some local English usage, as in the old Devon still spoken in Newfoundland.[29-2] In England these local variations of speech have persisted longer, and still puzzle the unaccustomed ear. In America there still exist words and expressions which when they left England were in good usage, but which have there since been dropped. Though the dictionaries of to-day call it an Americanism, Shakespeare wrote: "Better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways."[29-3]

{30}

The variety and interest of the English language does not lie alone in these historical survivals. It has been, and still is, constantly enriched from outside itself. In the colonies and dependencies, and in foreign lands as well, the English language has come in contact with practically all the tongues of the earth. From these it has helped itself according to need or fancy. The result gives locally a strong dash of colour which inevitably tends to tinge the whole. Ranch, trek, amok, portage, taboo, tomahawk, coolie,—have long since ceased to serve limited communities, and stand acknowledged in our dictionaries besides words of Saxon and Norman pedigrees. Spruit, kai, bilabong,—if not lost altogether will come to the same dignity. Whether the new word is taken from another language or coined from English roots as local slang, the story of a growth in usage is the same. The "tramp" and "sun-downer" may consort together in any library with a "creeper," a "tenderfoot," and a "new chum." In language usages we have no authority but our own desires.

Such is our language, a living thing growing in parts, dying in parts, and ever ready to adapt itself to local needs. It is, moreover, uniform, as nearly as any living tongue can be uniform. The peculiarities of speech observed in different localities are enough to furnish picturesque touches for a novel and humour to the stage, but never [30-1] {31} enough to make even the slightest barrier