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 between any two regions. Even so it is a matter largely of pronunciation and inflection. The writer who would suggest the twangs and drawls, and indicate the r's that are rolled or ignored, and the h's insecure in position, has hard work with tortured spelling to accomplish his end. To the art of printing and all the publishing, useful and otherwise, it has made possible; to popular education and the reading it stimulates, we owe a uniform written language. Had the colonists gone forth and builded their nations prior to the days of type and presses and cheap books, the Kansan and Tasmanian might have been to-day as linguistically remote from each other as both are now from the Anglo-Saxons of Bede's days. Instead, though they may "labor" or "labour" according to fancy, and each have his preference about going to "jail" or to "gaol," they are able to pool their literatures and draw from a common fund. To increasingly comfortable and rapid means of transportation, whether of the tourist, the British bagman or American drummer or the job hunter, we are indebted for our homogeneous speech. And in that common speech lies possibly the strongest tie between Pan-Angles and the one that makes all others potent.