tionaries and to pass themselves off as English.
At least, this was the case until comparatively recently, when the
process of adoption and assimilation became a little slower and more
than a little less satisfactory. Of late French words, even those long
domiciled in our lexicons, have been treated almost as if they were
still aliens, as if they were here on sufferance, so to speak, as if
they had not become members of the commonwealth. They were allowed to
work, no doubt, and sometimes even to be overworked; but they laboured
as foreigners, perhaps even more eagerly employed by the snobbish
because they were foreigners and yet held in disrepute by the more
fastidious because they were not truly English. That is to say, French
words are still as hospitably greeted as ever before, but they are now
often ranked as guests only and not as members of the household.

Perhaps this may seem to some a too fanciful presentation of the case.
Perhaps it would be simpler to say that until comparatively recently a
foreign word taken over into English was made over into an English word,
whereas in the past two or three centuries there has been an evident
tendency to keep it French and to use it freely while retaining its
French pronunciation, its French accents, its French spelling, and its
French plural. This tendency is contrary to the former habits of our
language. It is dangerous to the purity of English. It forces itself
on our attention and it demands serious consideration.

II

In his brief critical biography of Rutebeuf, M. Cledat pointed out that
for long years the only important literature in Europe was the French,
and that the French language had on three several occasions almost
established itself as the language of European civilization--once in the
thirteenth century, again in the seventeenth, and finally when Napoleon
had made himself temporarily master of the Continent. The earlier
universities of Europe were modelled on that of Paris, where Dante had
gone to study. Frederick the Great despised his native tongue, spoke it
imperfectly, and wrote his unnecessary verses in French. Even now French
is only at last losing its status as the accredited tongue of diplomacy.

The French made their language in their own image; and it is therefore
logical, orderly, and clear. Sainte-Beuve declared that a 'philosophical
thought has probably not attained all its sharpness and all its
illumination until it is expressed in F