on.

In counterfeiting the Egyptian rogues [says he of the vagabonds who then
infested England], they have devised a language among themselves which
they name Canting, but others Pedlars' French, a speech compact thirty
years since of English, and a great number of odd words of their own
devising, without all order or reason: and yet such is it that none but
themselves are able to understand. The first deviser thereof was hanged
by the neck,--a just reward, no doubt, for his deserts, and a common end
to all of that profession.

The lingo, called indifferently Thieves' Latin or St Giles's Greek, was
assuredly not the invention of one brain. The work of many, it supplied
an imperious need. It was at once an expression of pride and a shield of
defence. Those who understood it proved by its use that they belonged
to a class apart; and, being unintelligible to the respectable majority,
they could communicate with one another--secretly, as they hoped, and
without fear of detection. Throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries the flash tongue grew and was changed; it crossed the Atlantic
with the early settlers, and it has left its marks upon the dialect of
the American underworld. But its influence upon the common Slang has
been light in America, as in England. It is as severely technical as the
language of science, and is familiar chiefly to policemen, tramps, and
informers. As Slang leaves the tavern and the street-corner, to invade
the theatre, the office, and even the drawing-room, those who aim at a
variety of speech need owe no debt to the Cant of the vagabonds, and
it is not surprising that to-day the vulgar tongue, in America as in
England, borrows more from "soldiers on the long march, seamen at the
capstan, and ladies disposing of fish," than from the common cursetors
and cony-catchers who once dominated it.

The use of Slang proves at once the wealth and poverty of a language. It
proves its wealth when it reflects a living, moving image. It proves
its poverty when it is nothing more than the vain echo of a familiar
catchword.

At its best it is an ornament of speech; at its worst it is a
labour-saving device. And it is for this reason that the vulgar American
delights in the baser kind of Slang: it seems to ensure him an easy
effect He must be picturesque at all costs. Sometimes he reaches the
goal of his ambition by a purposed extravagance. What can be more
foolish than the description which follows of