ENGLISH SURNAMES.

I accept the early demand for a new edition of my book, not so much as proof of the value of my individual work, as of the increased interest which is being taken in this too much neglected subject. In deference to the wholesome advice of many reviewers, both in the London and Provincial press, especially that of the ‘Times’ and the ‘Athenæum,’ I have re-arranged the whole of the chapters on ‘Patronymics’ and ‘Nicknames,’ subdividing the same under convenient heads. By so doing the names which bear any particular relationship to one another will be found more closely allied than they were under their former more general treatment.

My book has met with much criticism, partly favourable, partly adverse, from different quarters. To my reviewers in general I offer my best thanks for their comments. The ‘Saturday Review’—and I say it the more readily as they will see that I have not been insensible to the value of their criticism—has not, I think, viiisufficiently understood the nature of my work. I am well aware that praise is due to them for having for some length of time strenuously advocated the claim of our language to be English through all its varying stages. I do not see that in the general character of my book I have lost sight of this fact. An ‘English Directory’ is not an ‘English Dictionary.’ The influences that have been at work on our language are not the same as those upon our nomenclature. Every social casualty had an effect upon our names which it could not have upon our words. The names found in Domesday Book, casting aside the new importation, were, in the great majority of cases, obsolete by the end of the twelfth century, and of those which have survived and descended to us as surnames, well-nigh all are devoid of diminutive or patronymic desinences—a clear proof that they were utterly out of fashion as personal names during the era of surname formation. The Norman invasion was not a conquest of our language, but it was of our nomenclature. The ‘Saturday Review’ may still demand that we shall view all as English, and obliterate the distinctive terms of Saxon and Norman, but in doing so let us not forget facts. The language which preceded the Norman Conquest is still the vehicle of ordinary converse. The nomenclature of that period went down like Pharaoh’s chariot, and like Pharaoh’s chariot, which for all I know lies where it did, was never recovered.

A review in the ‘Guardian’ demands a brief notice ixon account of the mischief it may do. The end kept in view by the reviewer is as transparent as his inability to reach it. Surely the day is past for any further attempt to make out that we have no metronymic surnames. The writer is evidently unaware of the fact that the use of ‘ie’ and ‘y,’ as in ‘Teddy’ or ‘Johnnie,’ in the nineteenth century, does not prevail to as great an extent as that of ‘ot’ and ‘et’ from the twelfth to the fifteenth. As ‘Philip’ became ‘Philipot,’ now ‘Philpott’; as ‘William,’ ‘Williamot,’ now ‘Wilmott’; as ‘Hew’ (or Hugh), ‘Hewet’ and ‘Hewetson’; as ‘Ellis’ (or Elias), ‘Elliot’ and ‘Elliotson’; so ‘Till’ (Matilda) became ‘Tillot’ and ‘Tillotson’; ‘Emme’ (Emma), ‘Emmott,’ ‘Emmett,’ and ‘Emmotson’; ‘Ibbe’ (Isabella), ‘Ibbott,’ ‘Ibbett,’ and ‘Ibbotson’; ‘Mary,’ ‘Mariot’ and ‘Marriott’; and ‘Siss’ (Cecilia), ‘Sissot’ and ‘Sissotson.’ ‘Emmot,’ the writer says, is a form of ‘Amyas,’ I suppose because he saw ‘Amyot’ in Miss Yonge’s glossary. According to him, therefore, Emmot is a masculine name. How comes it to pass, then, that Emmot is always Latinised as Emmota, or that in our old marriage licences ‘Richard de Akerode’ gets a dispensation to marry ‘Emmotte de Greenwood’ (Test. Ebor. iii. 317), or ‘Roger Prestwick’ to marry ‘Emmote Crossley’ (ditto, 338)? How is it we meet with such entries as ‘Cissota West,’ (Index) or ‘Syssot that was wife of Patrick’ (69)? How is it again that Mariot is registered as ‘Mariota xin le Lane,’ or ‘John fil. Mariotæ,’ and Ibbot or Ibbet as ‘Ibbota fil. Adæ,’ or ‘Robert fil. Ibotæ,’ (Index)? The fact is, we have a large class of metronymics many of which doubtless arose from posthumous birth, or from adoption, or the more important character of the mother in the eyes of the neighbours than the father, others too from illegitimacy.

Amongst other errors for which I have been called to account, the oddest is that of attributing to Miss Muloch the authorship of Miss Yonge’s most useful and laborious work on Christian names. I do not know to which lady I owe the deepest apology—whether to Miss Yonge for robbing her literary crown of one of its brightest jewels, or to Miss Muloch for appearing to insinuate that hers was incomplete. This and several other mistakes of less moment I have rectified in the present edition.

I have to thank the authoress of ‘Mistress Margery,’ etc., for the names in the index marked QQ., RR. 1, RR. 2, and RR. 3. Such entries from the registry of St. James’s, Piccadilly (QQ.), as ‘Repentance Tompson’ (1688), ‘Loving Bell’ (1693), ‘Nazareth Rudde’ (1695), ‘Obedience Clerk’ (1697), or ‘Unity Thornton’ (1703), may be set beside the instances recorded on pp. 102–104. To these I would take this opportunity of adding ‘Comfort Starre,’ ‘Hopestill Foster,’ ‘Love Brewster,’ ‘Fear Brewster,’ ‘Patience Brewster,’ ‘Remembrance Tibbott,’ ‘Remember xiAllerton,’ ‘Desire Minter,’ ‘Original Lewis,’ and ‘Thankes Sheppard,’ all being names of emigrants from England in the 17th century. (Vide Hotten’s ‘Original Lists of Persons of Quality.’)

February 1875.

As prefaces are very little read, I will make this as brief as possible. It is strange how little has been written upon the sources and significations of our English surnames. Of books of Peerage, of Baronetage, and of Landed Gentry, thanks to Sir Bernard Burke, Mr. Walford, and others, we are not without a sufficiency; but of books purporting to treat of the ordinary surnames that greet our eye as we scan our shop-fronts, or look down a list of contributions, or glance over the ‘hatches, matches, and despatches’ of our newspapers—of these there are but few. Indeed, putting aside Mr. Lower’s able and laborious researches, we may say none. Tracts, pamphlets, short treatises, articles in magazines, have at various times appeared, but they have been necessarily confined and limited in their treatment of the subject.^[1] xivAnd yet what can be more natural than that we should desire to know something relating to the origin of our surname, when it arose, who first got it, and how? Of the feebleness of my own attempt to solve all this I am conscious that I need not to be reminded. Still, I think the ordinary reader will find in a perusal of this book some slight increase of information, and if not this, that he has whiled away, not unpleasantly, some of his less busy hours.

During the last seven years I have devoted the whole of my spare time to the preparation of a ‘Dictionary of English Surnames.’ But about two years ago it struck me that perhaps a smaller work dealing with the subject in a less formal and more familiar style might not be unacceptable to many, as a kind of rudimentary treatise. In the course of my labours I have come under obligations to several writers and several Societies. To long-departed men, whose works do follow after them, I must give a passing allusion. Camden was the first to draw attention to this subject, and though he wrote little, and that little not of the most correct kind, still he has afforded the groundwork for all future students. Verstegan, who came next with his ‘Restitution of Decayed Intelligence,’ wrote quaintly, amusingly xvand incorrectly; and, with respect to surnames, his definitions rather teach what they do not than what they do mean. Passing over several archæological papers, and with a wide gap in regard to time, we come to Mr. Lower’s studies. He was the first to give a real compendium of English nomenclature. Of his earlier efforts I will say nothing, for the ‘Patronymica Britannica’ is that upon which his fame must rest. The fault of that work is that the author has confined his researches all but entirely to the Hundred Rolls. These Rolls are undoubtedly the best for such reference; but there are many others, as my index will show, which not merely contain a large mass of examples not to be met with there, but which, by varieties of spelling in the case of such names as they share in common with the other, afford comparisons the use of which would have made him certain where he has only guessed, and would have enabled him also to avoid many false conclusions. This I would say with all respect, as one who has benefited very considerably by Mr. Lower’s labours. Others I must thank more briefly, though none the less heartily. To Mr. Halliwell I am under deep obligation, for to his ‘Dictionary of Archaisms’ I have gone freely by way of quotation. To Mr. Way’s notes to his valuable edition of the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ I am also indebted for much interesting information regarding mediæval life and its surroundings. Miss Yonge’s ‘History of xviChristian Names’ contains a large store of help to students of this kind of lore, and of this I have availed myself in several instances. In conclusion, I have to acknowledge much valuable aid received from the publications of the Surtees Society, the Early English Text Society, the Camden Society, and the Chetham Society. It is in the rooms belonging to the latter that I have had the opportunity of consulting most of the records and archives, a list of which prefaces my index, as well as other books of a more incidentally helpful character, and I cannot allow this opportunity to pass without tendering my hearty thanks to Thomas Jones, Esq., B.A., F.S.A., for his courtesy in permitting me access to all parts of the library, and to Mr. Richard Hanby, the under-librarian, for his constant attention and readiness to supply me with whatever books I required.

Manchester:

December 1873.

There are several matters which I deem it advisable to mention to the reader before he turns his attention to the Index of Instances (pp. 514–612).

I. I have not, in the various chapters that form the body of this book, in all cases drawn particular attention when any name happens to belong to several distinct classes. In the Index, however, I have tried to remedy this by furnishing instances under the several heads to which they have been assigned in the text.

II. While ordinarily adhering to my plan of giving but two examples, I have set down three in some instances that seemed more interesting, and in exceptional cases even four. To the majority of the appended surnames more illustrations of course could have been added had it been expedient or necessary. There are several names, however, which, though xviiievidently of familiar occurrence in early days, as they are now, are yet, so far as my own researches go, without any record. For instance, I cannot find any Arkwright or Runchiman previous to the sixteenth century. The origin is perfectly clear, but the registry is wanting. Of several others, again, I can light upon but one entry. Still, in a matter like this one must be thankful for small mercies, and it was with no small amount of rejoicing that in such a simple record as that of ‘John Sykelsmith’ I found the progenitor, or one of the progenitors, of our many ‘Sucksmiths,’ ‘Sixsmiths,’ ‘Shuxsmiths,’ etc.

III. There has been a difficulty with regard to Christian names also, which I have not attempted to overcome because it was impossible to do so. With the Normans every baptismal name, masculine or feminine as it might originally be, was the common property of the sexes. Thus by simply appending the feminine desinence, ‘Druett’ became ‘Druetta’ (v. Drewett), ‘Williamet’ became ‘Williametta’ (v. Williamot), ‘Aylbred’ became ‘Aylbreda’ (v. Allbright), ‘Raulin’ became ‘Raulina’ (v. Rawlings), and ‘Goscelin’ became ‘Goscelina’ (v. Gosling). Any of these surnames, Drewett, Willmott, Allbright, Rawlings, or Gosling, therefore, may be of feminine origin—nay, if the reader has studied my chapter on ‘Patronymic Surnames’ with any care, he will see that this is fully as probable as the opposite view. Leaving thus undecided what cannot be solved, I have placed both xixmasculine and feminine forms under the one surname to which one or other has given rise.

IV. There has been another difficulty also in respect of Christian names. These, as has been shown in the chapter thereupon, were turned into pet forms, and these shortened forms commonly came to be the foundation of the surname. In all the more formal registers, however, these surnames were never so set down. ‘Hugh Thomasson,’ ‘William Thompson,’ and ‘Henry Tomson’ might come to have their names enrolled, and up to the beginning of the sixteenth century at least they would be set down alike as ‘Hugh fil. Thomas,’ ‘William fil. Thomas,’ and ‘Henry fil. Thomas.’ Thus, again, ‘Ralph Higginson’ or ‘John Higgins’ would be ‘Radulphus’ or ‘Johannes fil. Isaac.’ This has prevented me from giving so many instances of these curter forms of the patronymic class as I should have liked. When they are given, the reader will observe that they come from less punctilious and more irregular sources, such as for instance the Surtees’ Society’s collection of Mediæval Yorkshire Wills and Inventories. Where I have given such an instance as ‘Elekyn’ (v. Elkins) by itself, it must be understood that this is the Christian name, and that the owner when his or her name was registered did not boast a surname at all.

V. By way of interesting the reader I have occasionally given the Latin form of entry. Thus ‘Adam xxthe Goldsmith’ is set down as ‘Adam Aurifaber’ (v. Aurifaber), ‘Henry the Butcher’ as ‘Henry Carnifex’ (v. Carnifex), and ‘Hugh the Tailor’ as ‘Hugh Cissor’ (v. Cissor). Latin, indeed, seems to have been the vehicle of ordinary indenture. Thus under ‘Littlejohn’ the reader will find extracted from the Hundred Rolls ‘Ricardus fil. Parvi-Johannis,’ and under ‘Linota,’ ‘Linota Vidua,’ i.e. ‘Linota the Widow.’ In the recording of local names, Norman-French and Saxon seem to have fought for the first place, and even in our most formal registers they had the precedence over Latin. Thus if the latter can boast the entry of ‘Isolda Beauchamp’ as ‘Isolda de Bello Campo’ (v. Beauchamp), still, if we come to such generic names as Briggs or Brook, we find the entry is all but invariably either ‘Henry Atte-brigg’ or ‘Roger del Brigge’ (v. Briggs), or ‘Alice de la Broke or ‘Ada ate Brok’ (v. Brook). As respects nicknames or names of occupation, the Norman-French tongue had them to itself. ‘Roger le Buck,’ ‘Philip le Criour,’ ‘Thomas le Cuchold,’ ‘Osbert le Curteys,’ or ‘Thomas le Cupper’—such is their continuous form of entry. Such a Saxon enrolment as ‘Robert the Brochere’ (v. Broker) is of the rarest occurrence—so rare, indeed, as to make one feel it was an undoubted freak on the part of the registrar, whoever he might be.

VI. In some few cases I have set down surnames which are not treated of in the text. I have done this either because the name seemed worthy of this xxicasual notice, or because, though not itself mentioned, it happened to corroborate some statement I have made regarding a particular name belonging to the same class.

In conclusion, I will not say there is no mistake in the Index—that would be a bold thing to state; I will not say that I may not have given an instance that does not rightly belong to the surname under which it is set; but I can asseverate that I have honestly attempted to be correct, and I believe a careful examination will find but the most occasional error, if any at all, of this class.

To review the sources of a people’s nomenclature is to review that people’s history. When we remember that there is nothing without a name, and that every name that is named, whether it be of a man, or man’s work, or man’s heritage of earth, came not by chance, or accident so called, but was given out of some nation’s spoken language to denote some characteristic that language expressed, we can readily imagine how important is the drift of each—what a record must each contain. We cannot but see that could we only grasp their true meaning, could we but take away the doubtful crust in which they are oftentimes imbedded, then should we be speaking out of the very mouth of history itself. For names are enduring—generations come and go; and passing on with each, they become all but everlasting. Nomenclature, in fact, is a well in which, as the fresh water is flowing perennially through, there is left a sediment that clings to the bottom. This silty deposit may accumulate—nay, it may threaten to choke it up, still the well is there. It but requires to be exhumed, and we shall behold it in all its simple proportions once more. 2And thus it is with names. They betoken life and matter that is ever coming and going, ever undergoing change and decay. But through it all they abide. The accretions of passing years may fasten upon them—the varied accidents of lapsing time may attach to them—they may become all but undistinguishable, but only let us get rid of that which cleaves to them, and we lay bare in all its naked simplicity the character and the lineaments of a long gone era. Look for instance at our place-names. Apart from their various corruptions they are as they were first entitled. So far as the nomenclature of our country itself is concerned, England is at this present day as rude, as untutored, and as heathen as at the moment those Norwegian and Germanic hordes grounded their keels upon our shores, for all our place-names, saving where the Celt still lingers, are their bequest, and bear upon them the impress of their life and its surroundings. These are they which tell us such strange truths—how far they had made progress as yet in the arts of life, what were the habits they practised, what was the religion they believed in. And as with place-names, so with our own. As records of past history they are equally truthful, equally suggestive. One important difference, however, there is—Place-names, as I have just hinted, once given are all but imperishable. Mountains, valleys, and streams still, as a rule, retain the names first given them. Personal names, those simple individual names which we find in use throughout all pre-Norman history, were but for the life of him to whom they were attached. They died with him, nor passed on saving accidentally. Nor were those second designations, those which we call 3surnames as being ‘superadded to Christian names,’ at first of any lasting character. It was not till the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, or even fourteenth centuries that they became hereditary—that is, in any true sense stationary.

Before, however, we enter into the history of these, and with regard to England that is the purpose of this book, it will be well to take a brief survey of the actual state of human nomenclature in preceding times. Surnames, we must remember, were the simple result of necessity when population, hitherto isolated and small, became so increased as to necessitate further particularity than the merely personal one could supply. One name, therefore, was all that was needed in early times, and one name, as a general rule, is all that we find. The Bible is, of course, our first record of these—‘Adam,’ ‘Eve,’ ‘Joseph,’ ‘Barak,’ ‘David,’ ‘Isaiah,’ all were simple, single, and expressive titles, given in most cases from some circumstances attending their creation or birth. When the Israelites were crowded together in the wilderness they were at once involved in difficulties of identification. We cannot imagine to ourselves how such a population as that of Manchester or Birmingham could possibly get on with but single appellations. Of course I do not put this by way of real comparison, for with the Jewish clan or family system this difficulty must have been materially overcome. Still it is no wonder that in the later books of Moses we should find them falling back upon this patronymic as a means of identifying the individual. Thus such expressions as ‘Joshua the son of Nun,’ or ‘Caleb the son of Jephunah,’ or ‘Jair the son of Manasseh,’ are not 4unfrequently to be met with. Later on, this necessity was caused by a further circumstance. Certain of these single names became popular over others. ‘John,’ ‘Simon,’ and ‘Judas’ were such. A further distinction, therefore, was necessary. This gave rise to sobriquets of a more diverse character. We find the patronymic still in use, as in ‘Simon Barjonas,’ that is, ‘Simon the son of Jonas;’ but in addition to this, we have also the local element introduced, as in ‘Simon of Cyrene,’ and the descriptive in ‘Simon the Zealot.’ Thus, again, we have ‘Judas Iscariot,’ whatever that may mean, for commentators are divided upon the subject; ‘Judas Barsabas,’ and ‘Judas of Galilee.’ In the meantime the heathen but polished nations of Greece and Rome had been adopting similar means, though the latter was decidedly the first in method. Among the former, such double names as ‘Dionysius the Tyrant,’ ‘Diogenes the Cynic,’ ‘Socrates the son of Sophronicus,’ or ‘Hecatæus of Miletus,’ show the same custom, and the same need. To the Roman, however, belongs, as I have said, the earliest system of nomenclature, a system, perhaps, more careful and precise than any which has followed after. The purely Roman citizen had a threefold name. The first denoted the ‘prænomen,’ and answered to our personal, or baptismal, name. The second was what we may term the clan-name; and the third, the cognomen, corresponded with our present surname. Thus we have such treble appellations as ‘Marcus Tullius Cicero,’ or ‘Aulus Licinius Archeas.’ If a manumitted slave had the citizenship conferred upon him, his single name became his cognomen, and the others preceded it, one generally 5being the name of him who was the emancipator. Thus was it of ‘Licinius’ in the last-mentioned instance. With the overthrow of the Western Empire, however, this system was lost, and the barbarians who settled upon its ruins brought back the simple appellative once more. Arminius, their chief hero, was content with that simple title. Alaric, the brave King of the Goths, is only so known. Caractacus and Vortigern, to come nearer home, represented but the same custom.

But we are not without traces of those descriptive epithets which had obtained among the earlier communities of the East. The Venerable Bede, speaking of two missionaries, both of whom bore the name of ‘Hewald,’ says, ‘pro diversâ capellorum specie unus Niger Hewald, alter Albus diceretur;’ that is, in modern parlance, the colour of their hair being different, they came to be called ‘Hewald Black,’ and ‘Hewald White.’ Another Saxon, distinguished for his somewhat huge proportions, and bearing the name of ‘Ethelred,’ was known as ‘Mucel,’ or ‘Great,’ a word still lingering in the Scottish mickle. We may class him, therefore, with our ‘le Grands,’ as we find them inscribed in the Norman rolls, the progenitors of our ‘Grants,’ and ‘Grands,’ or our ‘Biggs,’ as Saxon as himself. Thus again, our later ‘Fairfaxes,’ ‘Lightfoots,’ ‘Heavisides,’ and ‘Slows,’ are but hereditary nicknames like to the earlier ‘Harfagres,’ ‘Harefoots,’ ‘Ironsides,’ and ‘Unreadys,’ which died out, so far as their immediate possessors went, with the ‘Harolds,’ and ‘Edmunds,’ and ‘Ethelreds,’ upon whom they were severally foisted. They were but expressions of popular feeling to individual 6persons by means of which that individuality was increased, and, as with every other instance I have mentioned hitherto, passed away with the lives of their owners. No descendant succeeded to the title. The son, in due course of time, got a sobriquet of his own, by which he was familiarly known, but that, too, was but personal and temporary. It was no more hereditary than had been his father’s before him, and even so far as himself was concerned might be again changed according to the humour or caprice of his neighbours and acquaintances. And this went on for several more centuries, only as population increased these sobriquets became but more and more common.

In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, however, a change took place. By a silent and unpremeditated movement over the whole of the more populated and civilized European societies, nomenclature began to assume a solid lasting basis. It was the result, in fact, of an insensibly growing necessity. Population was on the increase, commerce was spreading, and society was fast becoming corporate. With all this arose difficulties of individualization. It was impossible, without some further distinction, to maintain a current identity. Hence what had been but an occasional and irregular custom became a fixed and general practice—the distinguishing sobriquet, not, as I say, of premeditation, but by a silent compact, became part and parcel of a man’s property, and passed on with his other possessions to his direct descendants. This sobriquet had come to be of various kinds. It might be the designation of the property owned, as in 7the case of the Norman barons and their feudatory settlements, or it might be some local peculiarity that marked the abode. It might be the designation of the craft the owner followed. It might be the title of the rank or office he held. It might be a patronymic—a name acquired from the personal or Christian name of his father or mother. It might be some characteristic, mental or physical, complimentary or the reverse. Any of these it might be, it mattered not which; but when once it became attached to the possessor and gave him a fixed identity, it clung to him for his life, and eventually passed on to his offspring. Then it was that at length local and personal names came somewhat upon the same level; and as the former, some centuries before, had stereotyped the life of our various Celtic and Slavonic and Teutonic settlements, so now these latter fossilized the character of the era in which they arose; and here we have them, with all the antiquity of their birth upon them, breathing of times and customs and fashions and things that are now wholly passed from our eyes, or are so completely changed as to bear but the faintest resemblance to that which they have been. To analyse some of these names, for all were impossible, is the purpose of the following chapters. I trust that ere I have finished my task, I shall have been able to throw some little light, at least, on the life and habits of our early English forefathers.

The reader will have observed that I have just incidentally alluded to five different classes of names. For the sake of further distinction I will place them formally and under more concise headings:—

I need scarcely add that under one of these five divisions will every surname in all the countries of Europe be found.

It is impossible to say how important an influence have merely personal names exercised upon our nomenclature. The most familiar surnames we can meet with, saving that of ‘Smith,’ are to be found in this list. For frequency we have no names to be compared with ‘Jones,’ or ‘Williamson,’ or ‘Thompson,’ or ‘Richardson.’ How they came into being is easily manifest. Nothing could be more natural than that children should often pass current in the community in which they lived as the sons of ‘Thomas,’ or ‘William,’ or ‘Richard,’ or ‘John;’ and that these several relationships should be found in our directories as distinct sobriquets only shows that there was a particular generation in these families in which this title became permanent, and passed on to future descendants as an hereditary surname.^[2] The interest that attaches to these patronymics is great—for it is by them we can best discover what names were in 10vogue at this period, and what not, and of those which were, by their relative frequency, in a measure, what were the most popular. Certainly the change is most extraordinary when we compare the past with the present. Some, once so popular that they scarce gave identity to the bearer, are now all but obsolete, while numerous appellations at present generally current were then utterly unknown. There are surnames familiar to our ears whose root as a Christian name is now passed out of knowledge; while, on the other hand, many a Christian name now daily upon our lips has no surname formed from it to tell of any lengthened existence. The fact is, that while our surnames, putting immigration aside, have been long at a standstill, we have ever been and are still adding to our stock of baptismal names.^[3] Each new national crisis, each fresh achievement of our arms, each new princely bride imported from abroad—these events are being commemorated daily at the font. This is but the continuance of a custom, and one very natural, which has ever existed. Turn where we will in English history during the last eight hundred years, and we shall find the popular sympathies seeking an outlet in baptism. Did a prince of the blood royal meet with a hapless and cruel fate? His memory was at once embalmed in the names of the children born immediately afterwards, saving when a mother’s superstitious fears came in to prevent it. Did some national 11hero arise who upheld and asserted the people’s rights against a grinding and hateful tyranny? His name is speedily to be found inscribed on every hearth. The reverse is of equal significance. It is by the fact of a name, which must have been of familiar import, finding few to represent it, we can trace a people’s dislikes and a nation’s prejudices. A name once in favour, as a rule, however, kept its place. The cause to which it owed its rise had long passed into the shade of forgotten things, but the name, if it had but attained a certain hold, seems easily to have kept it, till indeed such a convulsion occurred as revolutionised men and things and their names together.

There have been two such revolutionary crises in English nomenclature, the Conquest and the Reformation, the second culminating in the Puritan Commonwealth. Other crises have stamped themselves in indelible lines upon our registers, but the indenture, if as strongly impressed, was far less general, and in the main merely enlarged rather than changed our stock of national names. Thus was it with the Crusades. A few of the names it introduced have been popular ever since. Many, at first received favourably, died out, if not with, at least soon after, the subsidence of the spirit to which they owed their rise. Some of these came from the Eastern Church, of whose existence at all the Crusader seems to have suddenly reminded us. Some were Biblical, associated in Bible narrative with the very soil the Templars trod. Some, again, were borrowed from Continental comrades in arms, names which had caught the fancy of those who introduced them, or were connected 12with friendly rivalries and pledged friendships. This era, being concurrent with the establishment of surnames, has left its mark upon our nomenclature; but it was no revolution.

The period in which these names began to assume an hereditary character varies so greatly that it is impossible to make any definite statement. As a familiar custom I should say it arose in the twelfth century. But there are places, both in Lancashire and Yorkshire, where, as in Wales, men are wont to be styled to this very day by a complete string of patronymics. To hear a man called ‘Bill’s o’Jack’s,’ ‘o’Dick’s,’ ‘o’Harry’s,’ ‘o’Tom’s,’ is by no means a rare incident. A hit at this formerly common Welsh practice is given in ‘Sir John Oldcastle,’ a play printed in 1600, in which ran the following conversation:—

‘Judge: What bail? What sureties?

‘Davy: Her cozen ap Rice, ap Evan, ap Morice, ap Morgan, ap Llewellyn, ap Madoc, ap Meredith, ap Griffin, ap Davis, ap Owen, ap Shinkin Jones.

‘Judge: Two of the most efficient are enow.

‘Sheriff: And ’t please your lordship, these are all but one.’

This ‘ap,’ the Welsh equivalent of our English ‘son,’ when it has come before a name beginning with a vowel, has in many instances become incorporated with it. Thus ‘Ap-Hugh’ has given us ‘Pugh,’ ‘Ap-Rice,’ just mentioned, ‘Price,’ or as ‘Reece,’ ‘Preece;’ ‘Ap-Owen,’ ‘Bowen;’ ‘Ap-Evan,’ ‘Bevan;’ ‘Ap-Robert,’ ‘Probert;’ ‘Ap-Roger,’ ‘Prodger;’ ‘Ap-Richard,’ ‘Pritchard;’ ‘Ap-Humphrey,’ ‘Pumphrey;’ 13‘Ap-Ithell,’ ‘Bethell;’^[4] or ‘Ap-Howell,’ ‘Powell.’^[5] ‘Prosser’ has generally been thought a corruption of ‘proser,’ one who was garrulously inclined; but this is a mistake, it is simply ‘Ap-Rosser.’ The Norman patronymic was formed similarly as the Welsh, by a prefix, that of ‘fitz,’ the modern French ‘fils.’ Surnames of this class were at first common. Thus we find such names as ‘Fitz-Gibbon,’ ‘Fitz-Gerald,’ ‘Fitz-Patrick,’ ‘Fitz-Waryn,’ ‘Fitz-Rauf,’ ‘Fitz-Payn,’ ‘Fitz-Richard,’ or ‘Fitz-Neele.’ But though this obtained for awhile among some of the nobler families of our country, it has made in general no sensible impression upon our surnames. The Saxon added ‘son,’ as a desinence, as ‘Williamson,’ that is, ‘William’s son,’ or ‘Bolderson,’ that is, ‘Baldwin’s son,’ or merely the genitive suffix, as ‘Williams,’ or ‘Richards.’ This class has been wonderfully enlarged by the custom then in vogue, as now, of reducing every baptismal name to some curt and familiar monosyllable. It agreed with the rough-and-ready humour of the Anglo-Norman character so to do. How common this was we may see from Gower’s description of the insurrection of Wat Tyler:

Or let the author of ‘Piers Plowman’ speak. ‘Glutton’ having been seduced to the alehouse door, we are told—

In these two quotations we see at once the clue to the extraordinary number of patronymics our directories contain of these short and curtailed forms. Thus ‘Dawe,’ from ‘David,’ gives us ‘Dawson,’ or ‘Dawes;’ ‘Hikke’ from ‘Isaac,’ ‘Hickson,’ or ‘Hicks;’ ‘Watte,’ from ‘Walter,’ ‘Watson,’ or ‘Watts.’ Nor was this all. A large addition was made to this category by the introduction of a further element. This arose from the nursery practice of giving pet names. Much as this is done now, it would seem to have been still more common then. In either period the method has been the same—that of turning the name into a diminutive. Our very word ‘pet’ itself is but the diminutive ‘petite,’ or ‘little one.’ The fashion adopted, however, was different. We are fond of using ‘ie,’ or ‘ley.’ Thus with us ‘John’ becomes ‘Johnnie,’ ‘Edward,’ ‘Teddie,’ ‘Charles,’ 15‘Charley.’ In early days the four diminutives in use were those of ‘kin,’ ‘cock,’ and the terminations ‘ot’ or ‘et,’ and ‘on’ or ‘en,’ the two latter being of Norman-French origin.

1. Kin.—This Saxon term, corresponding with the German ‘chen,’ and the French ‘on’ or ‘en,’ referred to above, and introduced, most probably, so far as the immediate practice was concerned, by the Flemings, we still preserve in such words as ‘manikin,’ ‘pipkin,’ ‘lambkin,’ or ‘doitkin.’ This is very familiar as a nominal adjunct. Thus, in an old poem, entitled ‘A Litul soth Sermun,’ we find the following:—

Hence we have derived such surnames as ‘Simpkins’ and ‘Simpkinson,’ ‘Thompkins’ and ‘Tomkinson.’

2. Cock.—Our nursery literature still secures in its ‘cock-robins,’ ‘cock-boats,’ and ‘cock-horses,’ the immortality of this second termination. It forms an important element in such names as ‘Simcox,’ ‘Jeffcock,’ ‘Wilcock,’ or ‘Wilcox,’ and ‘Laycock’ (Lawrence).

3. Ot or et.—These terminations were introduced 16by the Normans, and certainly have made an impregnable position for themselves in our English nomenclature. In our dictionaries they are found in such diminutives as ‘pocket’ (little poke), ‘ballot,’ ‘chariot,’ ‘target,’ ‘latchet,’ ‘lancet;’ in our directories in such names as ‘Emmett,’ or ‘Emmot’ (Emma), ‘Tillotson’ (Matilda), ‘Elliot’ (Elias), ‘Marriot’ (Mary), ‘Willmot’ (Willamot), and ‘Hewet,’ or ‘Hewetson’ (Hugh).^[6]

4. On or en.—These terminations became very popular with the French, and their directories teem with the evidences they display of former favour. They are all but unknown to our English dictionary, but many traces of their presence may be found in our nomenclature. Thus ‘Robert’ became ‘Robin,’ ‘Nicol’ ‘Colin,’ ‘Pierre’ ‘Perrin,’ ‘Richard’ ‘Diccon,’ ‘Mary’ ‘Marion,’ ‘Alice’ ‘Alison,’ ‘Beatrice’ ‘Beton,’ ‘Hugh’ ‘Huon,’ or ‘Huguon’; and hence such surnames as ‘Colinson,’ ‘Perrin,’ ‘Dicconson,’ ‘Allison’ (in some cases), ‘Betonson,’ ‘Huggins,’ and ‘Hugginson.’^[7]

I have already said that the Norman invasion revolutionised our system of personal names. Certainly it is in this the antagonism between Norman 17and Saxon is especially manifest. Occasionally, in looking over the records of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, we may light upon a ‘Godwin,’ or ‘Guthlac,’ or ‘Goddard,’ but they are of the most exceptional occurrence. Were the local part of these entries foreign, explanation would be unneeded. But while the personal element is foreign, the local denotes settlement from the up-country. Look at the London population of this period from such records as we possess. There is scarcely a hamlet, however small, that does not contribute to swell the sum of the metropolitan mass, and while ‘London’ itself is of comparatively great rarity in our nomenclature, an insignificant village like, say Debenham, in Suffolk, will have its score of representatives—so great was the flow, so small the ebb. It is this large accession from the interior which is the stronghold of Saxon nomenclature. It is this removal from one village to another, and from one town to another, which has originated that distich quoted by old Vestigan—

And yet, strange as it may seem, it is very doubtful whether for a lengthened period, at least, the owners of these names were of Saxon origin. The position of the Saxon peasantry forbade that they should be in any but a small degree accessory to this increase. The very villenage they lived under, the very manner in which they were attached to the glebe, rendered any such roving tendencies as these impossible. These country adventurers, then, whose names I 18have instanced, were of no Saxon stock, but the sons of the humbler dependants of those Normans who had obtained landed settlements, or of Norman traders who had travelled up the country, fixing their habitation wheresoever the wants of an increasing people seemed to give them an opportunity of gaining a livelihood. The children of such, driven out of these smaller communities by the fact that there was no further opening for them, poor as the villeins amongst whom they dwelt, but different in that they were free, would naturally resort to the metropolis and other large centres of industry. Not a few, however, would belong to the free Saxons, who, much against their will, no doubt, but for the sake of gain, would pass in the community to which they had joined themselves by the name belonging to the more powerful and mercantile party. In the same way, too, some not small proportion of these names would belong to those Saxon serfs who, having escaped their bondage, would, on reaching the towns, change their names to elude detection. These, of course, would be got from the Norman category. But be all this as it may, the fact remains that throughout all the records and rolls of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, we find, with but the rarest exceptions, all our personal names to be Norman. The Saxon seems to have become well-nigh extinct. There might have been a war of extermination against them. In an unbroken succession we meet with such names as ‘John’ and ‘Richard,’ ‘Robert’ and ‘Henry,’ ‘Thomas’ and ‘Ralph,’ ‘Geoffrey’ and ‘Jordan,’ ‘Stephen’ and ‘Martin,’ ‘Joscelyn’ and ‘Almaric,’ ‘Benedict’ and ‘Laurence,’ ‘Reginald’ and 19‘Gilbert,’ ‘Roger’ and ‘Walter,’ ‘Eustace’ and ‘Baldwin,’ ‘Francis’ and ‘Maurice,’ ‘Theobald’ and ‘Cecil,’—no ‘Edward,’ no ‘Edmund,’ no ‘Harold’ even, saving in very isolated cases. It is the same with female names. While ‘Isabel’ and ‘Matilda,’ ‘Mirabilla’ and ‘Avelina,’ ‘Amabilla’ and ‘Idonia,’ ‘Sibilla’ and ‘Ida,’ ‘Letitia’ and ‘Agnes,’ ‘Petronilla’ or ‘Parnel’ and ‘Lucy,’ ‘Alicia’ and ‘Avice,’ ‘Alianora,’ or ‘Anora’ and ‘Dowsabell,’ ‘Clarice’ and ‘Muriel,’ ‘Agatha’ and ‘Rosamund,’ ‘Felicia’ and ‘Adelina,’ ‘Julia’ and ‘Blanche,’ ‘Isolda’ and ‘Amelia’ or ‘Emilia,’ ‘Beatrix’ and ‘Euphemia,’ ‘Annabel’ and ‘Theophania,’ ‘Constance’ and ‘Joanna’ abound; ‘Etheldreda,’ or ‘Edith,’ or ‘Ermentrude,’ all of the rarest occurrence, are the only names which may breathe to us of purely Saxon times. In the case of several, however, a special effort was made later on, when the policy of allaying the jealous feelings of the popular class was resorted to. For a considerable time the royal and chief baronial families had in their pride sought names for their children from the Norman category merely. After the lapse of a century, however, finding the Saxon spirit still chafed and uneasy under a foreign thrall, several names of a popular character were introduced into the royal nursery. Thus was it with ‘Edward’ and ‘Edmund.’ The former of these appellations was represented by Edward I., the latter by his brother Edmund, Earl of Lancaster. Previously to this, too, an attempt had been made to restore the British ‘Arthur’ in that nephew of Cœur de Lion who so miserably perished by his uncle’s means, and thereby 20gave Lackland a securer hold upon the English throne, if not upon the affections of the country. The sad and gloomy mystery which surrounded the disappearance of this boy-prince seems to have inspired mothers with a superstitious awe of the name, for we do not find, as in the case of ‘Edward’ or ‘Edmund,’ its royal restoration having the effect of making it general.^[8] On the contrary, as an effort in its favour, it seems to have signally failed. Of all our early historic names I find fewest relics of this.

The difficulty of subdividing our first chapter is great, but for the sake of convenience we have decided to preserve the following order:—

The peculiar feature of the great majority of such names as were in vogue previous to the Norman 21Conquest, and which to a certain extent maintained a hold, is that (saving in two or three instances) they did not attach to themselves either filial or pet desinences. If they have come down to us as surnames, they are found in their simple unaltered dress. Thus, taking Afred as an example, we see in our directories ‘Alfred’ or ‘Alured’ or ‘Allured’ to be the only patronymics that have been handed down to us. Latinized as Aluredus it figures in Domesday. The Hundred Rolls, later on, register an Alured Ape, and the surname appears in the Parliamentary Writs in the case of William Alured. It is hard to separate our ‘Aldreds’ from our ‘Allureds.’ The usually entered forms are ‘Richard Alred,’ ‘Hugh Aldred,’ or ‘Aldred fil. Roger.’ Besides ‘Aldred’ there is ‘Alderson,’ which may be but ‘Aldredson.’ Aylwin is met by such entries as Richard Alwine, or Thomas Ailwyne: ‘Adelard,’ as ‘Adlard’ or ‘Alard,’ and ‘Agilward’ as ‘Aylward,’ are of more frequent occurrence; while Aldrech, once merely a personal name, is now, like many of the above, found only surnominally.

The Teutonic mythology is closely interwoven in several of these names. The primary root ‘god’ or ‘good,’ which stood in all Teuton languages as the title of divinity, was familiarised as the chief component in not a few of our still existing surnames. ‘Godwin,’ the name which the stout old earl of Danish blood has given to our Goodwin Sands, seems to have been well established when the great Survey was made. The French ‘Godin’ seems scarcely to have crossed the Channel, but ‘Godwin’ and ‘Goodwin’ have well filled up the gap. ‘Hugh fil. Godewin,’ or ‘Godwin de Dovre,’ 22represent our registers. Our ‘Godbolds’ are found in the dress of ‘Godbolde,’ our ‘Goodiers’ and ‘Goodyears’ as ‘Goder’ or ‘Godyer,’ and our ‘Goddards’ as ‘Godard.’ The Hundred Rolls give us a ‘John fil. Godard.’ The Alpine mountain reminds us of its connection with ‘Gotthard,’ and Miss Yonge states that it is still in use as a Christian name in Germany. ‘Gottschalk,’ a common surname in the same country, was well known as a personal name in England in the forms of ‘Godescalde,’^[9] ‘Godescall,’ or ‘Godeschalke,’ such entries as ‘Godefry fil. Godescallus,’ or ‘Godeskalcus Armorer,’ or ‘John Godescalde,’ being not unfrequent. The latter name suggests to us our ‘Godsalls’ and ‘Godshalls’ as the present English surnominal forms. ‘Gottschalk’ in our directories may always be looked upon as a more recent importation from Germany. Goderic was perhaps the commonest of this class—its usual dress in our registers being ‘Gooderick,’ ‘Goderiche,’ ‘Godrick,’ and ‘Godric.’ An early Saxon abbot was exalted into the ranks of the saints as ‘St. Goderic,’ and this would have its influence in the selection of baptismal names at that period. ‘Guthlac,’ not without descendants, too, though less easily recognisable in our ‘Goodlakes’ and ‘Goodlucks,’ and ‘Geoffrey,’ or ‘Godfrey,’ whom I shall have occasion to mention again, belong to the same category.^[10] The last of this class I may mention is the old ‘Godeberd,’ or ‘Godbert.’ As simple 23‘Godeberd’ it is found in such a name as ‘Roger Godeberd,’ met with in the London Tower records. Somewhat more corrupted we come across a ‘John Gotebedde’ in the Hundred Rolls of the thirteenth century; and much about the same time a ‘Robert Gotobedd’ lived in Winchelsea. In this latter form, I need scarcely say, it has now a somewhat flourishing existence in our midst. Some will be reminded of the lines:—

Still, despite its long antiquity, when I recall the pretty Godbert from which it arose, I would, were I one of them, go to bed as such some night for the last time, nor get up again till I could dress, if not my person, at least my personality in its real and more antique habiliment.

‘Os,’ as a root-word implicative of deity, has made for itself a firm place in our ‘Osbalds,’ ‘Osberts,’ ‘Oswins,’ ‘Oswalds,’ ‘Osbornes,’ and ‘Osmunds’ or ‘Osmonds.’ Instances of all these may be seen in our older registries. We quickly light upon entries such as ‘Osbert le Ferrur,’ ‘Osborne le Hawkere,’ ‘Oswin Ogle,’ 24‘Nicholas Osemund,’ or ‘John Oswald.’ Nor must ‘Thor,’ the ‘Jupiter tonans’ of the Norsemen, be left out, for putting aside local names, and the day of the week that still memorialises him, we have yet several surnames that speak of his influence. ‘Thurstan’ and ‘Thurlow’ seem both of kin. ‘Thorald,’ however, has made the greatest mark, and next ‘Thurkell.’ Thorald may be seen in ‘Torald Chamberlain’ (A), Ralph fil. Thorald (A), or Torald Benig (A); while Thurkell or Thurkill is found first in the fuller form in such entries as ‘Richard Thyrketyll,’ or ‘Robert Thirkettle,’ and then in the contracted in ‘Thurkeld le Seneschal,’ or ‘Robert Thurkel.’

We have just referred to Thurkettle. ‘Kettle’ was very closely connected with the mythology of Northern Europe, and is still a great name in Norway and in Iceland. The sacrificial cauldron of the gods must certainly have been vividly present to the imagination of our forefathers. The list of names compounded with ‘Kettle’ is large even in England. The simple ‘Kettle’ was very common. In Domesday it is ‘Chetill,’ in the Hundred Rolls ‘Ketel’ or ‘Cetyl’ or ‘Cattle.’ Such entries as ‘Ketel le Mercer,’ or ‘Chetel Frieday,’ or ‘Cattle Bagge,’ are met with up to the fifteenth century, and as surnames ‘Kettle,’ ‘Chettle’ and ‘Cattle’ or ‘Cattell’ have a well-established place in the nineteenth. Of the compound forms we have already noticed ‘Thurkettle’ or ‘Thurkell.’ ‘Anketil le Mercir’ (A), ‘Roger Arketel’ (A), ‘William Asketill’ (Q), and ‘Robert fil. Anskitiel’ (W. 12) are all but changes rung on Oskettle. The abbots of England, in 941, 992, and 1052, were ‘Turketyl,’ ‘Osketyl,’ and ‘Wulfketyl’ respectively. The last seems 25to be the same as ‘Ulchetel’ found in Domesday.^[11] In the same Survey we light upon a ‘Steinchetel,’ and ‘Grinketel’ is also found in a Yorkshire record of the same period.^[12] Orm, the representative of pagan worship in respect of the serpent, has left its memorial in such entries as ‘Alice fil. Orme,’ or ‘Ormus Archbragge.’ The descendants of these are our ‘Ormes’ and ‘Ormesons.’ More local names abide in ‘Ormsby,’ ‘Ormskirk,’ ‘Ormerod,’ and ‘Ormes Head.’

A series of names, some of them connected with the heroic and legendary lore of Northern Europe, were formed from the root ‘sig’—conquest. Many of these maintained a position as personal names long after the Norman invasion, and now exist in our directories as surnames. Nevertheless, as with the others hitherto mentioned, they are all but invariably found in their simple and uncompounded form. Our ‘Sewards,’ ‘Seawards,’ and ‘Sawards’ represent the chief of these. It is found in England in the seventh century, and was a great Danish name. Entries like ‘Syward Godwin’ or ‘Siward Oldcorn’ are found as late as the beginning of the fourteenth century. Next we may mention our ‘Segars,’ ‘Sagars,’ ‘Sahers,’ ‘Sayers,’ and ‘Saers,’ undoubted descendants of 26such men as ‘Saher de Quincy,’ the famous old Earl of Winchester. The registrations of this as a personal name are very frequent. Such entries as ‘John fil. Saer,’ ‘Saher Clerk,’ ‘Saher le King,’ or ‘Eudo fil. Sygar,’ are common. Nor has ‘Sigbiorn’ been allowed to become obsolete, as our ‘Sibornes’ and ‘Seabornes’ can testify. I cannot discover any instance of ‘Sibbald’ as a personal name after the Domesday Survey, but as a relic of ‘Sigbald’ it is still living in a surnominal form. Though apparently occupative, our registers clearly proclaim that ‘Seman’ or ‘Seaman’ must be set here. As a personal name it is found in such designations as ‘Seman de Champagne,’ or ‘Seaman de Baylif,’ or ‘Seaman Carpenter.’ With the mention of ‘Sebright’ as a corruption of ‘Sigbert’ or ‘Sebert,’ I pass on; but this is sufficient to show that a name whose root-meaning implied heroism was popular with our forefathers.

The popular notion that ‘Howard’ is nothing but ‘Hogward’ is not borne out by facts. We find no trace whatever of its gradual reduction into such a corrupt form. As we shall have occasion to show hereafter, it is our ‘Hoggarts’ who thus maintain the honours of our swine-tending ancestors. There can be little doubt, indeed, that ‘Howard’ is but another form of ‘Harvard’ or ‘Hereward.’ That it had early become so pronounced and spelt we can prove by an entry occurring in the Test. Ebor. (Surt. Soc.) where one ‘John Fitz-howard’ is registered. Our ‘Hermans’ and ‘Harmans’ represent ‘Herman,’ a name which, though in early use in England, we owe chiefly to immigration in later days. Such entries as ‘Herman de Francia’ or ‘Herman de Alemannia’ are occasionally 27met with. The fuller patronymic attached itself to this name; hence such entries as ‘Walter Hermanson,’ and ‘John Urmynson,’ ‘Harmer,’ and ‘Hermer,’ seem to be somewhat of kin to the last. The personal form is found in ‘Robert fil. Hermer,’ and the surname in ‘Hopkins Harmar.’ Besides ‘Hardwin,’ ‘Hadwin’ is also met with as a relic of the same, while ‘Harding’ has remained unaltered from the day when registrars entered such names as ‘Robert fil. Harding’ and ‘Maurice fil. Harding;’ but this, as ‘Fitz-harding’ reminds us, must be looked upon as of Norman introduction. Nor must ‘Swain’ be forgotten. We find in the Survey the wife of ‘Edward filius Suani,’ figuring among the tenants-in-chief of Essex. This is of course but our present ‘Swainson’ or ‘Swanson;’ and when we add all the ‘Swains,’ ‘Swayns,’ and ‘Swaynes’ of our directories we shall find that this name has a tolerably assured position in the nineteenth century. ‘Swain’ implied strength, specially the strength of youth; and as Samson’s strength became utter weakness through his affection, so I suppose it has fared with ‘Swain.’ The country shepherd piping to his mistress, the lovesick bachelor, has monopolised the title. As a personal name it occurs in such registrations as ‘Sweyn Colle,’ ‘Swanus le Riche,’ or ‘Adam fil. Swain.’

Of names specially introduced at the Conquest, or that received an impulse by that event, we may mention ‘Serl’ and ‘Harvey.’ ‘Serl,’ found in such names as ‘Serle Morice’ or ‘Serle Gotokirke,’ or 28‘John fil. Serlo,’ still abides in our ‘Searles’ and ‘Serles,’ ‘Serrells’ and ‘Serlsons.’ ‘William Serleson’ occurs in an old Yorkshire register, and ‘Richard Serelson’ in the Parliamentary Writs. The Norman diminutive also appears in Matilda Sirlot (A) and Mabel Sirlot (A).^[13] ‘Harvey,’ or ‘Herve,’ was more common than many may imagine, and a fair number of entries such as ‘Herveus le Gos’ or ‘William fil. Hervei,’ may be seen in all our large rolls. The Malvern poet in his ‘Piers Plowman’ employs the name:—

‘Arnold,’ now almost unknown in England as a baptismal name, made a deep impression on our nomenclature, as it did on that of Central Europe. ‘Earn’ for the eagle is a word not yet obsolete in the North of England, and this reminds us of the origin of the name. This kinship is more easily traceable in our registries where the usual forms are ‘Ernaldus Carnifix,’ or ‘Peter Ernald.’ Besides ‘Arnold,’ ‘Arnison,’ and the diminutive ‘Arnott’ or ‘Arnet’^[14] still live among us. ‘Alberic,’ or ‘Albrec,’ as we find it occasionally written, soon found its way into our rolls as ‘Aubrey,’ although, as Ælfric, Miss Yonge shows it to have existed in our country centuries 29earlier.^[15] ‘Albred,’ probably but another form of the lately revived ‘Albert,’ is now found as ‘Allbright’ and the German ‘Albrecht.’

‘Emery,’ though now utterly forgotten as a personal name, may be said to live on only in our surnames. It was once no unimportant sobriquet. ‘Americ,’ ‘Almeric,’ ‘Almaric,’ ‘Emeric,’ and ‘Eimeric,’ seem to have been its original spellings in England, and thus, at least, it is more likely to remind us that it is the same name to which, in the Italian form of Amerigo, we now owe the title of that vast expanse of western territory which is so indissolubly connected with English industry and English interests. Curter forms than these were found in ‘Aylmar,’ ‘Ailmar,’ ‘Almar,’ and ‘Aymer,’ and ‘Amar.’ The surnames it has bequeathed to us are not few. It has had the free run of the vowels in our ‘Amorys,’ ‘Emerys,’ and ‘Imarys,’ and in a more patronymic form we may still oftentimes meet with it in our ‘Emersons,’ ‘Embersons,’^[16] and ‘Imesons.’ ‘Ingram’ represents the old ‘Ingelram,’ ‘Engleram,’ ‘Iggelram,’ or ‘Ingeram,’ for all these forms may be met with; and ‘Ebrardus,’ later on registered as ‘Eborard,’ still abides hale and hearty in our ‘Everards’ and ‘Everys.’ The latter, however, can scarcely be said to be quite extinct as a baptismal name. ‘Waleran,’ an English form of the foreign ‘Valerian,’ is found in such an 30entry as ‘Walerand Berchamstead,’ or ‘Waldrand Clark,’ or ‘Walran Oldman.’ We see at once the origin of our ‘Walronds’ and ‘Walrands.’ The name of ‘Brice’ begins to find itself located in England at this time. Hailing from Denmark, it may have come in with the earlier raids from that shore, or later on in the more peaceful channels of trade. The Hundred Rolls furnish us with ‘Brice fil. William’ and ‘Brice le Parsun,’ while the Placita de Quo Warranto gives us a ‘Brice le Daneys,’ who himself proclaims the nationality of the name. The Norman diminutive is met with in ‘Briccot de Brainton’ (M M). ‘Brice’ and ‘Bryson’ (when not a corruption of ‘Bride-son’) are the present representatives of this now forgotten name.^[17] All the above names I have placed together, because, while introduced or receiving an impetus by the incoming of the Normans and their followers, they have, nevertheless, made little impression on our general nomenclature. The fact that, with but one or two exceptions, the usual pet addenda, ‘kin,’ ‘cock,’ and ‘ot,’ or ‘et,’ are absolutely wanting, or even the patronymic ‘son,’ shows decisively that they cannot be numbered among what we must call the popular names of the period. Introduced here and there in the community at large, they struggled on for bare existence, and have descended to us as surnames in their simple and unaltered form.

31We now turn to a batch of personal names of a different character, names which, with a few exceptions, are still familiar to us at baptismal celebrations, and which have changed themselves into so many varying forms, that the surnames issuing from them are well-nigh legion. Most of these are the direct result of the Conquest. They are either the sobriquets borne by William, his family, and his leading followers, or by those whom connections of blood, alliance, and interest afterwards brought into the country. Many others received their solid settlement in England through the large immigration of foreign artisans from Normandy, from Picardy, Anjou, Flanders, and other provinces. The Flemish influence has been very strong.

I will first mention Drew, Warin, Paine, Ivo, and Hamon, because, although they must be included among the most familiar names of their time, they are now practically disused at the font. ‘Drew,’ or ‘Drogo,’ occurs several times in Domesday. An illegitimate son of Charlemagne was so styled, and, doubtless, it owed its familiarity to the adherents of the Conqueror. Later on, at any rate, it was firmly established, as such names as Drew Drewery, Druco Bretun, or William fil. Drogo testify. That ‘Drewett’ is derived from the Norman diminutive can be proved from the Hundred Rolls, wherein the same man is described in the twofold form of ‘Drogo Malerbe’ and ‘Druett Malerbe.’ The feminine ‘Druetta de Pratello’ is also found in the same records. ‘Drew’ and ‘Drewett’ are both in our directories.^[18] Few 32names were more common from the eleventh to the fourteenth century than ‘Warin,’ or ‘Guarin,’ or ‘Guerin’—the latter the form at present generally found in France. It is the sobriquet that is incorporated in our ancient ‘Mannerings,’ or ‘Mainwarings,’ a family that came from the ‘mesnil,’ or ‘manor,’ of ‘Warin,’ in a day when that was a familiar Christian name in Norman households. A few generations later on we find securely settled among ourselves such names as ‘Warin Chapman,’ or ‘Warinus Gerold,’ or ‘Guarinus Banastre,’ in the baptismal, and ‘Warinus Fitz-Warin,’ or ‘John Warison,’ in the patronymic form, holding a steady place in our mediæval rolls. Two of the characters in ‘Piers Plowman,’ as those who have read it will remember, bear this as their personal sobriquet:—

And again—

‘Robert Warinot,’ in the Hundred Rolls, and ‘William Warinot’ in the Placita de Quo Warranto, reveal the origin of our ‘Warnetts;’ while our ‘Wareings,’ ‘Warings,’ ‘Warisons,’ ‘Wasons,’ and ‘Fitz-Warins’—often written ‘Fitz-Warren’—not to mention 33the majority of our ‘Warrens,’^[19] are other of the descendants of this famous old name that still survive. A favourite name in these days was ‘Payn,’ or ‘Pagan.’ The softer form is given us in the ‘Man of Lawes Tale’—

We all know the history of the word; how that, while the Gospel had made advance in the cities, but not yet penetrated into the country, the dwellers in the latter became looked upon with a something of contempt as idolaters, so that, so far as this word was concerned, ‘countryman’ and ‘false-worshipper’ became synonymous terms. In fact, ‘pagan’ embraced the two meanings that ‘peasant’ and ‘pagan’ now convey, though the root of both is the same. The Normans, it would appear, must have so styled some of themselves who had refused baptism after that their chieftain, Rollo, had become a convert; and hence, when William came over, the name was introduced into England by several of his followers. In Domesday Book we find among his tenants-in-chief the names of ‘Ralph Paganel’ and ‘Edmund fil. Pagani.’ The name became more popular as time went on, and it is no exaggeration to say that at one period—viz., the close of the Norman dynasty—it had threatened to become one of the most familiar appellatives in England. This will account for the frequency with which we meet such entries in the past as ‘Robert fil. Pain,’ ‘Pain del Ash,’ ‘Pagan de la 34Hale,’ ‘Roger fil. Pagan,’ ‘Payen le Dubbour,’ or ‘Elis le Fitz-Payn,’ and such surnames in the present as ‘Pagan,’ ‘Payne,’ ‘Payn,’ ‘Paine,’ ‘Pain,’ and ‘Pynson.’ The diminutive also was not wanting, as ‘John Paynett’ (Z) or ‘Emma Paynot’ (W 2) could have testified. Thus, while in our dictionaries ‘pagan’ still represents a state of heathenism, in our directories it has long ago been converted to the uses of Christianity, and become at the baptismal font a Christian name. ‘Ivar,’ or ‘Iver,’ still familiarised to Scotchmen in ‘Mac-Iver,’ came to the Normans from the northern lands whence they were sprung, and with them into England. It was not its first appearance here, as St. Ives of Huntingdonshire could have testified in the seventh century. Still its popular character was due to the Norman. Such names as ‘Yvo de Taillbois’ (1211), mentioned in Bishop Pudsey’s ‘Survey of the Durham See,’ ‘Ivo le Mercer,’ ‘Walter fil. Ive,’ ‘William Iveson,’ ‘Iveta Millisent,’ or ‘John fil. Ivette,’ serve to show us how familiar was this appellation with both sexes.^[20] Nor are its descendants inclined to let its memory die. We have the simple ‘Ive’ and ‘Ives;’ we have the more patronymic ‘Iverson,’ ‘Ivison,’ ‘Iveson,’ and ‘Ison,’ and the pet ‘Ivetts’ and ‘Ivatts,’ the latter possibly feminine in origin.

‘Hamo,’ or ‘Hamon,’ requires a paragraph for 35itself. It is firmly imbedded in our existing nomenclature, and has played an important part in its time. Its forms were many, and though obsolete as baptismal names, all have survived as surnames. Of these may be mentioned our ‘Hamons,’ ‘Haymons,’ ‘Aymons,’ and ‘Fitz-Aymons.’ Formed like ‘Rawlyn,’ ‘Thomlin,’ and ‘Cattlin,’ it bequeathed us ‘Hamlyn,’ a relic of such folk as ‘Hamelyn de Trap’ or ‘Osbert Hamelyn.’ Another change rung on the name is traceable in such entries as ‘Hamund le Mestre,’ ‘Hamond Cobeler,’ or ‘John Fitz-Hamond,’ the source of our ‘Hammonds’ and ‘Hamonds;’ while in ‘Alice Hamundson’ or ‘William Hamneson’ we see the lineage of our many ‘Hampsons.’ But these are the least important. The Norman-French diminutive, ‘Hamonet,’ speedily corrupted into ‘Hamnet’ and ‘Hammet,’ became one of our favourite baptismal names, and towards the reign of Elizabeth one of the commonest. A ‘Hamnet de Dokinfield’ is found so early as 1270 at Manchester (Didsbury Ch. Cheth. Soc.). Shakespeare’s son was baptized ‘Hamnet,’ and was so called after ‘Hamnet Sadler,’ a friend of the poet’s—a baker at Stratford. This man is styled ‘Hamlet’ also, reminding us of another pet form of the name. We have already mentioned ‘Richard,’ ‘Christian,’ ‘Hugh,’ and ‘Hobbe,’ as severally giving birth to the diminutives, ‘Rickelot,’ ‘Crestelot,’ ‘Huelot,’ and ‘Hobelot.’ In the same way, ‘Hamon’ became ‘Hamelot,’ or ‘Hamelet,’ hence such entries as ‘Richard, son of Hamelot’ (AA 2), and ‘Hamelot de la Burste’ (Cal. and Inv. of Treasury). Out of fifteen ‘Hamnets’ set down in ‘Wills and Inventories’ (Cheth. Soc.), six are recorded as ‘Hamlet,’ one being 36set down in both forms as ‘Hamnet Massey’ and ‘Hamlet Massey’ (cf. i. 148, ii. 201). If the reader will look through the index of Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ he will find that ‘Hamlet’ in that county had taken the entire place of ‘Hamnet.’ Amid a large number of the former I cannot find one of the latter. It would be a curious question how far Shakespeare was biassed by the fact of having a ‘Hamlet’ in his nursery into changing ‘Hambleth’ (the original title of the story) to the form he has now immortalized. An open Bible, and, further on, a Puritan spirit have left their influence on no name more markedly than ‘Hamon.’ As one after another new Bible character was commemorated at the font, ‘Hamon’ got crushed out. Its last refuge has been found in our directories, for so long as our ‘Hamlets,’ ‘Hamnets,’ ‘Hammets,’ ‘Hammonds,’ and ‘Hampsons’ exist, it cannot be utterly forgotten.

‘Guy,’ or ‘Guyon,’ dates from the ‘Round Table,’ but it was reserved for the Norman to make his name so familiar to English lips. The best proof of this is that the surnames which it has left to us are all but entirely formed from the Norman-French diminutive ‘Guyot,’ which in England became, of course, ‘Wyot.’ Hence such entries as ‘Wyot fil. Helias,’ or ‘Wyott Carpenter,’ or ‘Wyot Balistarius.’ The descendants of these, I need scarcely say, are our ‘Wyatts.’ But the Norman initial was not entirely lost. ‘Aleyn Gyot’ is found in the ‘Rolls of Parliament;’ and ‘Guyot’ and ‘Guyatt’ testify to its existence in the nineteenth century.^[21] ‘Ralph,’ or ‘Radulf,’ of whom there were thirty-eight in Domesday, has survived 37in a number of forms. Our ‘Raffs’ and ‘Raffsons’ can carry back their descent to days when ‘Raffe Barton’ or ‘Peter Raffson’ thus signed themselves. The favourite pet forms were ‘Rawlin’ and ‘Randle;’ hence such entries as ‘Raulyn de la Fermerie,’ ‘Raulina de Briston,’ or ‘Randle de la Mill.’ To these it is we owe our ‘Rawlins,’ ‘Rawlings,’ ‘Rawlinsons,’ ‘Rollins,’ ‘Rollinsons,’ ‘Randles’ and ‘Randalls.’ Other and more ordinary corruptions are found in ‘Rawes,’ ‘Rawson,’ ‘Rawkins,’ ‘Rapkins,’ and ‘Rapson.’ The reader may easily see from this that ‘Ralph,’ from occupying a place in the foremost rank of early favourites, is content now to stand in the very rear.

There are a number of names still in use, although not so popular as they once were, which were brought in directly by the Normans, and which were closely connected with the real or imaginary stories of which Charlemagne was the central figure. Italy, France, and Spain possess a larger stock than we do of this class, but those which did reach our shores made for themselves a secure position. ‘Charles,’ by some strange accident, did not obtain a place in England, nor is it to be found in our registers, saving in the most isolated instances, till Charles the First, by his misfortunes, made it one of the commonest in the land. In France, as Sir Walter Scott, in ‘Quentin Durward,’ reminds us, the pet form was ‘Charlot’ and ‘Charlat.’ This, as a surname, soon found its way to England, where it has existed for many centuries. The feminine ‘Charlotte,’ since the death of the beloved Princess of that name, has become almost a household word. Putting aside ‘Charles,’ then, the Paladins have bequeathed us ‘Roland,’ ‘Oliver,’ ‘Robert,’ ‘Richard,’ 38‘Roger,’ ‘Reginald,’ ‘Reynard,’ and ‘Miles.’ We see at once in these names the parentage of some of our most familiar surnames. ‘Oliver’ was, perhaps, the least popular so far as numbers were concerned, and might have died out entirely had not the Protector Cromwell brought it again into notoriety. ‘Oliver,’ ‘Olver,’ ‘Ollier,’ and ‘Oliverson’ are the present forms, and these are met by such entries as ‘Jordan Olyver,’ or ‘Philip fil. Oliver.’ ‘Roland,’ or ‘Orlando,’ was the nephew of the great Charles, who fell in his peerless might at Roncesvalles. Of him and Oliver, Walter Scott, translating the Norman chronicle, says—

‘Roland’ was a favourite name among the higher nobility for centuries, and with our ‘Rolands,’ ‘Rowlands,’ ‘Rowlsons,’ and ‘Rowlandsons,’ bids fair to maintain its hold upon our surnames, if not the baptismal list. Old forms are found in such entries as ‘Roland le Lene,’ ‘Rouland Bloet,’ ‘William Rollandson,’ or ‘Robert Rowelyngsonne’! We must not forget, too, that our ‘Rowletts’ and ‘Rowlets’ represent the French diminutive.^[22] ‘Robert’ is an instance of a name which has held its place against all counter influences from the moment which first brought it into public favour. It is early made conspicuous in the eldest son of the Bastard King who, through his 39miserable fate, became such an object of common pity that, though of the hated stock, his sobriquet became acceptable among the Saxons themselves. From that time its fortunes were made, even had not the bold archer of Sherwood Forest risen to the fore, and caused ‘Hob’ to be the title of every other young peasant you might meet ’twixt London and York. A curious instance of the popularity of the latter is found in the fact that a tradesman living in 1388 in Winchelsea is recorded under the name of ‘Thomas Robynhod.’ The diminutives ‘Robynet’^[23] and ‘Robertot’ are obsolete, but of other forms that still thrive among us are ‘Roberts,’ ‘Robarts,’ ‘Robertson,’ ‘Robins,’ ‘Robinson,’ ‘Robison,’ and ‘Robson.’ From its shortened ‘Dob’ are ‘Dobbs,’ ‘Dobson,’ ‘Dobbins,’ ‘Dobinson,’ and ‘Dobison.’^[24] From its equally familiar ‘Hob’ are ‘Hobbs,’ ‘Hobson,’ ‘Hobbins,’ ‘Hopkins,’ and ‘Hopkinson.’ From the Welsh, too, we get, as contractions of ‘Ap-robert’ and ‘Ap-robin,’ ‘Probert’ and ‘Probyn.’ Thus ‘Robert’ is not left without remembrance. Richard was scarcely less popular than Robert. Though already firmly established, for Richard was in the Norman ducal genealogy before William came over the water, still it was reserved for the Angevine monarch, as he had made it the terror of the Paynim, so to make it the pride of the English heart. Richard I. is an instance of a man’s many despicable qualities being forgotten in 40the dazzling brilliance of daring deeds. He was an ungrateful son, an unkind brother, a faithless husband; but he was the idol of his time, and to him a large mass of English people of to-day owe their nominal existence. From the name proper we get ‘Richards’ and ‘Richardson,’ ‘Ricks’ and ‘Rix,’ ‘Rickson’ and ‘Rixon,’ or ‘Ritson,’ ‘Rickards,’ and ‘Ricketts.’^[25] From the curter ‘Dick’ or ‘Diccon,’^[26] we derive ‘Dicks’ or ‘Dix,’ ‘Dickson’ or ‘Dixon,’ ‘Dickens’ or ‘Diccons,’ and ‘Dickenson’ or ‘Dicconson.’ From ‘Hitchin,’ once nearly as familiar as ‘Dick,’ we get ‘Hitchins,’ ‘Hitchinson,’ ‘Hitchcock,’ and ‘Hitchcox.’ Like many another name, the number of ‘Richards’ now is out of all proportion less than these surnames would ascribe to it some centuries ago. The reason of this we shall speak more particularly about by-and-by. Roger, well known in France and Italy, found much favour in England. From it we derive our ‘Rogers,’ ‘Rodgers,’ and ‘Rogersons.’ From Hodge, its nickname, we acquired ‘Hodge,’ ‘Hodges,’ ‘Hodgkins,’ ‘Hotchkins,’ ‘Hoskins,’ ‘Hodgkinson,’ ‘Hodgson,’ and ‘Hodson,’ and through the Welsh ‘Prodger.’ The diminutive ‘Rogercock’ is found once, but it was 41ungainly, and I doubt not met with little favour. Reginald, as Rinaldo, immortalized by the Italian poet, appeared in Domesday as ‘Ragenald’ and ‘Rainald.’ Our ‘Reynolds,’ represent the surname. ‘Renaud’ or ‘Renard,’ can never be forgotten while there is a single fox left to display its cunning. The story seems to have been founded on the character of some real personage, but his iniquities did not frighten parents from the use of the name. ‘Renaud Balistarius’ or ‘Adam fil. Reinaud’ are common entries, and ‘Reynardsons’ and ‘Rennisons’ still exist. Our ‘Rankins,’ too, would seem to have originated from this sobriquet since ‘Gilbert Reynkin’ and ‘Richard Reynkyn’ are found in two separate rolls. Miles came into England as ‘Milo,’ that being the form found in Domesday. It was already popular with the Normans, and, like all other personal names from the same source, we find it speedily recorded in a diminutive shape, as ‘Millot’ and ‘Millet.’ ‘Roger Millot’ occurs in the Hundred Rolls, and ‘Thomas Mylett’ in a Yorkshire register of an early date. The patronymics were ‘Mills,’ ‘Miles,’ ‘Millson,’ and ‘Mileson,’^[27] all of which still exist.

The great race for popularity since Domesday record has ever been that between ‘William’ and ‘John.’ In the age immediately following the Conquest ‘William’ decidedly held the supremacy. This is naturally accounted for by its royal associations. There was, indeed, a ‘John’ in the same line of descent as the Bastard from Richard I. of Normandy, but the name 42seems to have been forgotten, or passed by unheeded, till it was revived again five generations later in ‘John Lackland.’ ‘William’ enjoyed better auspices. It was the name of the founder of the new monarchy. It was the name of his immediate successor. Whatever the character of these two kings, such a conjunction could not but have its weight upon the especially Norman element in the kingdom. We find in Domesday that while there are 68 ‘Williams,’ 48 ‘Roberts,’ and 28 ‘Walters,’ there are only 10 ‘Johns.’ A century later than this, ‘William’ must still have claimed precedence among the nobility at least, as is proved by a statement of Robert Montensis. He says, that at a festival held in the court of Henry II., in 1173, Sir William St. John and Sir William Fitz-Hamon, especial officers, had commanded that none but those of the name of ‘William’ should dine in the Great Chamber with them, and were, therefore, accompanied by one hundred and twenty ‘Williams,’ all knights. By the time of Edward I. this disproportion had become less marked. In a list of names connected with the county of Wiltshire in that reign, we find, out of a total of 588 decipherable names (for the record is somewhat damaged), 92 ‘Williams’ to 88 ‘Johns,’ while ‘Richard’ is credited with 55; ‘Robert,’ 48; ‘Roger,’ 23; and ‘Geoffrey,’ ‘Ralph,’ and ‘Peter,’ each 16 names. This denotes clearly that a considerable change had taken place in the popular estimation of these two appellations. Within a century after this, however, ‘John’ had evidently gained the supremacy. In 1347, we find that out of 133 Common Councilmen for London town first convened, 35 were ‘Johns,’ the next highest being 17 under the head of 43‘William,’ 15 under ‘Thomas,’ which now, for obvious reasons we will mention hereafter, had suddenly sprung into notoriety; 10 under ‘Richard,’ 9 under ‘Henry,’ 8 under ‘Robert,’ and so on; ending with one each for ‘Laurence,’ ‘Reynald,’ ‘Andrew,’ ‘Alan,’ ‘Giles,’ ‘Gilbert,’ and ‘Peter.’ A still greater disproportion is found forty years later; for in 1385, the Guild of St. George, at Norwich, out of a total of 376 names, possessed 128 ‘Johns’ to 47 ‘Williams’ and 41 ‘Thomases.’^[28] From this period, despite the hatred that was felt for Lackland, ‘John’ kept the precedence it had won, and to this circumstance the nation owes the sobriquet it now generally receives, that of ‘John Bull.’ Long ago, however, under the offensive title of ‘Jean Gotdam,’ we had become known as a people given to strange and unpleasant oaths. It is interesting to trace the way in which ‘William’ has again recovered itself in later days. Throughout the Middle Ages it occupied a sturdy second place, fearless of any rival beyond the one that had supplanted it. Its dark hour was the Puritan Commonwealth. As a Pagan name it was rejected with horror and disdain. From the day of the Protestant settlement and William’s accession, however, it again looked up from the cold shade into which it had fallen, and now once more stands easily, as eight centuries ago, at the head of our baptismal registers. ‘John,’ on the other hand, though it had the advantage of being in no way hateful 44to the Puritan conscience, has, from one reason or another, gone down in the world, and now has again resumed its early place as second.

The surnames that have descended to us from ‘William’ and ‘John’ are well-nigh numberless—far too many for enumeration here. To begin with the former, however, we find that the simple ‘Williams’ and ‘Williamson’ occupy whole pages of our directories. Besides these, we have from the curter ‘Will,’ ‘Wills,’ ‘Willis,’ and ‘Wilson;’ from the diminutive ‘Guillemot’ or ‘Gwillot,’ as it is often spelt in olden records. ‘Gillot,’ ‘Gillott,’ and ‘Gillett;’ or from ‘Williamot,’^[29] the more English form of the same, ‘Willmot,’ ‘Wilmot,’ ‘Willot,’ ‘Willet,’ and ‘Willert.’ In conjunction with the pet addenda, we get ‘Wilks,’ ‘Wilkins,’ and ‘Wilkinson,’ and ‘Wilcox,’ ‘Wilcocson,’ and ‘Wilcockson.’ Lastly, we have representatives of the more corrupt forms in such names as ‘Weeks,’ ‘Wickens,’ ‘Wickenson,’ and ‘Bill’ and ‘Bilson.’ Mr. Lower, who does not quote any authority for the statement, alleges that there was an old provincial nickname for ‘William’—viz., ‘Till;’ whence ‘Tilson,’ ‘Tillot,’ ‘Tillotson,’ and ‘Tilly.’ That these are sprung from ‘Till’ is evident, but there can be no reasonable doubt that this is but the still existing curtailment of ‘Matilda,’ which, as the most familiar female name of that day, would originate many a family so entitled. ‘Tyllott Thompson’ is a name occurring in York in 1414. Thus it is to the Conqueror’s wife, and not 45himself, these latter owe their rise. It is not the first time a wife’s property has thus been rudely wrenched from her for her husband’s benefit. The surnames from ‘John’ are as multifarious as is possible in the case of a monosyllable, ingenuity in the contraction thereof being thus manifestly limited. As ‘John’ simple it is very rare; but this has been well atoned for by ‘Jones,’ which, adding ‘John’ again as a prænomen, would be (as has been well said by the Registrar-General) in Wales a perpetual incognito, and being proclaimed at the cross of a market town would indicate no one in particular. Certainly ‘John Jones,’ in the Principality, is but a living contradiction to the purposes for which names and surnames came into existence. Besides this, however, we have ‘Johnson’ and ‘Jonson,’ ‘Johncock’ and ‘Jenkins,’ ‘Jennings’ and ‘Jenkinson,’ ‘Jackson’ and ‘Jacox,’ and ‘Jenks;’ which latter, however, now bids fair, under the patronage of ‘Ginx’s Baby,’ to be found for the future in a new and more quaint dress than it has hitherto worn. Besides several of the above, it is to the Welsh, also, we owe our ‘Ivens,’ ‘Evans,’ and ‘Bevans’ (i.e. Ap-Evan), which are but sprung from the same name. The Flemings, too, have not suffered their form of it to die out for lack of support; for it is with the settlement of ‘Hans,’^[30] a mere abbreviation 46of ‘Johannes,’ we are to date the rise of our familiar ‘Hansons,’ ‘Hankins,’ ‘Hankinsons,’ and ‘Hancocks,’ or ‘Handcocks.’ Nor is this all. ‘John’ enjoyed the peculiar prerogative of being able to attach to itself adjectives of a flattering, or at least harmless nature, and issuing forth and becoming accepted by the world therewith. Thus—though we shall have to notice it again—from the praiseworthy effort to distinguish the many ‘Johns’ each community possessed, we have still in our midst such names as ‘Prujean’ and ‘Grosjean,’ ‘Micklejohn’ and ‘Littlejohn,’ ‘Properjohn’ and ‘Brownjohn,’ and last, but not least, the estimable ‘Bonjohn.’ Do we need to go on to prove ‘Jack’s’ popularity, or rather universality?^[31] Every stranger was ‘Jack’ till he was found to be somebody else; so that ‘every man Jack of them’ has been a kind of general lay-baptism for ages. Every young supernumerary, whose position and age gave the licence, was in the eye of his superiors simply ‘Jack.’ As one instrument after another, however, was brought into use, by which manual service was rendered unnecessary and ‘Jack’ unneeded, instead of superannuating him he was quietly thrust into the new and inanimate office, and what with ‘boot-jacks’ and ‘black-jacks,’ ‘jack-towels’ and ‘smoke-jacks,’ ‘jacks’ for this and ‘jacks’ for that, no wonder people have begun to speak unkindly of him as ‘Jack-of-all-trades and master of none.’ Still, with this uncomplimentary 47tone, there was a smack of praise. A notion, at any rate, got abroad that ‘Jack’ must be a knowing, clever, sharp-witted sort of fellow, one who has his eyes open. So we got into the way of associating him with the more lively of the birds, beasts, and fishes; such, for instance, as the ‘jack-daw,’ the ‘jack-an-apes,’ and the ‘jack-pike.’ But ‘familiarity,’ as our copybooks long ago informed us, ‘breeds contempt;’ and so was it with ‘Jack’—he became a mark for ridicule. Even in Chaucer’s day ‘jack-fool’ or ‘jack-pudding’ was the synonym for a buffoon, and ‘jackass’ for a dolt; and here it but nationalises the ‘zany,’ a corruption of the Italian ‘Giovanni,’ or ‘merry-John,’ corresponding to our ‘merry-Andrew.’ ‘Jack of Dover’ also existed at the same period as a cant term for a clever knave, and that it still lived in the seventeenth century is clear from Taylor’s rhyme, where he says:—

Altogether, we may claim for ‘John’ a prominent, if not distinguished, position in the annals of English 48nomenclature. Nor must we forget ‘Joan,’ until Tudor days the general form of the present ‘Jane.’ Then ‘some of the better and nicer sort,’ as Camden saith, ‘misliking the former, turned it into “Jane”;’ and in testimony of this he adds that ‘Jane’ is never found in older records. This is strictly true. There can be little doubt that when the fair queen of Henry VIII. gave distinction to the name it became a courtly fashion to give it a different form from that borne by the multitude, and thus ‘Jane’ arose. Thus ‘Joan’ was left, as Miss Yonge says, ‘to the cottage and the kitchen;’ and there, indeed, it lingered on for a long period.^[33] Of many another could Shakespeare have sung:—

Previously to this, anyway, both queens and princesses had been content with ‘Joan.’ I doubt not, with regard to several of the surnames above-mentioned, ‘John’ must, if the truth be told, share the honours of origination with ‘Joan;’ nor do I think ‘Jennison’ peculiar to the latter. What with ‘John’ and ‘Jean’ for the masculine, and ‘Joan’ and ‘Jenny’ 49for the feminine, I do not see how the two could possibly escape confusion. ‘Jones’ and ‘Joanes,’ and ‘Jane’ and ‘Jayne,’ to say nothing of ‘Jennings,’ seem as like hereditary from the one as the other.^[34] Two feminines from ‘Jack,’ viz. ‘Jacquetta’ and ‘Jacqueline,’ were not unknown in England; ‘Jacquetta Knokyn’ (AA 3), ‘Jackett Toser’ (Z). The latter was the more common, and bequeathed us a surname ‘Jacklin,’ which still exists. It is found on an old bell:—

The peasant’s leather jerkin, corresponding to the more lordly coat of mail, was a jack whence the diminutive jacket. The more warlike dress gave rise to the name of ‘Jackman,’ of which more anon.

50The Angevine dynasty gave a new impulse to some already popular names, and may be said in reality to have introduced, although not altogether unknown, several new ones. The two which owe the security of their establishment to it are ‘Geoffrey’ and ‘Fulke.’ The grandfather, the father, a brother, and a son of Henry II. were ‘Geoffrey;’ and still earlier than this, ‘Geoffrey Grisegonelle,’ ‘Geoffrey Martel,’ and ‘Geoffrey Barbu’ had each in turn set their mark upon the same. Apart from these influences, too, the stories brought home by the Crusaders of the prowess of Godfrey, the conqueror of Jerusalem, must have had their wonted effect in a day of such martial renown. Such surnames as ‘Jeffs,’ ‘Jeffries,’ ‘Jefferson,’ ‘Jeffcock,’ ‘Jeffkins,’ ‘Jephson,’ and ‘Jepson’ still record the share it had obtained in English esteem. ‘Fulke,’ or ‘Fulque,’ though there had been six so early as Domesday Book, when it came backed as it was by the fact of having given title to five Angevine rulers, got an inevitable place. Few Christian names were so common as this in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But it was an ungainly one, difficult to pronounce, and difficult to form into a patronymic. Thus, ‘Faxson’ and ‘Fawson’ are the only longer forms I can find as at present existing, while the variously spelt ‘Fulkes,’ ‘Foulkes,’ ‘Fakes,’ ‘Faux,’ ‘Fawkes,’ ‘Faulks,’ ‘Fowkes,’ ‘Folkes,’ ‘Foakes,’ and doubtless sometimes ‘Fox,’ serve to show how hard it was to hand it down in its original integrity. The entries in our mediæval registers are equally varied. We light upon such people as ‘Fowlke Grevill,’ ‘Fowke Crompton,’ ‘Fulk Paifrer,’ ‘Fulke le Taverner,’ ‘Foke 51Odell,’ ‘Faukes le Buteller,’ ‘Nel Faukes,’ and ‘John Faux.’ As an English historic name it has given us two miscreants; the hateful favourite of John, outlawed by Henry III., and the still more sanguinary villain of James I.’s day, in whose dishonour we still pile up the blazing logs in the gloomy nights of November. Henry, again, or more properly speaking Harry, owes much to the Plantagenets, for but three are to be found in Domesday. With its long line of monarchs, albeit it represented a curious mixture of good, bad, and indifferent qualities, that dynasty could not but stamp itself decisively on our registers. Thus, we have still plenty of ‘Henrys,’ ‘Harrises,’ ‘Harrisons,’ ‘Hallets,’ ‘Halkets,’ ‘Hawkinses,’ and ‘Hawkinsons;’ to say nothing of the Welsh ‘Parrys’ and ‘Penrys.’^[35] (‘Thomas Ap-Harry,’ D. ‘Hugh Ap-harrye,’ Z.) The Norman diminutive was early used, as such folk as ‘Alicia Henriot,’ ‘Robert Henriot,’ ‘Heriot Heringflet,’ ‘Thomas Haryette,’ or ‘William Haryott’ could have borne witness. ‘Harriot,’ or ‘Harriet,’ has been revived in recent days as a feminine baptismal name. ‘Hawkin,’ or ‘Halkin,’^[36] however, was perhaps the most popular form. Langland represents Conscience as saying:—

52Baldwin had already appeared at the Conquest, for an aunt of William’s had married Baldwin, Earl of Flanders, and he himself was espoused to Matilda, daughter of the fifth ‘Baldwin’ of that earldom. No doubt the Flemings brought in fresh accessions, and when we add to this the fact of its being by no means an unpopular Angevine name, we can readily see why ‘Balderson,’ ‘Bolderson,’ ‘Balcock,’ ‘Bodkin,’ and the simple ‘Baldwin,’ have maintained a quiet but steady position in the English lists ever since. Thus, the Plantagenets are not without memorials, even in the nineteenth century.

It is to Norman influence we owe the firm establishment of several names, which had already got securely settled on the Continent on account of the odour of sanctity that had gathered about them. The Reformation threw into the shade of oblivion the memories of many holy men and women who in their day and generation exercised a powerful influence on our general nomenclature. Many of my readers will be unaware that there were three St. Geralds and three St. Gerards held in high repute previous to the eleventh century. The higher Norman families seem to have been attached to both, though ‘Gerard’ has made the deepest impression. ‘Gerald’ and ‘Fitz-Gerald’ are the commonest descendants of the first. As respects ‘Gerard,’ such names as ‘Garret Widdrington,’ 53or ‘Jarrarde Hall,’ or ‘Jarat Nycholson,’ found among our Yorkshire entries, serve to show how far the spirit of verbal corruption can advance; and our many ‘Garrets,’ ‘Jarrets,’ ‘Jarratts,’ and ‘Jerards,’ as surnames, will probably testify the same to all ages.^[37] As there were twenty-eight ‘Walters’ in Domesday Survey, we cannot attribute the popularity of that name to St. Walter, abbot of Fontenelle in the middle of the twelfth century. But, as Miss Yonge shows, it had been spread over Aquitaine in the earlier part of the tenth century, through the celebrity of a saintly Walter who resided in that dukedom about the year 990. Few sobriquets enjoyed such a share of attention as this. In one of its nicknames, that of ‘Water,’^[38] we are reminded of Suffolk’s death in Shakespeare’s Henry VI., where the murderer says—

University men will remember a play of another kind upon its other form of ‘Wat,’ in the poems of C. S. C., whose power of rhyming, at least, I have never seen surpassed, even by Ingoldsby himself. He thus begins one of his happiest efforts—

This, too, it will be seen, as well as ‘Water,’ still abides with us in its own or an extended guise, for our ‘Watts’ and ‘Waters,’ ‘Watsons’ and ‘Watersons,’ ‘Watkins’ and ‘Watkinsons,’ would muster strongly if in conclave assembled. Our ‘Waltrots,’ though not so numerous, are but the ancient ‘Walterot.’ As a Christian name Walter stands low now-a-days. ‘Tonkin,’ ‘Tonson,’ and ‘Townson’ (found in such an entry as ‘Jane Tounson’) remind us of ‘Anthony,’^[39] a name previous to the Reformation popular as that possessed by the great ascetic of the fourth century. A curious phrase got connected with St. Anthony, that of ‘tantony-pig.’ It is said that monks attached to monasteries dedicated to this saint had the privilege of allowing their swine to feed in the streets. These habitually following those who were wont to offer greens to them, gave rise to the expression, ‘To follow like a Tantony-pig.’ Thus, in ‘The good wyfe wold a pylgremage,’ it is said—

The connection between St. Anthony and swine, which gave the good monks this benefit, seems, in spite of many wild guesses, to have arisen from the 55mere fact of his dwelling so long in the woodlands. As Barnabe Googe has it—

It must have been this connexion which made ‘Tony’ the common sobriquet for a simpleton or a country clown. It lived in this sense till Dryden’s day, and certainly had become such so early as the thirteenth century, if we may judge by the occurrence of such names as ‘Ida le Tony,’ or ‘Roger le Tony,’ found in the Rolls of that period.^[41] If, however, St. Anthony was thus doomed to be an example, how great may be the drawbacks to saintly distinction: ‘St. Cuthbert,’ who, in the odour of sanctity, dwelt at Lindisfarne, may even be more pitied, for, owing to the familiarity of his name in every rustic household of Northumbria and Durham, he became as ‘Cuddie,’ a sobriquet for the donkey, and is thus known and associated to the present moment. Our ‘Cuthberts,’ ‘Cuthbertsons,’ and ‘Cutbeards,’ however, need trouble 56themselves little, I imagine, on the question of their connection with the animal to whom we usually ascribe the honours in regard to obstinacy and stubbornness. Our ‘Cuddies,’ perhaps, are not quite so free from suspicion. Our ‘Cobbets’ undoubtedly spring from ‘Cuthbert.’ A ‘Nicholas Cowbeytson’ occurs in a Yorkshire register of the fourteenth century (Fabric Rolls of York Minster: Sur. Soc.). From ‘Cowbeyt’ to ‘Cobbet’ is a natural—I might say an inevitable—change. This name, however, owes nothing to the Normans. Not so ‘Giles.’ Everyone knows the story of St. Giles, how he dwelt as an anchorite in the forest near Nismes, and was discovered by the King because the hind, which daily gave him milk, pushed in the chase, fled to his feet. The name is entered in our rolls alike as ‘Giles,’ ‘Gile,’ and ‘Egedius’ (Gile Deacon. A. Jordan fil. Egidius, A). St. Lawrence, put on a gridiron over a slow fire in the third century, made his name popular in Spain. An archbishop of Canterbury, raised to a saintship in the seventh century, made the same familiar in England. Besides ‘Lawson,’ we have ‘Larkins’ and ‘Larson.’ In the lines already quoted relative to Wat Tyler’s insurrection, it is said—

The French diminutive occurs also. An ‘Andrew Larrett’ is mentioned by Nicholls in his history of Leicestershire, and the surname may still be seen in our directories. ‘Lambert’ received a large accession in England through the Flemings, who thus preserved a memorial of the patron of Liege, St. Lambert, who was martyred early in the eighth century. Succumbing 57to the fashion so prevalent among the Flemings, it is generally found as ‘Lambkin,’ such entries as ‘Lambekyn fil. Eli’ or ‘Lambekin Taborer’ being common. The present surnominal forms are ‘Lambert,’ ‘Lampson,’^[42] ‘Lambkin,’ and ‘Lampkin.’ Thus our ‘Lambkins’ cannot boast of the Moses-like disposition of their ancestor on philological grounds. With the mention of three other saints we conclude this list. The legend of St. Christopher had its due effect on the popular taste, and it is early found in the various guises of ‘Cristophre,’ ‘Cristofer,’ and ‘Christofer.’ ‘Christophers’ and ‘Christopherson’ represent the surnames of the fuller form. To the pet form we owe our ‘Kitts’ and ‘Kitsons.’ St. Christopher’s Isle in the West Indies is now familiarly St. Kitts. It was of the indignity offered to Christopher Marlowe’s genius in calling him so generally by this brief sobriquet that Heywood spoke when he said—

The same writer has it also in one of his epigrams—

We have already mentioned one abbot of Fontenelle who influenced our nomenclature. Another who exerted a similar power was ‘St. Gilbert,’ a contemporary and friend of the Conqueror. A few generations 58afterwards brought the English St. Gilbert to the fore, and then the name began to grow common, so common that as ‘Gib’ it became the favourite sobriquet of the feline species.^[44] In several of our earliest writers it is found in familiar use, and in the Bard of Avon’s day it was not forgotten. Falstaff complains of being as melancholy as a ‘gib-cat’—that is, an old worn-out cat. Hamlet also says—

‘To play the gib’ was a proverbial phrase for light and wanton behaviour.^[45] Thus ‘Gilbert’ has been forced into a somewhat unpleasant notoriety in feline nomenclature. But he was popular enough, too, among the human kind. In that part of the ‘Townley Mysteries’ which represents the Nativity, one of the shepherds is supposed to hail one of his friends, who is passing by. He addresses him thus:—

59The surnames formed from Gilbert, too, prove his popularity. Beside ‘Gilbert’ himself, we have ‘Gibbs,’ ‘Gibbins,’ ‘Gibbons,’ ‘Gibson,’^[46] ‘Gibbonson,’ and ‘Gipps,’ to say nothing of that famous citizen of credit and renown, ‘John Gilpin,’ who has immortalized at least his setting of this good old-fashioned name.

Having referred to Gilbert and Gib the cat, we must needs notice ‘Theobald’ and ‘Tib.’ ‘St. Theobald,’ if he has not himself given much prominence to the title, nevertheless represents a name whose susceptibility to change was something amazing. The common form with the French was ‘Thibault’ or ‘Thibaud,’ and this is represented in England in such entries as ‘Tebald de Engleschevile,’ ‘Richard Tebaud,’ or ‘Roger Tebbott.’ A still curter form was ‘Tibbe’ or ‘Tebbe;’ hence such registrations as ‘Tebbe Molendinarius’ or ‘Tebb fil. William.’ In this dress it is found in the Latin lines commemorative of Tyler’s insurrection:—

Among other surnames that speak for its faded popularity are ‘Tibbes,’ ‘Tebbes,’ and ‘Tubbs,’ ‘Theobald’ and ‘Tibbald,’ ‘Tibble’ and ‘Tipple,’ ‘Tipkins’ and ‘Tippins,’ and ‘Tipson,’ and our endlessly varied ‘Tibbats,’ ‘Tibbets,’ ‘Tibbits,’ ‘Tebbatts,’ ‘Tebbotts,’ and ‘Tebbutts.’ Indeed, the name has simply run riot among the vowels. ‘Hugh’ I have kept till the 60last, because of its important position as an early name. It was crowded with holy associations. There was a ‘St. Hugh,’ Abbot of Cluny, in 1109. There was a ‘St. Hugh,’ Bishop of Grenoble, in 1132. There was ‘St. Hugh,’ Bishop of Lincoln, in 1200, and above all there was the celebrated infant martyr, ‘St. Hugh,’ of Lincoln, said to have been crucified by the Jews of that city in 1250. This event happened just at the best time for affecting our surnames. Their hereditary tendency was becoming marked. Thus it is that ‘Hugh,’ or ‘Hew,’^[47] as it was generally spelt, has made such an indenture upon our nomenclature. The pet forms are all Norman-French, the most popular being ‘Huet,’ ‘Hugon,’ and ‘Huelot,’ the last formed like ‘Hamelot,’ and ‘Hobelot.’ The second of these was further corrupted by the English into ‘Hutchin’ and ‘Huggin.’^[48] Hence our rolls teem with such registrations as ‘Hewe Hare,’ ‘Huet de Badone,’ ‘William fil. Hugonis,’ ‘Houlot de Manchester,’ ‘Walter Hughelot,’ ‘John Hewisson,’ ‘Simon Howissone,’ ‘Roger fil. Hulot,’ or ‘Alan Huchyns.’ Among the surnames still common in our directories may be numbered ‘Huggins,’ ‘Hutchins,’ ‘Hutchinson,’ ‘Hugginson,’ ‘Howlett,’ ‘Hullett,’ ‘Hewlett,’ ‘Huet,’ ‘Hewet,’ ‘Hewetson,’ ‘Howett,’ ‘Howson,’ ‘Hughes,’ and ‘Hewson.’ All these various forms bespeak a familiarity which is now of course utterly 61wanting, so far as our Christian nomenclature is concerned. Indeed, after all I have said, I still feel that it is impossible to give the reader an adequate conception of the popularity of this name four hundred years ago. It is one more conspicuous instance marking the change which the Reformation and an English Bible effected upon our nomenclature.

We may here refer to a group of appellatives which are derived from the names of certain days and seasons. I dare not say that all I shall mention are absolutely sprung from one and the same custom. Some, I doubt not, were bestowed upon their owners from various accidental circumstances of homely and individual interest. Neighbours would readily affix a nickname of this class upon one who had by some creditable or mean action made a particular season remarkable in his personal history. But these, I presume, will be exceptional, for there is no manner of doubt that it was a practice, and by no means a rare one, to baptize a child by the name of the day on which it was born, especially if it were a holiday. We know now how often it happens that the Church Calendar furnishes names for those born upon the Saints’ days—how many ‘Johns’ and ‘Jameses’ and ‘Matthews’ owe their appellations to the fact that they came into the world upon the day marked, ecclesiastically, for the commemoration of those particular Apostles. This is still a custom among more rigid Churchmen. In early days, however, it was 62carried to an extreme extent. Days of a simply local interest—days for fairs and wakes—days that were celebrated in the civil calendar—days that were the boundaries of the different seasons—all were familiarly pressed into the service of name-giving. These, springing up in a day when they were no sooner made part of the personal than they became candidates for our hereditary nomenclature, have in many cases come down to us. Thus, the time when the yule log blazed and crackled on the hearth has given us ‘Christmas,’ or ‘Noel,’ or ‘Yule,’ or ‘Midwinter.’ This last seems to have been an ordinary term for the day, for we find it in colloquial use at this time. In Robert of Gloucester’s ‘Life of William the Conqueror,’ he speaks of it’s being his intention

‘Pentecost’ was as familiar a term in the common mouth as ‘Whitsuntide,’ and thus we find both occurring in the manner mentioned. ‘Wytesunday’ is, however, now obsolete; ‘Pentecost’ still lives.^[49] ‘Paske,’ for ‘Easter,’ was among the priesthood the word in general use; old writers always speak of ‘Paske’ for that solemn season. Thus, ‘Pask,’ ‘Pash,’ ‘Paschal,’ and ‘Pascal’^[50] are firmly set in our directories; 63as, indeed, they are on the Continent also. It is the same with ‘Lammas,’ ‘Sumption,’ and ‘Middlemas;’ that is, ‘Assumption’ and ‘Michaelmas.’ Each as it came round imprinted its name at the baptismal font upon the ancestors of all those who still bear these several titles in our midst. It would be an anachronism, therefore, to suppose Mr. Robinson Crusoe to have been the first who introduced this system, as even ‘Friday’ itself, to say nothing of ‘Munday,’ or ‘Monday,’ and ‘Saturday,’ and ‘Tuesday,’ were all surnames long anterior to that notable personage’s existence. Nor, as I have said, are the less solemn feast days disregarded. ‘Loveday’ is one such proof. In olden times there was often a day fixed for the arrangement of differences, in which, if possible, old sores were to be healed up and old-standing accounts settled. This day, called a ‘Loveday,’ is frequently alluded to. That very inconsistent friar in Piers Plowman’s Vision could, it is said—

The latter part of the quotation suggests to us the origin of ‘Termday,’ which I find as existing in the twelfth century, and probably given in the humorous spirit of that day.^[51] Nor are these all. ‘Plouday’ was 64the first Monday after Twelfth Night, and the day on which the farmer began his ploughing. It was a great rural holiday at one time, and the ploughmen as a rule got gloriously drunk. Similarly, we have ‘Hockerday,’ ‘Hockday,’ and perhaps the still more corrupted ‘Hobday,’ the old English expression for a ‘high-day.’ The second Tuesday after Easter was especially so termed, and kept in early times as such, as commemorative of the driving out of the Danes in the days of Ethelred. This was a likely name to be given on such a high day in the domestic annals as that on which the first-born came into the world. Happy parents would readily seize upon this at a time when the word and its meaning were alike familiar. Our ‘Hallidays’ or ‘Hollidays’ throw us back to the Church festivals, those times of merriment and jollity which have helped to such a degree to dissociate from our minds the real meaning of the word (that is, a day set apart for holy service in commemoration of some religious event), that we have now been compelled by a varied spelling to make the distinction between a ‘holyday’ and a ‘holiday.’ Thus strongly marked upon our nomenclature is this once favourite but now well-nigh obsolete custom.

We may here briefly refer to a class of patronymics which, although small from the first, took its place, as if insensibly, among our hereditary surnames. It is a class of occupative or professional names, with the filial desinence attached. There is nothing wonderful 65in the fact of the existence of such. The wonder is that there are not more of them. It must have been all but as natural to style a man as the son of ‘the Clerk’ as the son of ‘Harry’ in a small community, where the father had, in his professional capacity, established himself as of some local importance. Hence we cannot be surprised to find ‘Clerkson’ in our registers. It is thus the ‘sergeant’ has bequeathed us our ‘Sergeantsons;’ the ‘kemp,’ or soldier, our ‘Kempsons;’ the ‘cook,’ our ‘Cooksons,’ or ‘Filius Coci,’ as the Hundred Rolls have it; the ‘smith,’ our ‘Smithsons;’ the ‘steward,’ our ‘Stewardsons;’ the ‘grieve,’ i.e. ‘reeve,’ our ‘Grievesons;’ the ‘miller,’ our ‘Millersons;’ and the ‘shepherd,’ our ‘Shepherdsons.’ Of other instances, now obsolete, we had ‘Masterson,’ ‘Hyneson,’^[52] ‘Hopperson,’ ‘Scolardson,’ and ‘Priestson.’ Nor were the Normans without traces of this practice, although in their case all the examples I have met with have ceased to exist amongst us. ‘Fitz-Clerk’ but corresponds with one of the above; while the warden of the woods gave us ‘Fitz-Parker,’ and that of the college, ‘Fitz-Provost.’ Thus, those who yet possess names of this class may congratulate themselves upon belonging to a small but compact body which has ever existed amid our more general nomenclature.

We have already mentioned Joan as having bequeathed several surnames. We did not then allude to the somewhat difficult subject of metronymics; 66we shall first prove by examples that there are a large number of such. We shall then briefly unfold their origin from our point of view. The feminine of Peter, ‘Petronilla,’ was a name in familiar use at this time. St. Petronilla, once much besought as a help against fevers, would no doubt add to its popularity. Barnyby Googe says:—

In the above stanza we are supplied with the common sobriquet taken from his name. As ‘Pernel’ or ‘Parnel’ it held a high place among the poorer classes. From an ill-repute, however, that attached to it in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it is now all but extinct as a Christian name, and it is only among our surnames that it is to be met with. It is curious how associations of this kind destroy the chances of popularity among names. ‘Peter’ was forced into familiarity. ‘Pernel’ lost caste through its becoming a cant term for women of a certain character. ‘Magdalen’ is another case in point. The Bible narrative describes her briefly as a penitent sinner. Legend, adding to this, portrayed her beauty, her golden tresses, her rich drapery. Art added touches of its own in the shape of dishevelled hair and swelled eyes, but all to make this centre scene of penitence the more marked. This, and the early asylums for penitents, of which she became the forced patroness, prevented her name being used as a Christian name at this time—I have never, at least, found an instance. But as a proof how early it had become a term for what I may 67call mental inebriety, a connection which of course it owes to the portrayals alluded to above, I may instance the name of Thomas le Maddelyn, found in the twelfth century (H.R.), and an evident nickname given to one of a sickly sentimental character. Our present ‘Maudlins’ and ‘Maudlings’ may be descended from one so entitled, or locally from some place dedicated to the saint.

Among other female names, ‘Constance’ bid fair to become very popular. A daughter of William the Conqueror, a daughter of Stephen, and a daughter-in-law of Henry II. were all so called. Chaucer in his ‘Man of Lawes Tale’ calls his heroine by this title—

This must have been its favourite form in the common mouth, for we find it recorded in such names as ‘Custance Muscel,’ ‘Custance Clerk,’ ‘Robert fil. Custe,’ or ‘Cus nepta Johannis,’ with tolerable frequency. The diminutive ‘Cussot’ is also to be met with. I need hardly say that in our ‘Custances,’ ‘Custersons,’ ‘Cuss’s,’ and ‘Custs,’ not to say some of our ‘Cousens,’ as corruptions of ‘Custson,’ the remembrance of this once familiar name still survives. Of late years the name proper has again become popular. ‘Beatrice’ is another instance of a name once common sunk into comparative desuetude. The Norman ‘Beton’ was the most favoured pet form. Piers Plowman says (Passus V.):—

and a little further on,

Thus it is we frequently light upon such entries as ‘John Betyn,’ ‘Betin de Friscobald,’ ‘Robert Betonson,’ ‘John Bettenson,’ or ‘Thomas Betanson.’ These latter of course soon dropped into ‘Beatson’ and ‘Betson,’ which, with ‘Beton’ and ‘Beaton,’ are still common to our directories. ‘Emma,’ too, as a Norman name has left its mark. By a pure accident, however, as Miss Yonge points out, it had got a place previous to the Conquest among the Saxons, through the fact of the daughter of Richard I. of Normandy marrying first Ethelred, surnamed the Unready, and then Canute the Great. Thus, though it has not unfrequently been claimed as of Saxon origin, it is not so in reality. The general spelling is ‘Emme,’ and the pet ‘Emmot’ or ‘Emmet’ is found in such names as ‘Emmota Plummer’ or ‘Emmetta Catton.’ This at once guides us into the source of our ‘Emmots,’ ‘Emmetts,’^[53] ‘Emmes,’ ‘Emsons,’ ‘Empsons,’ and ‘Emmotsons.’^[54]

69Almost as equal a favourite as ‘Emma’ was ‘Cecilia.’ This was a name introduced at the Conquest in the person of Cecile, a daughter of William I., and it soon found itself a favourite among high and low as ‘Cicely,’ or still shorter as ‘Cis’ or ‘Sis,’ although the latter seems to have been the more general form. In Piers Plowman, however, is preserved the more correct initial. I have already quoted him when he speaks so familiarly of

In all the ballads of the seventeenth century, on the other hand, it is always ‘Sis,’ ‘Siss’ or ‘Sys.’

Our ‘Sissons,’ ‘Sysons,’ and ‘Sisselsons’^[55] are of course but the offspring of this pretty appellative, while one more instance of the popular diminutive may be met with in such a name as ‘John Sissotson’ or ‘Cissota West’ found in the ‘Testamenta Eboracensia,’ or ‘Bella Cesselot’ in the Hundred Rolls.^[56] Our ‘Dowses,’ ‘Dossons,’ and ‘Dowsons’ represent the once popular ‘Douce,’ ‘Duce,’ or ‘Dulce,’ more 70correctly ‘Dulcia.’ Hence we find such entries as ‘John filius Dousæ,’ ‘Douce de Moster,’ and ‘John Dowsson.’ Diminutives are found in ‘Richard Dowkin’ (F), and in ‘Dowsett,’ ‘Doucett,’ and ‘Duckett.’ The Norman was the more familiar form, all the more so perhaps because in the baronial kitchen a course of sweets was called dowcetts. An instance will be found in the Rutland papers, p. 97 (Cam. Soc.). This is but another form of our ‘dulcet.’ That the more literal form was not lost, such names as ‘Dulcia le Draper’ or ‘Dulcia fil. William’ will show, not to mention our still existing patronymic ‘Dulson.’ The later ‘Dulcibella’ underwent the same change and became ‘Dowsabell.’ This also attained the rank of a surname, for beside such entries as ‘Dowzable Mill’ (Z) and ‘Dussabel Caplyn’ (Z) we light upon a ‘Thomas Duszabell’ (M). Thus familiar was ‘Dulcia’ in former days. ‘Dionisia del Lee’ or ‘Dionisius Garston’ are common entries, both masculine and feminine forms being popular. ‘Dennis,’ ‘Denot,’ and ‘Dyot’ were the pet forms. Piers Plowman styles one of his characters ‘Denot.’ Hereditary forms are found in ‘Dennis,’ ‘Dennison,’ ‘Dyott,’ ‘Diotson,’^[57] and ‘Dyson.’ I cannot but think that ‘Tenison’ or ‘Tennyson’ is but a corruption of ‘Dennison,’ as also ‘Tyson’ of ‘Dyson.’ That they are patronymics of Antony (Tony) is the only alternative, and this I fear is unsatisfactory. Mabel, although now somewhat out of fashion, was very popular four hundred years ago as ‘Amabilla,’ hence such entries as ‘Amabella la 71Blund,’ or ‘Amabil fil. Emme.’ The surnames descended from it are sufficiently numerous to testify to this. Besides ‘Mabell’ simple, we have ‘Mabson,’ ‘Mabbs,’ ‘Mabbes,’ ‘Mabbott,’ and perhaps ‘Mapleson.’^[58] Catharine, always called ‘Catlin’ in the North, reminding us of the Irish ‘Kathleen,’ is the source of several surnames. Entries like ‘Eleonore Catlynson’ (W. 12) or ‘Thomas Katlynson’ (W. 11) are common, and the shorter ‘Cattlin’ is found in every Yorkshire roll.

There is a certain quaint prettiness about ‘Hilary,’ ‘Lettice,’ and ‘Joyce,’ three acceptable cognomens in mediæval times. The Normans liked their women to be, however modest, none the less lighthearted, gay, and spirited, and in the synonyms of ‘mirth,’ ‘gladness,’ and ‘sportiveness,’ they would delight in affixing on their newly-born children that which they hoped would be in the future but the index of the real character. ‘Hillary’ when not local is therefore but the fuller ‘Hilaria.’ ‘Joyce,’ sometimes the result of the mere nickname, is nothing more than ‘Jocosa,’ and ‘Lettice,’ ‘Letts,’ and ‘Letson’ are sufficiently numerous to preserve the memory of ‘Lætitia.’ Thus, in one of the Coventry Mysteries already alluded to, mention is made of

‘Letson’ is met in the fourteenth century as ‘Fitz-Lettice.’ ‘Theophania’ was anything but unpopular, but its length made it unavoidable but that it should 72be mutilated, or at least put in an abbreviated or nickname form, and thus it is has arisen our ‘Tiffany,’ whence of course the surname of to-day. Thus, in the Coventry Mysteries, it is demanded that

Thierry in his history of the ‘Conquest of England’ quotes an old writer, who has preserved the following lines of a decidedly doggrel character:—

We must not forget to mention ‘Eleanor,’ or ‘Alianora,’ as it is more frequently registered, a name of suffering royalty, and therefore to a portion of the English people, at least, a popular name. Its forms are too many for enumeration, but ‘Alianor,’ ‘Annora,’ ‘Annot,’ ‘Alinot,’ ‘Leonora,’ ‘Eleanor,’ ‘Elinor,’ ‘Ellen,’ ‘Lina,’ ‘Linot,’ and ‘Nel’ were the most common. All of these were either surnames themselves, or became the roots of surnames. Thus we find among other entries such registrations as ‘Alicia Alianor,’ ‘Alianor Busche,’ ‘Annora Widow,’ ‘Annora de Aencurt,’ ‘Anota Canun,’ ‘John Annotson,’ ‘William Annotyson,’ ‘Hugh fil. Elyenore,’ ‘William Alinot,’ ‘Alnot Red,’ ‘Lyna le Archer,’ ‘Linota ate Field,’ or 73‘Linota Vidua.’ This list will suffice to prove the place occupied by ‘Eleanor.’ I have not mentioned such entries as ‘John fil. Nel’ or ‘Elisha Annyson,’ or ‘Richard Anyson,’ for though in these particular instances we see the origin of some of our ‘Ansons’ and ‘Nelsons,’ both are more generally referable to a different source. ‘Neal’ or ‘Neile’ was very common in this day, and ‘Neilson’ would easily be corrupted into ‘Nelson.’

‘Julian,’ the abbreviated form of ‘Juliana,’ as a Norman-introduced name became very popular, and its after history was a very curious one. Such appellations as ‘Gillian Cook,’ or ‘Gilian of the Mill,’ found in the Hundred Rolls, or that of the well-known ‘Dame Julyan Berners,’ whose work on household management I shall have occasion to quote by-and-by, only represent in fuller forms the ‘Gill’ or ‘Jill’ who is so renowned in our nursery literature as having met with such a dire disaster in the dutiful endeavour ‘to fetch a pail of water’ from the hill-side. I have already mentioned ‘Cocke Lorell’s Bote,’ where allusion is made to

The shorter and curter form is given us in Heywood’s Epigrams, where the following marital dialogue occurs:—

But ‘Gill’ at some time or other got into evil odour, 74and this brought the name into all but absolute disuse. As a term for a wanton flirt or inconstant girl, it was familiarly used till the eighteenth century. It would seem as if the poet I have just quoted were referring to this characteristic when he writes:—

or where in another place he says:—

The diminutive ‘Gilot’ or ‘Juliet’ is used in the same way. In an old metrical sermon it is said—

This at once reminds us of the origin of our ‘jilt,’ which is nothing more than a relic of the name for inconstancy the sobriquet had obtained. In our ‘Gills,’ ‘Gilsons,’ and many of our ‘Gillots,’ a further remembrance is likely to remain for all time.^[62] Such names 75as these, however, offer no kind of comparison with that of ‘Margaret.’ This is the only rival that ‘Gillian’ had to fear, and had the misfortunes of Margaret of Anjou occurred two, or even one century earlier, it would easily have taken precedence, so far as our surnames are concerned. Apart from its being found in several royal lines, it had the advantage of undoubted prettiness both in sound and sense. Every one, too, knew its meaning, for ‘margarite’ and ‘pearl’ then, and until the seventeenth century even, were interchangeable terms. Every early writer so uses it. ‘Casting pearls before swine’ is with Wickliffe ‘margaritis.’^[63] The pet names too were pretty, important in a day when the full name was rarely if ever used.^[64] The Norman-French ‘Margot’ seems to have been quite as familiar as ‘Marjorie.’ Thus the homely ‘magpie’ was at first styled the ‘maggoty’ 76or ‘magot-pie.’ Many will remember that Macbeth so uses it—

‘Madge-owlet,’ too, from its occasional use by writers of this later period, seems to prove that the still more homely owl of the barn owed an appellation to Dame Marjorie. Her issue, as we should expect, is large. We have ‘Maggs,’ ‘Maggots,’ and ‘Magotson;’ ‘Margots,’ ‘Margetts,’ and ‘Margetson;’ ‘Margison,’ ‘Margerison,’ ‘Meggs,’ and ‘Megson.’^[65] It will be surprising to many that we cannot place ‘Mary’ in the first place among female names, as it is now among those of either sex, but such was far from the case. Edward I.’s daughter ‘Marie’ seems to have been the first instance we possess of its use among the higher families of the realm; and doubtless its presence at this time must be referred, as in so many other cases we have mentioned, to the Crusades. Mariolatry, we must remember, was not yet an article of Romish belief. Indeed, the name is still of the rarest for generations after this. Maid Marion, the mistress of Robin Hood, seems to have made that diminutive popular, and either from the acted plays in which she frequently afterwards figured, or the little ornamental image of the Virgin worn by women, is come our marionette. The one only form in which it can be said to occur in our English records 77is that of ‘Mariot,’ such names as ‘Mariot Goscelyn,’ or ‘Mariota Giffard,’ or ‘Mariota Gosebeck,’ being found as a very occasional registry. Thus our ‘Mariotts’ and ‘Maryatts’ are explained. With regard to another batch of names said to have sprung from this, I find a difficulty sets in. We have the clear statement of the author of the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ that ‘Malkyne’ in his day was the sobriquet of Matilda, that is, ‘Mawdkin.’ On the other hand, I find Halliwell has a single quotation from a manuscript in which Maid Marion is styled Malkyn also.^[66] All modern writers, saving Mr. Lower, who has come to no decision at all, have comfortably put it down to this latter. I have no hesitation whatever myself in deciding differently, or at least in qualifying their conclusion. 78There can be scarcely any doubt, I think, that Malkin was originally the pet name of Matilda; then, as that favourite name gradually sunk in estimation, and Mary proportionately advanced, but this much later on, it was transferred. Thus, if I am correct, our ‘Makinsons’ and ‘Makins,’^[67] our ‘Meakins’ and ‘Meekins,’ and our ‘Mawsons’^[68] will be sprung from Maud, rather than Mary. In confirmation of this, I may quote ‘Malkin,’ the early cant term for a ‘slut,’ a word as old as Chaucer himself, and one that Mary could not have possibly acquired in his day, as barely familiar. ‘Mawdkin’ or ‘Malkin,’ on the other hand, would be the ordinary term for every household drudge. It is only those who have carefully studied early registers who can realize the difference of position ‘Matilda’ and ‘Mary’ relatively occupy at such a period as this. There were six ‘Matildas’ of royal lineage between William I. and Henry II. alone. It greets one at every turn; the present popularity of the latter is entirely the growth of a later and more superstitious age.^[69]

Speaking of Mary, we must not forget Elizabeth, known, generations ere Queen Bess made it 79so popular, as Isabella. It was in this form it came into England with that princess of Angoulême who married John Lackland. But it was not a favourite; pretty as it was, its connexion with our most despicable monarch spoiled all chance of popularity, and while on the Continent it gained friends on every hand, it was only with the higher nobility of our own land it got any place worth speaking of. Still it has left its mark. As Elizabeth^[70] at a later stage became ‘Lib’ and ‘Libby,’ so Isabel was fondled into ‘Ib’ and ‘Ibby.’ Thus we come across such entries as ‘Henry Ebison,’ ‘Thomas Ibson,’ or ‘John Ibson.’ But a foreign name without the foreign desinence would be impossible. With the introduction of Isabel came in the diminutive ‘Ibbot’ or ‘Ibbet.’ Registrations like ‘Ibbota fil. Adam,’ ‘Ibote Babyngton,’ or ‘Ebote Gylle,’ and as surnames ‘Walter Ibbot,’ ‘Robert fil. Ibote,’ ‘Francis Ibbitson,’ or ‘Alice Ebotson’ are of common occurrence.^[71] Another form of the same diminutive was ‘Isot,’ hence ‘Isotte Symes,’ ‘Izott Barn,’ or ‘Ezota 80Hall.’^[72] But even with this we have not completed our list. One more pet form, and one still common amongst us, that of ‘Bell,’ left its mark in ‘Bellot,’ ‘Bellet,’ and ‘Bellson,’ all of which are still to be found in our directories.

The preceding pages will be sufficient proof that our metronymics are a considerable class. Many have not hesitated to affirm them to be wholly of illegitimate descent. We cannot doubt that in some instances this is the case. Nevertheless, we must not be led astray. ‘Polson’ is Paul’s son, ‘Nelson’ is Neil’s son, Neil or Nigel being at one time a familiar name with us. And even when the name is unquestionably feminine, as in Mollison, Margerison, Marriot, Emmett, or Annotson, illegitimacy is anything but established as a matter of fact. Adoption of children by women, posthumous birth, and other peculiar circumstances would often cause a boy or girl to be known in the community by a metronymic. Especially, too, would a child be thus styled in a family where the mother was notoriously, and in an emphatic sense, the better half, in a family where the husband was content to sit in the chimney nook, and let the bustling Margery, or Siss, or Emmot take, whether in or out of doors, the lead in all that concerned the domestic relationship. Thus, I doubt not, a large mass of them have arisen.

We have incidentally referred to several Bible names, such as John, Mary, or Elizabeth. We shall find a certain characteristic appertaining to these. It 81is only those personages who prominently figured in the Scripture narrative who made any mark upon our nomenclature. The others, I doubt not, were unknown. It is even uncertain whether the clergy themselves had any but the faintest knowledge of the Bible. Indeed, such names even as were in use bear no testimony to the fact that they were given as the direct result of familiarity with the sacred pages. If from the New Testament, they were names that figured in the calendar as saints and martyrs, names to whom shrines and chapels had been dedicated. If from the Old, they were just those like ‘Adam,’ or ‘Isaac,’ or ‘Joseph,’ or ‘Samson,’ or ‘Daniel,’ or ‘Absolom,’ whose stories, told in the monkish performances or miracle-plays, were thus forced into the acquaintance of the popular mind. In a word, there is not a trace of anything beyond a mere superficial knowledge of the very outlines of the sacred narrative. Thus was it with ‘Adam,’ already mentioned. That he and Eve should be remembered at the font was inevitable. The Hundred Rolls give us an ‘Adam fil. Eve.’ Mr. Lower has been tempted to refer our ‘Atkins’ and ‘Atkinsons’ to Arthur, but there can be little doubt, I imagine, that these are but sharper forms of ‘Adkins’ and ‘Adkinson.’ The record alluded to above registers the same person twice as ‘Adam le Fullere’ and ‘Adekin le Fuller.’ With them therefore we must ally our ‘Addisons,’ ‘Adcocks,’^[73] and ‘Adamsons.’ Eve left us ‘Eveson’ as a metronymic, and ‘Evetts’ and ‘Evitts,’ as the diminutives, are firmly set amongst us.^[74] ‘Abel’ 82was equally popular. The Norman desinence is found in such entries as ‘Abalotta de la Forde,’ or Richard Abelot, whose descendants now figure as ‘Ablett’ and ‘Ablott.’ As will be seen, these may be feminine in origin. The reverence of the despised Jew for Abraham prevented this from becoming acceptable to Christians, but Isaac’s sacrifice was too popular a story not to leave an impression. It would be frequently represented by the monks. I have already quoted Langland where he speaks of

an abbreviation now more generally known and spelt as ‘Ike.’ Gower also has it—

From him then have arisen our ‘Isaacs’ and ‘Isaacsons,’ our ‘Hicks’ and ‘Hicksons,’ our ‘Higgs’ and ‘Higsons,’ and with the Norman-French diminutives appended, our ‘Higgins,’ ‘Higginsons,’ ‘Higgotts,’^[75] and ‘Higgetts.’ ‘Sarah,’ in the dress of ‘Sarra,’ had a fair number of admirers. ‘Sarra le Commongere,’ ‘William fil. Sarra,’ ‘Nicholas fil. Sarre,’ is the usual entry. The origin of our ‘Sarsons’ would thus be certain, were it 83not that this name, as will be shown elsewhere, has got confused with ‘Saracen.’ Moses also failed to be accepted among Christians, nor was Aaron much more fortunate, such registration as ‘Aaron le Blund’ or ‘Aron Judde’ being rare. ‘Samson’ or ‘Sampson,’ as it is more generally recorded, was of course popular enough, and many of our ‘Sampsons’ are rather the simple ‘Samson’ than the patronymic of ‘Samuel.’ ‘Samms,’ ‘Samuels’ and ‘Samuelson’ are generally of Jewish descent. ‘David,’ with its ‘Davies,’ its ‘Davidsons,’ its ‘Dawes’ and ‘Dawsons,’ its ‘Dawkes’ and ‘Dawkins,’ or ‘Dawkinsons,’ its ‘Dayes,’ ‘Daysons,’ and ‘Dakins’ (when not ‘Deakin’), would be equally sure of remembrance; though doubtless, as the patron saint of the Principality, and as a favourite among Scottish kings, it owes much to these outer chances. Here, too, we are reminded of Piers Plowman, with his—

This nickname seems to have had a long reign in the popular mouth, for we find, towards the close of the sixteenth century, Haywood writing the following epigram:—

Passing by ‘Absolom,’ ‘Solomon,’ or ‘Salamon,’ ‘Job’ and ‘Jobson,’ the story of Daniel would of course be common. This has bequeathed us itself in propria persona, 84and ‘Dancock,’ ‘Dankin,’ ‘Danett,’ and ‘Dannett.’ With regard to ‘Dans,’ ‘Dance,’ ‘Danse,’ and ‘Danson,’ there is a little difficulty. We have to remember that ‘Dan,’ like ‘Dame,’^[77] figured prominently in early days as a simple title of respect. They were but the ‘Don’ and ‘Donna’ which, in one form or another, still exist in Italy, France, and Spain. ‘Dame,’ from domina, meant ‘mistress.’ ‘Don,’ from dominus, meant ‘master.’ To rank and age the two terms were equally applied. A ‘dame’s school’ still preserves this connexion of ideas. ‘As with the mistress so with the maid,’ is in early Bibles ‘As with the dame so with the maid.’ Thus there seems to be little doubt that our ‘Dames’ and ‘Damsons’ are so sprung. Why then should not ‘Dans’ and ‘Danse’ and ‘Danson’ be the masculine form? Chaucer, in his Canterbury Tales, represents the host as asking the Monk—

Thus he speaks also of ‘Dan Constantine,’ and jestingly of the ass as ‘Dan Burnell.’ Thus, Lord Surrey in one of his poems speaks of ‘Dan Homer;’ Spenser of ‘Dan Geoffrey;’ Thomson of ‘Dan Abraham.’ The best way will be, as in many another case, 85to divide the honours between the two; and leaving it thus undecided, I pass on.

Nor is the New Testament without its instances. Let us look at the Apostles first. We have already spoken at some length about ‘John,’ but we purposely kept for the present opportunity the explanation of its popularity in England. There can be little doubt that it owes much to its religious aspect. It was the name not merely of the beloved disciple, but of the Baptist. New and close associations with the latter were just coming into being. We must remember this was the time of the Crusades. It was the custom of all pilgrims who visited the Holy Land to bring back a bottle of water from the Jordan for baptismal purposes. A leathern bottle was an inseparable adjunct to the palmer’s dress. We all remember Walter Scott’s description—

Early scenes with regard to the river in which the Baptist specially figured would thus be vividly brought to their notice, and in the ceremony of baptism at home nothing could be more natural than to give to the infant the name of the baptizer of the Holy Child Jesus. This is strongly confirmed by the fact of the name taking precedence at this very period. It was thus ‘Jordan’ itself as a surname has arisen. I need not remind students of early records how common is ‘Jordan’ as a Christian name, such cognomens as ‘Jordan de Abingdon’ or ‘Jordan le Clerc’ being of the most familiar occurrence. The baptismal soon became 86surnominal, and now ‘Jordan,’^[78] ‘Jordanson,’ ‘Jordson,’ ‘Jurdan,’ ‘Judd,’ and ‘Judson’^[79] are with us to remind us of this peculiar and interesting epoch.^[80] We have a remarkable confirmation of what I am asserting in the fact of the Baptist’s other name of ‘Elias’ springing into a sudden notoriety at this time. If ‘John’ became thus so popular, it was inevitable ‘Elias’ should be the same; and so it was. Indeed, there was a time when it bid fair to be one of the most familiar sobriquets in England. For it was not merely the second Elias and the Jordan that had this effect. As the armies lay before Acre, remembrance of Elijah and the prophet of Carmel must have oft recurred to their minds. Out of many forms to be found in every early roll, those of ‘Ellis,’ ‘Elys,’ ‘Elice,’ ‘Ellice,’ ‘Elyas,’ ‘Helyas,’ and the diminutive ‘Eliot’ or ‘Elliot,’ seem to have been the most familiar. Numberless are the surnames sprung from it. It is thus we get our ‘Ellises’ and ‘Ellices,’ our ‘Ellsons’ and ‘Ellisons,’ our ‘Elkins’ and ‘Elkinsons,’ our 87‘Elcocks’ and ‘Ellcocks,’ and our ‘Ellicots,’^[81] ‘Elliots,’ and ‘Elliotsons.’ In the north ‘Alis’ seems to have gained the supremacy. Thus it is we have our many ‘Allisons’ or ‘Alisons,’^[82] ‘Allkins’ or ‘Alkins,’ ‘Allcocks’ or ‘Alcocks,’ and ‘Allots.’ ‘Alecot,’ as a synonym with ‘Elicot,’ I do not find to be at present existing, but as a Christian name it occurs at the same period with the above.^[83] ‘Fitzellis,’ as the more aristocratic Norman form, is not 88yet, I believe, extinct. Thus the prophet at Carmel and the forerunner at the Jordan have made their mark upon our English nomenclature.

Peter claims our attention next. When we consider how important has been the position claimed for him it is remarkable that in an age when, so far as England was concerned, this respect was more fully exacted than any other, his name should be so rarely found, rarely when we reflect what an influence the ecclesiastics of the day themselves must have had in the choice of the baptismal name, and what an interest they had in making it popular. It is to them, doubtless, we must refer the fact of its having made any mark at all, for ‘Peter’ was odious to English ears. It reminded them of a tax which was the one of all least liked, as they saw none of its fruits. It is to country records we must look for the ‘Peters’ of the time. The freer towns would none of it. Among the rude peasantry ecclesiastic control was well-nigh absolute; in the boroughs it was proportionately less. I have already quoted an instance of 133 London names where Peter is discovered but once to 35 Johns. In the Norwich Guild already mentioned, the proportion, or rather disproportion, is the same. To 128 Johns, 47 Williams, 41 Thomases, 33 Roberts, and 21 Richards, there are but 4 Peters. On the other hand, in Wiltshire, out of 588 names, we find 16 Peters to 92 Johns. This wide difference of ratio I find to be fully borne out in all other groups of early names. Thanks then to the ecclesiastics it did exist, and its relics at any rate are numerous enough. It is hence we get the shorter ‘Parr,’ ‘Piers,’ ‘Pierce,’ ‘Pears,’ ‘Pearse,’ and ‘Peers.’ It is hence with the patronymic 89added we get our ‘Parsons,’ ‘Pearsons,’ ‘Piersons,’ and the fuller ‘Peterson.’ It is hence once more with the pet desinences attached we get our ‘Perrins’ and ‘Perrens,’ our ‘Perrets,’ ‘Perretts,’ ‘Parrots,’ and ‘Parrets,’^[84] our ‘Peterkins,’ ‘Perkins,’ ‘Parkins,’ and ‘Parkinsons,’ besides our ‘Perks’ and ‘Perkes’ innumerable.

‘Simon,’ or ‘Simeon,’ is represented by at least sixteen different personages in the Scriptures, so we may well expect to find that it has also impressed itself upon our own registers. The usual forms of the name in mediæval rolls is ‘Sim,’ ‘Simkin,’ and ‘Simonet.’ Thus we find such entries as ‘Simon fil. Sim,’ ‘Simkin Cock,’ ‘Symkyn Edward,’ ‘Simonettus Mercator,’ or ‘Symonet Vaillain.’ The French diminutive does not seem to have been so popular as that which the Flemings made so common, for I find no ‘Simnets’ in our directories, while a whole column has to be set aside for our ‘Simpkins’ and ‘Simpkinsons.’ ‘Simcock’ must have existed also, as our ‘Simcocks’ and ‘Simcoxes’ can testify. Other forms are found in ‘Sims,’ ‘Simms,’ ‘Simpson,’ ‘Simmons,’ ‘Simonds,’ ‘Symonds,’ ‘Simmonds,’ and ‘Symondsons.’ This latter is met with in the Rolls of Parliament in the guise of ‘Symondesson.’ ‘Philip,’ as another of the Apostles of Jesus, was also popular. 90As with ‘Simon,’ most of the nursery forms are still found as the chief components of its surnames. Skelton, the poet-laureate—in lieu of a better—of Henry VIII., reminds us of its chief contraction, ‘Philp,’ or ‘Phip,’ in his lines on a dead sparrow, named Philip:—

Thus we derive our ‘Phelps,’ ‘Philps,’ ‘Phipps,’ and ‘Phipson.’ Adding to these our ‘Philips,’ ‘Philipsons,’ ‘Philcoxes,’ ‘Philpotts,’ and ‘Phillots,’ we see that we are not likely soon to be quit of Philip. He is now, however, out of fashion as a Christian name. ‘Philpot,’^[85] I need scarcely say, was very popular as the representative of the Norman-French ‘Philipot,’ found in such entries as ‘Thomas Phylypotte,’ or ‘John Philipot;’ but endeavours to deduce his origin as well in spelling as in sound from the characteristics displayed by the renowned Toby Phillpot are not wanting, for I see him figuring in the ‘London Directory’ as ‘Fillpot.’ Archbishop Trench quotes from one of Careless’s letters to Philpot the following passage, which serves to show that three hundred years ago at least the name had been played upon in similar fashion: ‘Oh, good Master Philpot (he says), which art a principal pot indeed, filled with much precious liquor—oh, pot 91most happy! of the High Potter ordained to honour.’ Some years ago, when a Philpott was appointed to the episcopal chair of Worcester, Dr. Philpotts being yet at Exeter, the following lines got abroad:—

‘Fillpot’ as well as ‘Fillip’ are both found in mediæval registers in the cases of ‘Roger Fylpot’ and ‘Walter Felip.’ An old song, quoted in ‘Political Poems’ (i. 60), says of the defeated soldiers at Halidon Hill:—

The ‘Fillpots’ of our present directories may therefore have thus spelt their names for four or five hundred years. Anyhow they have precedent for the form.

‘Matthew the Publican’ seems to have been a favourite alike in England and France. ‘Matt’ was the homely appellative, and thus besides ‘Mathews’ and ‘Mathewson,’ we meet with ‘Matts,’ ‘Matson,’ ‘Mattison,’ and ‘Mattinson.’ Our ‘Mayhews’ represent the foreign dress, and can refer their origin to such personages as ‘Adam fil. Maheu,’ or ‘Mayeu de Basingbourne.’ ‘Bartholomew,’ for what reason I can scarcely say, was a prime favourite with our forefathers, and has left innumerable proofs of the same. ‘Batt’ or ‘Bett’ seems to have been the favourite curtailment. The author of ‘Piers Plowman’ speaks of ‘Bette the Bocher’ (Butcher), ‘Bette the Bedel,’ and makes Reason bid

‘Batty,’ ‘Bates,’ ‘Batson,’ ‘Batcock,’ ‘Badcock,’ ‘Batkins,’ ‘Badkins,’ ‘Betson,’ ‘Bedson,’ and ‘Betty’ are relics of this. ‘Bartle,’ and the Norman-French ‘Bartelot,’ found in such entries as ‘Bartel Frobisher,’ ‘John fil. Bertol,’ ‘Bartelot Govi,’ or ‘Edward Barttlette,’ at once bespeak the origin of our ‘Bartles’ and ‘Bartletts.’^[86] Nor was this all. Another favourite sobriquet for this same name was ‘Toly’ or ‘Tholy,’ hence such registrations as ‘Tholy Oldcorn,’ or ‘Robert Toly,’ or ‘William fil. Tholy.’ Our ‘Tolleys,’ ‘Tollys’ and ‘Tolsons’^[87] are thus explained. None of these could have been the offspring of any old ‘Ladye Betty,’ as Mr. Lower seems to imagine, since that name, as I have shown, did not exist in England at this time, nor in fact can it be said to have been known till rendered fashionable by Elizabeth Woodville, the bride of Edward IV. What an influence a single individual may wield over our personal nomenclature may be thus seen, when we remember the enormous preponderance of this latter name during the two centuries that followed the reign of the imperious but ‘good Queen Bess,’ and the glorious scattering of the Spanish Armada. This, too, escaping the withering influences of the Puritan era, continued through all, and now holds the fourth place in English esteem.

93In the poem I have just quoted, Reason

Thus we see that ‘Tom,’ as the popular form of ‘Thomas,’ has been in vogue for many centuries. ‘Thomas,’ like some of the above names, received an increased impulse from the Crusades. But another circumstance also befriended it. In its numerous progeny may be read again the story of the feud that arose between the haughty Archbishop and Henry II., a feud that terminated so fatally for the former, and made the spot where he fell hallowed for centuries by the pilgrimages of shrine-worshippers. Piers, in Langland’s poem, says,

The surnames whose origin we must undoubtedly attribute, in the majority of cases, to the notoriety given to the sobriquet possessed by this murdered prelate are many. The patronymic is clearly marked in our ‘Thomasons,’ ‘Thomsons,’ and ‘Thompsons.’ The favoured Norman diminutive is equally assured of perpetuation in our ‘Thomasetts,’ ‘Thomsetts,’ and ‘Thompsetts;’ the Saxon being as fully popularised in our ‘Thompkins,’ ‘Tompkins,’ ‘Tomkins,’ and ‘Tomkinsons.’ The softer termination is also firmly settled in our ‘Thomlins,’ ‘Tomlins,’ and ‘Tomlinsons.’^[88] More abbreviated patronymics are to be met 94with also in our ‘Thomms,’ ‘Thoms,’ and ‘Toms.’ With so many representatives in the list of rational beings, we need not be surprised to find the lower order of creation under obligations to this title. It was with the death of St. Thomas of Canterbury, and the consequent popularity of his name, arose so many sobriquets of which the same name became a component part. The cat became a ‘tom-cat,’ a simple-natured man a ‘tom-coney,’ a silly fellow a ‘tom-noddy’ or ‘tom-fool,’ a romping girl a ‘tom-boy,’ and a wren a ‘tom-tit.’ Andrew has made little impression on English nomenclature, but in Scotland he is universal,^[89] for not only is St. Andrew the patron saint, but some of his relics are said to have been brought thither in the 4th century. ‘Andrew,’ ‘Andrews,’ and ‘Anderson’ are its surnames, but nearly all belong to the north side of the Tweed. ‘James,’ too, has failed to be popular in England, but ‘John’ in the shape of ‘Jack’ has robbed him, as we have seen, of nearly all his property. Such entries as ‘James le Queynt,’ or ‘Ralph Jamson,’ or ‘William Gimmison,’ were occasionally registered, and in the form of ‘James’ ‘Jameson,’ ‘Jimson’ and ‘Jimpson’ they still exist.^[90] ‘Jamieson’ is Scotch. Of the Gospel writers we have already noticed ‘Matthew’ and ‘John.’ In ‘Mark’ we see the progenitor not merely of our ‘Marks’ and 95the Latinized ‘Marcus,’ but of ‘Marcock,’ ‘Markin,’ and ‘Marson’ also. The mention of ‘Luke’ recalls such names as ‘Luckins,’ ‘Luckock,’ ‘Lucock,’ or ‘Locock,’ ‘Luckett,’ and perchance ‘Lockett.’ It is in the form of ‘Lucus,’ however, that he is generally known. The author of ‘Piers Plowman’ speaks of ‘Marc,’ ‘Mathew,’ ‘Johan,’ and ‘Lucas.’

Of the later period of New Testament history, few names were better represented than ‘Nicholas,’ but it was ‘St. Nicholas’ of the fourth century who chiefly gave it its position. Owing to several well-known legends that connected themselves with this famous Archbishop of Myra, he became the patron saint of boys, sailors, parish clerks, and even thieves. Two of the most favoured curtailments of this name were ‘Nicol’ and ‘Nick.’ From the one we have derived our ‘Nicholls’ and ‘Nicholsons;’ from the other our ‘Nixs,’ ‘Nicks,’ ‘Nixons,’ ‘Nicksons,’ and ‘Nickersons.’ Judging from our surnames, ‘Nick’ was the more favoured term. In the old song ‘Joan to the Maypole,’ it is said:

But the most popular form of all was that of ‘Cole’^[91] or ‘Colin,’ which came to us through the Normans. ‘Colin’ is one more instance of the diminutive 96‘on’ or ‘in.’ Thus we derive our ‘Collins,’ ‘Collinsons,’ and ‘Colsons.’ The more usual desinence still lives in our ‘Colletts’ and ‘Colets.’ This is the form found in one of the ‘Coventry Mysteries,’ where allusion is made to

Miss Yonge mentions a ‘Collette Boilet’ who, in the fifteenth century, caused a reformation of the nuns of St. Clara, and Mr. Lower has a ‘St. Colette,’ whose parents had given him the name out of respect to ‘St. Nicholas.’ ‘Coletta Clarke’ is found in Clutterbuck’s ‘Hertford’ (Index). St. Nicholas, it is clear, was not neglected.

The proto-martyr Stephen has left many memorials in our nomenclature of the popularity which his story obtained among the English peasantry. The name proper is found in such entries as ‘Esteven Walays,’ or ‘Jordan fil. Stephen,’ and their descendants now figure amongst us as ‘Stephens,’ ‘Stevens,’ ‘Stephenson,’ and ‘Stevenson.’ More curtailed forms are met with in ‘Steenson’ and ‘Stinson,’ and the more corrupted ‘Stimson’ and ‘Stimpson.’ The Norman diminutive was of course ‘Stevenet’ or ‘Stevenot,’ and this still remains with us in our ‘Stennets’ and ‘Stennetts.’ Nor do Paul and Barnabas lack memorials. Traces of the former are found in our ‘Polsons,’^[92] ‘Pawsons,’ ‘Powlsons,’ and more correct ‘Paulsons.’ 97In one of these, at least, we are reminded of the old pronunciation of this name. Piers Plowman styles it ‘Powel,’ and even so late as 1562 we find Heywood writing the following epigram:—

This at once explains the origin of our more diminutive ‘Pauletts,’ ‘Pouletts,’ ‘Powletts,’ and ‘Pollitts.’^[93] ‘Barnabas’ has left his impress upon our ‘Barnabys,’ and when not local, ‘Barnbys.’ Miss Yonge mentions an epitaph in Durham, dated 1633, commemorative of one of the proctors of the chapter—

A century later we find it in one of D’Orsey’s ballads—

This name is now entirely out of fashion.

With five Alexanders in the New Testament it did not need the celebrity of the great commander nor that of more fabulous heroes to make his name common. In Scotland it obtained great favour, both in palace and cottage. The softer form was always used. Chaucer says—

and Langland, among other foreign places of interest, speaks of

98This was no doubt the popular pronunciation of the time, except that it was usually abbreviated into ‘Sander,’ or ‘Saunder.’ Thus, in ‘Cocke Lorells Bote,’ it is said—

Hence it is we find such entries as ‘Thomas fil. Saundre,’ ‘John Alisaundre,’ ‘Edward Saundercock,’ or ‘Sandres Ewart,’ and hence again such surnames as ‘Sandercock,’ ‘Sanderson,’ ‘Saunderson,’ ‘Sanders,’ and ‘Saunders.’ ‘Timothy,’ saving in ‘Timms,’ ‘Timbs,’ ‘Timson,’ and ‘Timcock,’ seems to have been overlooked, and yet Glutton in ‘Piers Plowman’ is followed into the tavern by

But, however unfortunate Paul’s spiritual son may have been, the same cannot be said of Clement, his fellow-labourer. Raised to high distinction as the title of one of the greatest of the early fathers, a popular name among the Popes (for no less than fourteen were found to bear the sobriquet), Clement could not fail to meet with honour. Its usual forms were ‘Clement,’ ‘Clemence,’ and ‘Clemency.’ Diminutives were found also in ‘Clem’ and ‘Clim.’ Of the noted North English archer it is said, in one of the Robin Hood ballads—

and in the old song of the ‘Green-gown’ a rhyme is easily secured by the conjunction of such names as—

99The chief surnames whose paternity is traceable to ‘Clement’ are ‘Clements,’ ‘Clementson,’ ‘Clemms,’ ‘Clemson,’ and ‘Clempson.’ Archangelic names are found in our ‘Gabbs,’ ‘Gabbots,’ and ‘Gabcocks,’ from ‘Gabriel;’ and in our ‘Michaelson,’ ‘Mitchels,’ and ‘Mitchelsons,’ from ‘Michael.’

But let us somewhat more closely analyse these names. As I have said before, from the most casual survey one thing is evident, they represent the Church’s Calendar rather than the Church’s Bible. They are the extract of sacred legends rather than of Holy Writ. There is not a single name to betray any internal acquaintance with the Scriptures. Nor could there well be. An English Bible was unknown, and had there been one to consult, the reading powers of the nation were too limited for it to have been much used. Many of the clergy themselves could not read. Thus the Bible, so far as extends beyond the leading incidents it contains, was a sealed book. This had its effect upon our nomenclature. We cannot find a single trace of acquaintance with its rarer histories. What a wide change in this respect did Wicklyffe and the Reformation effect! With an English Bible in their hand, with the clearing away of the mists of ignorance and superstition, with the destruction of all forces that could obstruct the spread of knowledge, all was altered. The Bible, posted up in every church, might be read of all—and all who could probably did read it. This at once had its effect upon our nomenclature. Names familiar enough in our own day to those ordinarily conversant with the Scriptures, but till then absolutely unknown, were brought forth from their hiding-places and made subservient to the new 100impulse of the nation. Names associated with the more obscure books, and with personages less directly confronting us in our study of the Word, begin now to be inscribed upon our registers. The ‘Proceedings in Chancery’ is the best evidence how far this had affected our nomenclature towards the close of the reign of Elizabeth. We come across such names, for example, as ‘Ezechie Newbold,’ ‘Dyna Bocher,’ ‘Phenenna Salmon,’ ‘Ezekiel Guppye,’ ‘Dedimus Buckland,’ ‘Esdras Botright,’ ‘Sydrach Sympson,’ ‘Judith Botswain,’ ‘Isachar Brookes,’ ‘Gamaliel Capell,’ ‘Emanuel Cole,’ ‘Abigaill Cordell,’ ‘Reuben Crane,’ ‘Amos Boteler,’ ‘Philologus Forth,’ ‘Zabulon Clerke,’ ‘Archelaus Gifford,’ ‘Gideon Hancock,’ ‘Seth Awcocke,’ ‘Abacucke Harman,’ or ‘Melchizedek Payn.’ The ‘State Papers’ (domestic) of James I.’s reign are still more largely imbued with the new influence. We are now brought face to face with entries such as ‘Uriah Babington,’ ‘Aquila Wykes,’ ‘Hilkiah Crooke,’ ‘Caleb Morley,’ ‘Philemon Powell,’ ‘Melchior Rainald,’ ‘Zachæus Ivitt,’ ‘Ananias Dyce,’ ‘Agrippina Bingley,’ ‘Apollonia Cotton,’ or ‘Phineas Pett.’ So far, however, the change was of a certain kind. These new names did not clash with the old nomenclature. There was a greater variety, that was all. Both romance and sacred names went together, and in the same family might be seen ‘John’ and ‘Ralph,’ ‘Isaac’ and ‘Robert,’ ‘Reuben’ and ‘Richard.’ But a new spirit was being infused into the heart of the nation, that spirit which at length brought about the Puritan Commonwealth. We all know how this great change came. It is neither our intention, nor need we enter into it here. Sufficient 101for our purpose that it came. This revolution marvellously affected our nomenclature. It was not simply that the old and, so to speak, pagan names ‘William,’ ‘Roland,’ ‘Edward,’ ‘Ralph,’ ‘Aymon,’ and a hundred others, once household words, were condemned to oblivion, but even the names of the Christian saints were ignored. ‘Cromwell,’ says Cleveland, ‘hath beat up his drums clean through the Old Testament—you may know the genealogy of our Saviour by the names of his regiment. The muster master hath no other list than the first chapter of St. Matthew.’ The Old Testament, indeed, seems to have been alone in favour.^[94] The practice of choosing such designations borrowed therefrom as ‘Enoch,’ ‘Hiram,’ ‘Seth,’ ‘Phineas,’ ‘Eli,’ ‘Obadiah,’ ‘Job,’ ‘Joel,’ ‘Hezekiah,’ ‘Habbakuk,’ ‘Caleb,’ ‘Zeruiah,’ ‘Joshua,’ ‘Hephzibah,’ or ‘Zerubbabel,’ has left its mark to this very day, especially in our more retired country districts. Self-abasement showed itself, at least externally, in the choice of names of bad repute. ‘Cains,’ ‘Absoloms,’ ‘Abners,’ ‘Delilahs,’ ‘Dinahs,’ ‘Tamars,’ ‘Korahs,’ ‘Abirams,’ and ‘Sapphiras,’^[95] 102abounded. Nor was this all. Of all excesses those of a religious character are proverbially most intemperate in their course. Abstract qualities, prominent words of Scriptures, nay, even short and familiar sentences culled from its pages, or parodied, were tacked on to represent the Christian name. Camden mentions, as existing in his own day, such appellations as ‘Free-gift,’ ‘Reformation,’ ‘Earth,’ ‘Dust,’ ‘Ashes,’ ‘Delivery,’ ‘Morefruit,’ ‘Tribulation,’ ‘The Lord is near,’ ‘More trial,’ ‘Discipline,’ ‘Joy again,’ ‘From above’—names which, he says, ‘have lately been given by some to their children, with no evil meaning, but upon some singular and precise conceit.’ ‘Praise-God-Barebones’ is but another specimen of this extraordinary spirit. The brother of this latter could boast a still longer sobriquet. He had chosen for himself, it is said, the title, ‘If-Christ-had-not-died-for-you-you-had-been-damned-Barebones,’ but his acquaintances becoming wearied of its length, retained only the last word, and as ‘Damned-Barebones’ left him a sobriquet more curt than pleasant. The following is a list of a jury said to have been enclosed in the county of Sussex at this time, and selected of course from the number of the Saints:—

The above list may be thought by many a mere burlesque, and so I doubt not it is, but a similar category could be quickly put together from more reliable sources, and some of the names therein set down did certainly exist. The following entries are quoted by Mr. Lower from the registers of Warbleton:—

The ‘Proceedings in Chancery’ furnish us with ‘Virtue Hunt,’ ‘Temperance Dowlande,’ ‘Charitie Bowes,’ and ‘Lamentation Chapman.’ The ‘Visitation of Yorkshire’ gives us ‘Fayth Neville,’ ‘Grace Clayton,’ ‘Troth Bellingham,’ and ‘Prudence Spenser;’ and amongst other more general instances may be mentioned ‘Experience Mayhew,’^[97] ‘Abstinence 104Pougher,’^[98] ‘Increase Mather,’^[99] ‘Thankfull Frewen,’ ‘Accepted Frewen,’^[100] ‘Live-well Sherwood,’^[101] ‘Faythful Fortescue,’^[102] and ‘Silence Leigh.’^[103] The more extraordinary and rabid phases of this spirit have now passed away, but the general effect remains. It is from this date, I have said, must be noted the declension of such a familiar name as ‘Humphrey,’ or ‘Ralph,’ or ‘Joscelyn,’ and of the romance names generally. From this date we perceive the use of some of our present most familiar and till then well-nigh unknown baptismal names.

With the restoration of Charles II. much of the more rhapsodic features of this curious spirit died out, but it is more than probable it was fed elsewhere. The rigorous persecution of the Nonconformists which marked and blotted his reign, the persecuting spirit which drove hundreds to seek beyond the seas that asylum for religious liberty which was denied them at 105home, could have none other effect than to make these settlers cling the more tenaciously to the new scheme of doctrine and practice, for which they had sacrificed so much. Thus the feeling which had led them at home to allow the Written Word to be the only source from which to select names for their children, or to make substitutions for their own, was not likely to be suppressed in the backwoods.^[104] Their very life and its surroundings there but harmonized with the primitive histories of those whose names they had chosen. A kind of affinity seemed to be established between them. This spirit was fanned by the very paucity of population, and the difficulty of keeping up any connexion with the outer world. They were shut up within themselves, and thus the Bible became to them, not so much a record of the past as that through which ran the chronicle of the present. It was a living thread interwoven into their very lives. Their history was inscribed in its pages, their piety was fed by its doctrines. Its impress lay upon all, its influence pervaded all. All this has left its mark upon Anglo-American nomenclature—nay, to such a degree do these influences still exist, that, though derived from the same sources, the American system and our own can scarce be viewed otherwise than as separate and distinct. Rare, indeed, are the early romance and the Teutonic names in those tracts 106where the descendants of the primitive settlers are found. All are derived from the Scriptures, or are of that fancy character, a love of which arose with their Puritan forefathers. Appellations such as ‘Seth,’ or ‘Abel,’ or ‘Lot,’ or ‘Jonas,’ or ‘Asa,’ or ‘Jabez,’ or ‘Abijah,’ or ‘Phineas,’ or ‘Priscilla,’ or ‘Epaphroditus,’ abound on every hand. Sobriquets like ‘Faith,’ and ‘Hope,’ and ‘Charity,’ and ‘Patience,’ and ‘Prudence,’ and ‘Grace,’ and ‘Mercy,’ have become literally as household words, and names yet more uncouth and strange may be heard every day, sounding oddly indeed to English ears. There would seem to have been a revulsion of feeling, even from such of the Biblical names as had lived in the earlier centuries of our history, as if the connexion of ‘Peter,’ and ‘John,’ and ‘James,’ and ‘Thomas’ with others of more pagan origin had made them unworthy of further use; certain it is, that these are in no way so familiar with them as with us. Such are the strange humours that pass over the hearts of men and communities. Such are the changes that the nomenclature of peoples, as well as of places and things, undergo through the more extraordinary convulsions which sometimes seize the body corporate of society. Truly it is a strange story this that our surnames tell us. ‘What’s in a name?’ in the light of all this, seems indeed but a pleasantry, meant to denote how full, how teeming with the story of our lives is each—as so they are.

In well-nigh every country where personal nomenclature has assumed a sure and settled basis, that is, where a second or surname has become an hereditary possession in the family, we shall find that that portion of it which is of local origin bears by far the largest proportion to the whole. We could well proceed, therefore, to this class apart from any other motive, but when we further reflect that it is this local class which in the first instance became hereditary, we at once perceive an additional claim upon our attention.

I need scarcely say at the outset that, as with all countries so with England, prefixes of various kinds were at first freely used to declare more particularly whence the nominee was sprung. Thus, if he were come from some town or city he would be ‘William of York,’ or ‘John of Bolton,’ this enclitic being familiarly pronounced ‘à,’ as ‘William a York,’ or ‘John a Bolton.’ For instance, it is said in an old poem anent Robin Hood—

108where it simply means ‘William of Trent.’^[105] This, of course, is met in France by ‘de,’ as it was also on English soil during early Norman times. If, on the other hand, the situation only of the abode gave the personality of the nominee, the connecting link was varied according to the humour or caprice of the speaker, or the relative aspect of the site itself. Thus, if we take up the old Hundred Rolls we shall find such entries as ‘John Above-brook,’ or ‘Adelina Above-town,’ or ‘Thomas Behind-water,’ or ‘John Beneath-the-town.’ Or take a more extended instance, such as ‘Lane.’ We find it attached to the personal name in such fashions as the following:—

‘Brook,’ again, by the variety of the prefixes which I find employed, may well be cited as a further example. We have such entries as these:—

109These are extracts of more or less formal entries, but they serve at least to show how it was at first a mere matter of course to put in the enclitics that associated the personal or Christian name with that which we call the surname. Glancing over the instances just quoted, we see that of these definitive terms some are purely Norman, some equally purely Latin, a few are an admixture of Norman and Latin, a common thing in a day when the latter was the language of indenture, and the rest are Saxon, ‘ate’ being the chief one. This ‘atte’ was ‘at the,’ answering to the Norman ‘de la,’ ‘del,’ or ‘du,’ and was familiarly contracted by our forefathers into the other forms of ‘ate’ and ‘att;’ or for the sake of euphony, when a vowel preceded the name proper, extended to ‘atten.’ In our larger and more formal Rolls these seldom occur, owing to their being inscribed all but invariably in the Norman-French or Latin style I have instanced above, but in the smaller abbey records, and those of a more private interest, these Saxon prefixes are common. In the writers of the period they are familiarly used. Thus, in the ‘Coventry Mysteries,’ mention is made of—

110while ‘Piers Plowman’ represents Covetousness as saying—

It may not be known to all my readers, probably not even to all those most immediately concerned, that this ‘atte’ or ‘att’ has fared with us in a manner similar to that of the Norman ‘du’ and ‘de la.’ It has occasionally been incorporated with the sobriquet of locality, and thus become a recognised part of the surname itself. Take the two names from the two poems I have but just quoted, ‘Watt at the Well’ and ‘Symme atte Style.’ Now we have at this present day but simple ‘Styles’ to represent this latter, while in respect of the former we have not merely ‘Wells,’ but ‘Attwell,’ or ‘Atwell.’ These examples are not solitary ones. Thus, such a name as ‘John atte Wood,’ or ‘Gilbert atte Wode,’ has bequeathed us not merely the familiar ‘Wood,’ but ‘Attwood’ and ‘Atwood’ also. ‘William atte Lea,’ that is, the pasture, can boast a large posterity of ‘Leighs,’ ‘Leghs,’ and ‘Lees;’ but he is well-nigh as commonly represented by our ‘Atlays’ and ‘Attlees.’ And not to become tedious in illustrations, ‘atte-Borough’ is now ‘Attenborough’ or ‘Atterbury;’ ‘atte-Ridge’ has become ‘Attridge,’ ‘atte-Field’ ‘Atfield;’ while such other designations as ‘atte-Town,’ ‘atte-Hill,’ ‘atte-Water,’ ‘atte-Worth,’ ‘atte-Tree,’ or ‘atte-Cliffe,’ are in this nineteenth century of ours registered frequently as mere ‘Atton,’ ‘Athill,’ ‘Atwater,’ ‘Atworth,’ ‘Attree,’ and ‘Atcliffe.’ Sometimes, however, this prefix dropped down into the 111simple ‘a.’ The notorious Pinder of Wakefield was ‘George a Green’ according to the ballads regarding Robin Hood. ‘Thomas a Becket,’ literally, I doubt not, ‘Thomas atte Becket’—that is, the streamlet—is but another instance from more general history. The name is found in a more Norman dress in the Hundred Rolls, where one ‘Wydo del Beck’t’ is set down. In the same way ‘atte-Gate’ became the jewelled ‘Agate,’ and ‘atte-More’ ‘Amore’ and the sentimental ‘Amor.’ I have said that where the name proper—i.e. the word of locality—began with a vowel the letter ‘n’ was added to ‘atte’ for purposes of euphony. It is interesting to note how this euphonic ‘n’ has still survived when all else of the prefix has lapsed. Thus by a kind of prosthesis our familiar ‘Noakes’ or ‘Nokes’ stands for ‘Atten-Oaks,’ that is, ‘At the Oaks.’ ‘Piers Plowman,’ in another edition from that I have already quoted, makes Covetousness to say—

‘Nash’ is but put for ‘atten-Ash,’ or as some of our Rolls records it, ‘atte-Nash;’ ‘Nalder’ for ‘atten-Alder,’ ‘Nelmes’ for ‘atten-Elms,’ ‘Nall’ for atten-Hall,’ while ‘Oven’ and ‘Orchard’ in the olden registers are found as ‘atte-Novene’ and ‘atte-Norchard’ respectively. That this practice, in a day of an unsettled orthography, was common, is easily judged by the traces that may be detected in our ordinary vocabulary of a similar habit. In the period we are considering ‘ale’ was the vulgar term for an 112‘ale-house.’ We still talk of the ‘ale-stake,’ that is, the public-house sign. Thus ‘atten-ale’ got corrupted into ‘nale.’ Chaucer, with many other writers, so uses it. In the ‘Freres Tale’ we are told how the Sompnour—

An old poem, too, says—

Thus our forefathers used to talk alike of ‘an ouch,’ or ‘a nouch,’ for a jewel or setting of gold. Gower has it—

Even now, I need scarcely remind my readers, we talk of a ‘newt,’ which is nothing but a contraction of ‘an ewt’ or ‘eft,’ and it is still a question whether ‘nedder,’ provincially used for ‘an adder,’ was not originally contracted in a similar manner. ‘Nale,’ or ‘Nail,’ thus locally derived, still lives in our directories as a surname.^[107]

While ‘atte’ has been unquestionably the one chief prefix to these more familiar local terms, it is not the sole one that has left its mark. Our ‘Bywaters’ and ‘Bywoods’ are but the descendants of such mediæval folk as ‘Elias Bi-the-water,’ or ‘Edward 113By-the-wode,’ and our ‘Byfords,’ ‘Bytheseas,’ and ‘Bygates,’ or ‘Byatts,’ are equally clearly the offspring of some early ancestor who dwelt beside some streamlet shallow, or marine greensward, or woodland hatchway.

In this pursuit after individuality, however, this was not the only method adopted. Another class of names arose from the somewhat contrary practice of appending to the place-word a termination equally significative of residence. This suffix was of two kinds, one ending in ‘er,’ the other in ‘man.’ Thus if the rustic householder dwelt in the meadows, he became known among his acquaintance as ‘Robert the Fielder,’ or ‘Filder;’ if under the greenwood shade, ‘Woodyer,’ or ‘Woodyear,’ or ‘Woodman’—relics of the old ‘le Wodere’ and ‘le Wodeman;’ if by the precincts of the sanctuary, ‘Churcher’ or ‘Churchman’ in the south of England, or ‘Kirker’ or ‘Kirkman’ in the north; if by some priory, ‘Templer’ or ‘Templeman;’ if by the village cross, ‘Crosser,’ or ‘Crossman,’ or ‘Croucher,’ or ‘Crouchman;’ if by the bridge, ‘Bridger’ or ‘Bridgman;’ if by the brook, ‘Brooker,’ or ‘Brookman,’ or ‘Becker,’ or ‘Beckman;’ if by the well, the immortal ‘Weller,’ or ‘Welman,’ or ‘Crossweller,’ if, as was often the case, it lay beneath the roadside crucifix; if by some particular tree, ‘Beecher,’ once written ‘le Beechar,’ or ‘Asher,’ or ‘Hollier,’ or ‘Holleyman,’ or ‘Oker,’ and so on.

A certain number of names of the class we are now dwelling upon have arisen from a somewhat peculiar colloquial use of the term ‘end’ in vogue 114with our Saxon forefathers. The method of its employment is still common in Lancashire and Yorkshire. The poorer classes still speak of a neighbour as dwelling ‘at the street end;’ they never by any chance use the fuller phrase ‘the end of the street.’ Chaucer uses it as a familiar mode of expression. The Friar, in the preface to his story, says slightingly—

In the ‘Persones Prologue,’ too, the same poet says—

How colloquial it must have been in his day we may judge from the following list of names I have been enabled to pick up from various records, and which I could have enlarged had I so chosen:—

Besides these we have such a Latinized form for ‘Townsend,’ or ‘Townshend,’ as ‘Ad finem villæ,’ or ‘End’ itself without further particularity, in such a 115sobriquet as ‘William atte-Nende.’^[108] The several points of the compass, too, are marked in ‘Northende,’ ‘Eastende,’ and ‘Westende,’ the latter having become stereotyped in the fashionable mouth as the quarter in which the more opulent portion of the town reside, whether its aspect be towards the setting sun or the reverse—but an exaggeration of this kind is a mere trifle where fashion is concerned.

But these Saxon compounded names, numerous as they are, are but few in comparison with the simple locative itself, without prefix, without desinence, ‘Geoffrey atte Style,’ ‘Roger atte Lane,’ ‘Walter atte Water,’ ‘Thomas atte Brooke;’ or in the more Norman fashion of many of our rolls, ‘John de la Ford,’ ‘Robert del Holme,’ ‘Richard de la Field,’ ‘Alice de la Strete:’ all these might linger for awhile, but in the end, as we might foresee, as well in the mouths of men as later on in the pages of our registers, they became simple ‘Geoffrey Styles’ and ‘Roger Lane,’ ‘Walter Waters’ and ‘Thomas Brookes,’ ‘John Ford’ and ‘Robert Holmes,’ ‘Alice Street’ and ‘Richard Field.’ Here, then, is an endless source of surnames to our hands. Here is the spring from which have issued those local sobriquets which preponderate so largely over those of every other class. To analyse all these were impossible, and the task of selection is little less difficult. But we may give the preference to such leading provincialisms as are embodied in our personal nomenclature, or to such terms as by their existence there betoken that, though not 116now, yet they did then occupy a place in the vocabulary of every-day converse. For it is wonderful how numberless are the local words, now obsolete saving for our registers, which were used in ordinary talk not more than five hundred years ago. That many of them have been thus rescued from oblivion by our hereditary nomenclature is due no doubt to the fact that the period of the formation of the latter is that also during which our tongue was settling down into that composite form of Saxon and Norman in which we now have it, and which in spite of losses in consequence, in spite of here and there a noble word crushed out, has given our English language its pliancy and suppleness, its strengths and shades.

We have mentioned ‘de la Woode’ and Attewoode.’ ‘De la Hirst’ is exactly similar—its compounds equally numerous. The pasture beside it is ‘Hursley’—if filberts abound it is ‘Hazlehurst;’ if ashes, ‘Ashurst;’ if lindens or linds, ‘Lyndhurst;’ if elms, ‘Elmhurst.’ If hawks frequented it we find it styled ‘Hawkhurst;’ if goats, ‘Goathirst;’ if badgers or brocks, ‘Brocklehurst;’ if deer, ‘Dewhurst’ (spelt Duerhurst, 1375). The ‘holt’ was less in size, being merely a coppice or small thicket. Chaucer speaks of ‘holtes and hayes.’ ‘De la Holt’ is of frequent occurrence in our early rolls. Our ‘Cockshots’ are but the ‘cocksholt,’ the liquid letter being elided as in ‘Aldershot,’ ‘Oakshot,’^[109] and ‘Bagshot,’ or badgers’ holt. A ‘shaw’ or ‘schaw’ was a small woody shade or covert. An old manuscript says:—

As a shelter for game and the wilder animals, it is found in such compounds as ‘Bagshaw,’ the badger being evidently common; ‘Hindshaw,’ ‘Ramshaw,’ ‘Hogshaw,’^[110] ‘Cockshaw,’ ‘Henshaw,’ and ‘Earnshaw.’ The occurrence of such names as ‘Shallcross’ and ‘Shawcross,’ ‘Henshall’ and ‘Henshaw,’ and ‘Kersall’ and ‘Kershaw,’ would lead us to imagine that this word too has been somewhat corrupted. Other descriptive compounds are found in ‘Birkenshaw,’ or ‘Denshaw,’ or ‘Bradshaw,’ or ‘Langshaw,’ or ‘Openshaw.’ As for ‘Shaw’ simple, every county in England has it locally, and every directory surnominally. Such a name as ‘Richard de la Frith’ or ‘George ate Frith’ carries us at once to the woodland copses that underlay our steeper mountain-sides—they represented the wider and more wooded valleys in fact. We find the term lingering locally in such a name as ‘Chapel-en-le-frith’ in the Peak of Derbyshire. The usual alliterative expression of early days was ‘by frith and fell.’ We have it varied in an old poem of the fourteenth century:—

Our ‘Friths’ are by no means in danger of obsoletism, 118to judge by our directories—and they are a pleasant memorial of a term which was once in familiar use as expressive of some of the most picturesque portions of English scenery. Such a name as ‘De la Dene’ or ‘Atte Den,’ of frequent occurrence formerly, and as ‘Dean’ or ‘Den’ equally familiar now, is worthy of particularity. A den was a sunken and wooded vale, where cattle might find alike covert and pasture. Thus it is that we are accustomed to speak of a den in connexion with animal life, in such phrases as a ‘den of lions’ or a ‘den of thieves.’ See how early this notion sprang. We have a remembrance of the brock in ‘Brogden,’ the wolf in ‘Wolfenden,’ the fox in ‘Foxden,’ the ram in ‘Ramsden,’ the hare in ‘Harden,’ and the deer in ‘Dearden,’^[111] ‘Buckden’ or ‘Bugden,’ ‘Rayden’ and ‘Roden,’ or ‘Rowden.’ The more domesticated animals abide with us in ‘Horsden,’ ‘Oxenden,’ and ‘Cowden,’ ‘Lambden,’ or ‘Lamden,’ ‘Borden,’ and ‘Sugden,’ or ‘Sowden;’ ‘Swinden,’ ‘Eversden,’ and ‘Ogden,’ at first written ‘de Hogdene.’ With regard especially to this latter class it is that our ‘Court of Dens’ arose, which till late years settled all disputes relative to forest pannage. The 119dweller therein, engaged probably in the tendance of such cattle as I have mentioned last, was the ‘Denyer’ or ‘Denman,’ both surnames still living in our midst. While the den was given up mainly to swine, the ley^[112] afforded shelter to all manner of domestic livestock, not to mention, however, some few of the wilder quarry. The equine species has given to us ‘Horsley;’ the bovine, ‘Cowley,’ ‘Kinley,’ and ‘Oxlee’ or ‘Oxley;’ the deer, ‘Hartley,’ ‘Rowley,’ ‘Buckley,’ and ‘Hindley;’ the fox, ‘Foxley;’^[113] the hare, ‘Harley,’ and even the sheep, though generally driven to the scantier pastures of the rocks and steeps, has left us in ‘Shipley’ a trace of its footprint in the deeper and more sheltered glades. Characteristic of the trees which enclosed it, we get ‘Ashley,’ ‘Elmsley,’ ‘Oakley,’ ‘Lindley,’ or ‘Berkeley.’ Of the name simple we have endless forms; those of ‘Lee,’ ‘Legh,’ ‘Lea,’ ‘Lees,’ ‘Laye,’ and ‘Leigh’^[114] being the most familiar. In the old rolls their ancestors figure in an equal variety of dresses, for we may at once light upon such names as ‘Emma de la Leye,’ or ‘Richard de la Legh,’ or ‘Robert de la Lee,’ or ‘William de la Lea,’ or ‘Petronilla de la Le.’ Our ‘Atlays’ and ‘Atlees,’ as I have already said, are but the more Saxon ‘Atte Lee.’

In some of these surnames we can trace the early cuttings amongst the thickly wooded districts where the larger wealds were situated. Our ‘Royds,’ or ‘Rodds,’ or ‘Rodes,’ all hail from some spot ridded 120of waste wood. Compounds may be found in our ‘Huntroyds,’ that is, the clearing for the chase; ‘Holroyds,’ that is, the holly-clearing; and ‘Acroyds,’ that is, the oak-clearing, the term ‘acorn,’ that is, ‘oak-corn,’ and such local names as ‘Acton’ or ‘Acland,’ reminding us of this the older spelling; ‘Ormerod,’ again, is but Ormes-clearing—Orme being, as we have already shown, a common Saxon personal name. Our ‘Greaves’ and ‘Graves’ and ‘Groves,’ descendants of the ‘de la Groves’ and ‘Atte Groves’ of early rolls, not to mention the more personal ‘Grover’ and ‘Graver,’ convey the same idea. A ‘Greave’ was a woodland avenue, graved or cut out of the forest. Fairfax speaks of the—

’Tis true we only ‘grave’ in stone now, but it was not always so. Thus in the ‘Legend of Good Women’ mention is made of—

We still call the last resting-place of the dead in our churchyards a grave, though dug from the soil. I have already mentioned ‘de la Graveshend’ occurring as a surname. Our ‘Hargreaves’ hail from the grove where the hares are plentiful; our ‘Congreves’ representing the same in the coney. Our ‘Greeves’ we shall have occasion in another chapter to show belong to another and more occupative class of surnames. Our ‘Thwaites,’ too, belong to this category. Locally the term is confined to Cumberland and the north, where the Norwegians left it. It is exactly equivalent 121to ‘field,’ a felled place, or woodland clearing. The compounds formed from it are too numerous to wade through. Amongst others, however, we have, as denotive of the substances ridded, ‘Thornthwaite,’ ‘Limethwaite,’ ‘Rownthwaite,’ and ‘Hawthornthwaite;’ of peculiarity in position or shape, ‘Brathwaite’ (broad), and ‘Micklethwaite;’ of contents, ‘Thistlethwaite,’ ‘Cornthwaite,’ and ‘Crossthwaite.’ The very dress of the majority of these compounds testifies to the northern origin of the root-word.

Our ‘Slade’ represents the ‘de la Slades’ of the Hundred Rolls. A slade was a small strip of green plain within a woodland. One of the numberless rhymes concerning Robin Hood says—

Its nature is still more characterised in ‘Robert de Greneslade,’ that is, the green-slade; ‘William de la Morslade,’ the moorland-slade; ‘Richard de Wytslade,’ the white-slade; ‘Michael de Ocslade,’ the oak-slade, and ‘William de Waldeslade,’^[115] the forest-slade (weald); ‘Sladen,’ that is, slade-den, implies a woodland hollow. As a local term there is a little difference betwixt it and ‘launde,’ only the latter has no suspicion of indenture about it. A launde was a pretty and rich piece of grassy sward in the heart of a forest, what we should now call an open wood, in fact. Thus it is we term the space in our gardens 122within the surrounding shrubberies lawns. Chaucer says of Theseus on hunting bent—

In the ‘Morte Arthur,’ too, we are told of hunting—

This is the source of more surnames than we might imagine. Hence are sprung our ‘Launds,’ ‘Lands,’ ‘Lowndes,’ ‘Landers,’ in many cases, and our obsolete ‘Landmans.’ The forms, as at first met with, are equally varied. We have ‘atte-Lond,’ ‘de la Laund,’ and ‘de la Lande,’ while the origin of our ‘Lunds’ shows itself in ‘de la Lund.’ ‘De la Holme’ still flourishes in our ‘Holmes,’ while the more personal form is found in our ‘Holmers’ and ‘Holmans.’ An holm was a flat meadow-land lying within the windings of some valley stream. Our ‘Platts,’ found in such an entry as ‘Robert del Plat,’ are similarly sprung, but in the ‘plat’ there was less thought of general surroundings. As an adjective it was in common use formerly. For instance, in the ‘Romaunt of the Rose,’ when the God of Love had shot his arrow, it is said—

Our ‘Knowles,’ ‘Knowlers,’ and ‘Knowlmans’ carry us to the gently rising slopes in the woods, grassy and free of timber, the old form of the first being ‘de la Cnolle’ or ‘atte Knolle.’ Our ‘Lynches,’ once written ‘de Linches,’ I should surmise, are but a dress of the 123still familiar link across our northern border—the flatland running by the river and sea-coast, while our ‘Kays’ (when not the old British ‘Kay’) represent the more artificial ‘quay,’ reminding us of the knitting together of beam and stone. It is but the same word as we apply to locks, the idea of both being that of securing or fastening.

Though it is to the more open plains and woodlands we must look for the majority of our place-names, nevertheless, looking up our steeps and into the fissures of the hills, we may see that every feature in the landscape has its memorial in our nomenclature. ‘De la Hill’ needs no remark. ‘De la Helle’ and ‘atte Helle’ are somewhat less pleasant to look upon, but they are only another form of the same. ‘De la Hulle,’ again, is but a third setting of the same. Gower says—

‘Mountain’ is the ‘de la Montaigne’ of the twelfth century, but of course of Norman introduction. This sobriquet reminds us of the story told of a certain Dr. Mountain, chaplain to Charles II., who, when the king asked him if he could recommend him a suitable man for a vacant bishopric, is reported to have answered, ‘Sire, if you had but the faith of a grain of mustard seed, the matter could be settled at once.’ ‘How?’ inquired the astonished monarch. ‘Why, my liege, you could then say unto this mountain (smiting his own breast), “be thou removed to that 124see,” and it should be done.’^[116] Our ‘Cloughs’ represent the narrow fissures betwixt the hills. From the same root we owe our ‘Clives’ (the ‘de la Clive’ of the Hundred Rolls), ‘Cliffes,’ ‘Cleves,’ and ‘Clowes,’ not to mention our endless ‘Cliffords,’ ‘Cliftons,’ ‘Clifdens,’ ‘Cliveleys,’ ‘Clevelands,’ ‘Tunnicliffes,’ ‘Sutcliffes,’ ‘Nethercliffes,’ ‘Topliffs,’ ‘Ratcliffes,’ or ‘Redcliffes,’ ‘Faircloughs,’ and ‘Stonecloughs.’ Any prominence of rock or earth was a ‘cop,’ or ‘cope,’ from the Saxon ‘cop,’ a head.^[117] Chaucer talks of the ‘cop of the nose.’ In Wicklyffe’s version of Luke iv. 29, it says, ‘And thei risen up and droven him out withouten the cytee, and ledden him to the coppe of the hill on which their cytee was bilded to cast him down.’ We still talk of a coping-stone. Hence, from its local use, we have derived our ‘Copes’ and ‘Copps,’ ‘Copleys’ and ‘Copelands,’ and ‘Copestakes.’ From ‘cob,’ which is but another form of the same word, we get our ‘Cobbs,’ Cobhams,’ ‘Cobwells,’ ‘Cobdens,’ and ‘Cobleys.’ Thus, to consult the Parliamentary Writs alone, we find such entries as ‘Robert de Cobbe,’ ‘Reginald de Cobeham,’ ‘John de Cobwell,’ or ‘Godfrey de Coppden.’ As a cant term for a rich or prominent man ‘cob’ is found in many of our later writers, and ‘cobby’ more early implied a headstrong nature. Another term in use for a local prominence was 125‘ness,’ or ‘naze.’ ‘Roger atte Ness’ occurs in the thirteenth century; and ‘Longness’ and ‘Thickness’ and ‘Redness’ are but compounds, unless, as is quite possible, they be from the same root in its more personal relationship to the human face, the word nose being familiarly so pronounced at this time. Our ‘Downs’ and ‘Dunns,’ when not sprung from ‘le Dun,’ are but descendants of the old ‘de la Dune,’ of the hilly slopes; our ‘Combs’ and ‘Combes’ representing the ‘de la Cumbe’ of the ridgy hollows, or ‘cup-shaped depressions’ of the higher hillsides, as Mr. Taylor happily expresses it. It is thus we get our terms ‘honeycomb,’ ‘cockscomb,’ ‘haircomb,’ &c. Few terms have connected themselves so much as this with the local nomenclature of our land, and few have made themselves so conspicuous in our directories. The writer I have just mentioned quotes a Cumberland poet, who says—

Of those compounds which have become surnames we cannot possibly recite all, but among the more common are ‘Thorncombe’ and ‘Broadcombe,’ ‘Newcombe’ and ‘Morcombe,’ ‘Lipscombe’ and ‘Woolcombe,’ ‘Withecombe’ and ‘Buddicom,’ and ‘Slocombe.’ We have already mentioned ‘Amore.’ The simple ‘More,’ or ‘Moore,’ is very familiar; ‘atte Mor,’ or ‘de la More,’ being the older forms. This has ever been a favourite name for punning rhymes. In the ‘Book of Days,’ several plays of this kind 126have been preserved. When Dr. Manners Sutton^[118] succeeded Dr. Moore in the Archiepiscopal chair of Canterbury, the following lines were written:—

When Sir Thomas More was Chancellor, it is said, his great attention to his duties caused all litigation to come to an end in the Court of Chancery. The following epigram bearing upon this fact was written:—

Our ‘Heaths’ explain themselves, but our ‘Heths,’ though the same, and from the first found as 127‘atte Heth,’ are not so transparent. Some might be tempted to set them down in a more Israelitish category as descendants of the ‘children of Heth,’ but such is not the case. Somewhat similar to ‘Cope,’ mentioned above, was ‘Knop’ or ‘Knap’—a summit.^[119] Any protuberance, whatever it might be, was with our old writers a ‘knop.’^[120] Rose-buds and buttons alike, with Chaucer, are ‘knops’:—

North in his Plutarch says, ‘And both these rivers turning in one, carrying a swift streame, doe make the knappe of the said hill very strong of its situation to lodge a camp upon.’ To our hilltops, then, it is we owe our ‘Knaps,’ ‘Knappers,’ ‘Knapmans,’ ‘Knopps,’ ‘Knopes,’ ‘Knabwells,’ and ‘Knaptons.’ Our ‘Howes’ represent the smaller hills, while still less prominent would be the abodes of our early ‘Lawes,’^[121] and ‘Lowes,’ or ‘de la Lawe’ and ‘de la Lowe,’ as they are found in the Hundred Rolls. Our ‘Shores’ need no explanation, but our ‘Overs’ are less known. An old poem, quoted by Mr. Halliwell, says:—

It seems to have been used generally to denote the flat-lands that lay about the sea-coast or rivers generally—what we should call in Scotland the links. I have already mentioned our ‘Overends’ as similar to our ‘Townsends;’ ‘Overman’ doubtless is but the more personal form of the same.^[122]

Coming gradually to more definite traces of human habitation, we may mention some of our tree names. Of several, such as ‘Nash,’ and ‘Nalder,’ and ‘Nokes,’ we have already spoken. Such a name as ‘Henry atte Beeche,’ or ‘Walter de la Lind,’ or ‘Richard atte Ok,’ now found as simple ‘Beech,’ and ‘Lind,’ and ‘Oake,’ reminds us that we are not without further obligations to the tree world. Settling by or under the shade of some gigantic elm or oak, a sobriquet of this kind would be perfectly natural. As our ‘Lyndhursts’ and ‘Lindleys’ prove, ‘lind’ was once familiarly used for our now fuller ‘linden.’ Piers Plowman says:—

Were the Malvern dreamer describing poetically the birth and the origin of the future Swedish nightingale who four hundred years afterwards was to entrance the world with her song, he could not have been more 129happy in his expression. Our ‘Ashes’ and ‘Birches,’ once ‘de la Byrche,’ need little remark, but ‘Birks,’ the harder form of the latter, is not so familiar, though it is still preserved in such names as ‘Birkenhead,’ or ‘Birkenshaw,’ or ‘Berkeley.’ A small group of trees would be equally perspicuous. Thus have arisen our ‘Twelvetrees,’ and ‘Fiveashes,’ and ‘Snooks,’ a mere corruption of the Kentish ‘Sevenoaks.’ Mr. Lower mentions ‘Quatrefages,’ that is, ‘four beeches,’ as a corresponding instance in French nomenclature.^[123]

A common object in the country lane or by-path would be the gate or hatch that ran across the road to confine the deer. The old provincialism for this was ‘yate.’ We are told of Griselda in the ‘Clerkes Tale’ that—

she is gone

and Piers Plowman says our Lord came in through

Our ‘Yates,’ written once ‘Atte Yate,’ by their numbers can bear testimony to the familiarity with which this expression was once used. ‘Byatt’ I have just shown to be the same as ‘Bygate,’ and ‘Woodyat’ is but equivalent to ‘Woodgate.’ Other compounds are 130found in the old registers. In the ‘Placitorum’ of the thirteenth century, for instance, we light upon a ‘Christiana atte Chircheyate,’ and a ‘John atte Foldyate;’ while in the Hundred Rolls of the same period we find a ‘Walter atte Lideyate,’ now familiarly known to us as ‘Lidgate.’ Our ‘Hatchs,’ once enrolled as ‘de la Hache,’ like our before-mentioned ‘Hatchers’ and ‘Hatchmans,’ represented the simple bar that ran athwart the woodland pathway. We still call the upper-deck with its crossbars the hatches, and a weir is yet with the country folk a hatch. Chaucer speaks of—

Any nook or corner of land was with our forefathers a ‘hearne,’ and as ‘en le Herne’ or ‘atte Hurne’ the surname is frequently found in the thirteenth century.^[125] ‘De la Corner’ is, of course, but a synonymous term. A passage betwixt two houses, or a narrow defile between two hillsides, was a ‘gore,’ akin, we may safely say, to ‘gorge.’ Our ‘Gores,’ as descendants of the old ‘de la Gore,’ are thus explained. ‘De la Goreway,’ which once existed, is now, I believe, obsolete. One of the most fertile roots of nomenclature was the simple roadside ‘cross’ or ‘crouch,’ the latter old English form still lingering in our ‘crutched’ or ‘crouched Friars.’ Langland describes a pilgrim as having ‘many a crouche on his cloke;’ i.e. many a mark of the cross embroidered thereon. A dweller by one of these wayside crucifixes would easily get 131the sobriquet therefrom, and thus we find ‘atte Crouch’ to be of early occurrence. Our ‘Crouchmans’ and ‘Crouchers’ I have already mentioned. A ‘Richard Crocheman’ is found in the Hundred Rolls, and a ‘William Croucheman’ in another entry of the same period. As for the simpler ‘Cross,’ once written ‘atte Cross,’ it is to be met with everywhere. ‘Crosier’ and ‘Crozier’ I shall, in my next chapter, show to be official rather than local; so we may pass them by for the present. The more Saxon ‘Rood’ or ‘Rudd’ is not without its representatives. ‘Margery atte Rudde’ is found in the ‘Placitorum,’ and our ‘Rudders’ and ‘Ruddimans,’ I doubt not, stand for the more directly personal form. Talking of crosses, we may mention, in passing, our ‘Bellhouses,’ not unfrequently found as ‘atte Belhus’ or ‘de la Belhuse.’ The founder of this name dwelt in the small domicile attached to the monastic pile, and, no doubt, had for his care the striking of the innumerable calls to the supply of either the bodily or spiritual wants of those within. Our ‘Bellows,’ I believe, are but a modification of this. The last syllable has undergone a similar change in several other instances. Thus the form ‘del Hellus’ was but ‘Hill-house,’ ‘Woodus’ is but the old ‘de la Wodehouse,’ ‘Stannus’ but ‘Stanehouse’ or ‘Stonehouse,’ ‘Malthus’ but ‘Malthouse,’ and ‘Bacchus’ is found originally as ‘del Bakehouse.’^[126] The old ‘Atte Grene,’ a name familiar 132enough without the prefix, may be set beside our ‘Plastows,’ relics of the ‘Atte Pleistowe’ or ‘de la Pleystowe’ of the period we are considering. The ‘play-stowe’ (that is, ‘playground’) seems to have been the general term in olden days for the open piece of greensward near the centre of the village where the may-pole stood, and where all the sports at holiday times and wake tides were carried on.^[127] Our ‘Meads’ or ‘Meddes’ hail from the ‘meadow,’ or ‘mead.’ ‘Ate Med’ is the early form.^[128]

A ‘croft’ was an enclosed field for pasture. Besides ‘Croft’ it has given us ‘Meadowcroft,’ ‘Ryecroft,’ ‘Bancroft’ (that is, bean-croft), ‘Berecroft’ (that is, barley-croft), and ‘Haycraft’ (that is, hedged-croft). It seems, however, to have been freely used, also, in the sense of garth or yard, the enclosure in which, or by which, the house stood. Thus, in the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ Satan is represented as calling to the depraved and vile, and saying—

With the humour of the period, which was ever largely intermingled in even the most sacred themes, one of the characters, acting as a demon, replies—

133There is little distinction to be drawn between ‘garth’ and ‘yard’ in the North of England, and in reality there ought to be none. Such names, however, as ‘Nicholas de Apelyerd,’ or ‘Robert del Apelgarth,’ or ‘Richard atte Orcheyerd,’ the descendants of whom are still in our midst, bespeak a former familiarity of usage which we cannot find now. We have just mentioned ‘Haycraft.’ This reminds us of our ‘Hayes.’ Chaucer, in his ‘Troilus,’ says—

A ‘hay’ was nothing but a ‘hedge.’ In the Hundred Rolls we find such names occurring as ‘Margery de la Haye’ or ‘Roger de la Hagh,’ or in a compounded form ‘Richard de la Woodhaye,’ or ‘Robert de Brodheye.’ Of the simple root the forms most common now are ‘Hay,’ ‘Hayes,’ ‘Haighs,’ ‘Haigs,’ and ‘Hawes.’ The composite forms are endless. ‘Roundhay’ explains itself. ‘Lyndsay’ I find spelt at this period as ‘Lyndshay,’ so that it is not the islet whereon the lind or linden grows, but the hedge of these shrubs. Besides these we have ‘Haywood’ or ‘Heywood,’ ‘Hayland’ and ‘Hayley.’ From the form ‘hawe,’ mentioned above, we have our ‘Hawleys,’ ‘Haworths,’ and ‘Hawtons,’ or ‘Haughtons,’ and probably the longest name in the directory, that of ‘Featherstonehaugh.’ We still talk of the haw-thorn and haw-haw. Chaucer uses the term for a farmyard or garth—

134This at once explains such a name as ‘Peter in le Hawe’ found in the Hundred Rolls. But Chaucer has a prettier use of it than this, a use still abiding in our ‘Churchays,’ relics of the mediæval ‘de Chirchehay.’ He speaks twice of the ‘Churchhawe,’ or graveyard. How pretty it is! almost as pretty as its Saxon synonym ‘Godsacre,’ only that is more endeared to us, inasmuch as since the acre always denoted the sowed land (Latin ‘ager’), so it whispers to us hopefully of the great harvest-tide to come when the seed thus sown in corruption shall be raised an incorruptible body. Our ‘Goodacres’ are doubtless thus derived—and with such names as ‘Acreman’ or ‘Akerman,’ ‘Oldacre’ or ‘Oddiker,’ ‘Longacre’ and ‘Whittaker’ (or ‘Whytacre’ or ‘Witacre,’ as I find it in the thirteenth century), help to remind us how in early days an acre denoted less a fixed measure of land than soil itself that lay under the plough. But this by the way. I have just mentioned ‘Hayworth.’ A name like ‘William de la Worth’ (H.R.) represented our ‘Worths’ in the thirteenth century. Properly speaking, any sufficiently warded place—it had come to denote a small farmstead at the time the surname arose. ‘Charlesworth’ is the ‘churl’s worth,’ the familiar metamorphosis of this name being identical with that of the astronomic ‘Charles Wain,’ and with such place-names as ‘Charle-wood,’ ‘Charlton,’ ‘Carlton,’ and ‘Charley.’ Our various ‘Unsworths,’ ‘Ainsworths,’ ‘Whitworths,’ ‘Langworthys,’ ‘Kenworthys,’ ‘Wortleys,’ and others of this class are familiar to us all. Surnames like ‘Roger de la Grange,’ or ‘Geoffrey de la Grange,’ or ‘John le 135Granger,’^[129] remind us that grange also was commonly used at this time for a farmstead, it being in reality nothing more than our granary.^[130] Piers Plowman portrays the good Samaritan thus—

Our ‘Barnes,’ I need not say, are of similar origin. The Celtic ‘booth,’ a frail tenement of ‘boughs,’ whose temporary character our Biblical account of the Israelitish wanderings so well helps to preserve, has given birth to our ‘Booths’ and ‘Boothmans,’ once written ‘de la Bothe’ and ‘Botheman.’ They may possibly have kept the stall at the fair or market. Comparisons we know are ever odious, but set beside the more Saxon ‘Steads’ and ‘Steadmans’ the former inevitably suffer. The very names of these latter betray to us the well-nigh best characteristics of the race whence they are sprung. To be steady and stedfast are its best and most inherent qualities—qualities which, added to the dash and spirit of the Norman, have given the position England to-day occupies among the nations of the world. Our ‘Bowers’ and ‘Bowermans,’ when not occupied in the 136bowyer’s or bower’s craft, represent the earlier ‘de la Bore’ or ‘atte Bore,’ and have taken their origin from the old ‘bower,’ the rustics’ abode. It is the same word whence has sprung our bucolic ‘boor.’ An old English term for a house or mansion was ‘bold,’ that which was built. The old ‘De la Bolde,’ therefore, will in many cases be the origination of our ‘Bolds.’ Our ‘Halls’ explain themselves, but the older form of ‘Hale’ (once ‘atte Hale’ or ‘de la Hale’) is not so easily traceable. ‘De la Sale,’ sometimes also found as ‘de la Saule,’ was the Norman synonym of the same.

says an old writer. ‘Sale’ and ‘Saul’ are still extant. Names still more curious than these are those taken, not from the residence itself, but from particular rooms in such residence. They are doubtless the result of the feudal system, which, with its formal list of house officers and attendants, required the presence of at least one in each separate chamber. Hence the Norman-introduced parlour, that is, the speaking or reception room, gave us ‘Henry del Parlour,’ or ‘Richard ate Parlour;’ the kitchen, ‘Geoffrey atte Kitchen,’ or ‘Richard del Kechen;’ or the pantry ‘John de la Panetrie,’ or ‘Henry de la Panetrie.’ But I shall have occasion to speak more fully of this by-and-by, so I will say no more here.

There is a pretty word which has been restored from an undeserved oblivion within the last few years by Mr. Tennyson, in his ‘Brook,’ as an idyll perhaps the distinctly finest thing of its kind in the English language. The word referred to is ‘thorpe,’ a village, 137pronounced ‘throp’ or ‘trop’ by our forefathers. Thus in the ‘Clerkes Tale’ we are told—

while in the ‘Assembly of Fowls’ mention is prettily made of

This diversity is well exemplified in our nomenclature. Thus the term in its simple form is found in such entries as ‘Adam de Thorpe,’ or ‘Simon de Throp,’ or ‘Ralph de Trop,’ all of which are to be met with in the one same register; while compounded with other words, we are all familiar with such surnames as ‘Gawthorpe,’ ‘Winthrop,’ ‘Hartrop,’ ‘Denthorp,’ ‘Buckthorp,’ ‘Fridaythorp,’ ‘Conythorp,’ ‘Calthrop,’ or ‘Westropp.’ Our ‘Thrupps,’ too, we must not forget as but another corrupted form of the same root.

There are two words whose sense has become so enlarged and whose importance among English local terms has become so great that we cannot but give them a place by themselves. They are those of ‘town’ and ‘borough.’ Such registered names as ‘William de la Towne’ or ‘Ralph de la Tune,’ now found as ‘Town’ and ‘Tune,’ represent the former in its primeval sense. The term is still used in Scotland, as it was used here some generations ago, to denote a farm and all its surrounding enclosures. In Wicklyffe’s Bible, where we read ‘and went their ways, one to his farm, another to his merchandize,’ it 138is ‘one into his toun.’ In the story of the Prodigal Son, too, it is similarly employed—‘And he wente and drough him to one of the cyteseynes of that cuntre, and he sente him into his toun to feed swyn.’ Let me quote Chaucer also to the same effect—

It is thus a name I have already mentioned, ‘de la Townshende,’ the parent of our ‘Townsends,’ ‘Townshends,’ and ‘Townends,’ has arisen. Another entry, that of ‘Robert Withouten-town,’ has, as we might have expected, left no issue. Such names as ‘Adam de la Bury,’ or ‘Walter atte Bure,’ or ‘John atte Burende’ (the latter now extinct, I fear), open out to us a still larger mass of existing nomenclature. The manorial residence is still in many parts of England, with the country folk, the ‘bury.’ To this or ‘borough’ we owe our ‘Burys,’ ‘Boroughs,’ ‘Borrows,’ ‘Buroughs,’ ‘Burkes,’ ‘Broughs,’ ‘Burghs,’ and even ‘Bugges,’ so that, though Hood has inquired—

still the possessors of that not exactly euphonious cognomen can reflect with pride upon not merely a long pedigree, but lofty relationships. Another form of the same word, familiar, too, to early registers, was ‘de la Bere,’ and to this we owe our ‘Berrys,’ ‘Berrimans,’ ‘Beers,’ and ‘Beares.’ It is wonderful how the strict meaning of ‘shelter’ is preserved in all the 139terms founded upon its root ‘beorgan,’ to hide. Is it a repository to guard the ashes of the dead?—it is a barrow, the act of sepulture itself being the burial. Is it a refuge for the coneys?—it is a burrow, or beare, as in ‘Coneybeare.’^[131] Is it a raised mound for the security of man?—it is a bury, borough, brough, or burgh. How altered now the meaning of these two words ‘borough’ and ‘town.’ Once but the abiding-place of a scattered family or two, they are now the centres of teeming populations. Of these, while some are still extending their tether, others have passed the middle age of their strength and vigour, and from the accidents of physical and industrial life are but surely succumbing to that dotage which, as in man so in man’s works, seems to be but premonitory of their final decay. How true is it that the fashion of this world passeth away. Even now this ever restless spirit of change is going on. We ourselves can scarce tell the spot upon which we were born. We need not wait for death to find that our place very soon knoweth us no more, and when we talk of treading in the footprints of the generations 140that have gone before, it would seem as though it were but to blind ourselves to the sober and unwelcome truth that we are rather treading upon the débris of the changing years.

But there is another class of surnames we may fitly introduce here, which, I doubt not, forms no small proportion in the aggregate mass of our nomenclature—that of sign-names. We in a cultivated age like that of the present fail, as we must, to realize the effect of these latter upon the current life of our forefathers. We now pass up and down a street, and, apart from the aid of the numbered doors and larger windows, and a more peculiar frontage, above the door we may see the name of the proprietor and the character of his occupation in letters so large that it is literally a fact that he who runs may read them. But all this is of gradual and slowly developed growth. The day we are considering knew nothing of these. It was a time when the clergy themselves in many cases were unable to read, when such education as a child of twelve years is now a dunce not to know would have given then for the possession of like attainments the sobriquet of ‘le Clerke’ or ‘le Beauclerk.’ And if this was the case with the learned, what would it be with the lower grades and classes of society? We may, therefore, well inquire what would be the use of gilded characters such as we now-a-days may see, detailing the name of the shopkeeper and the fashion of his stores? None at all. They could not read them. Thus we find in their stead the practice prevailing of putting up signs and symbols to denote the character of the shop, or to mark the individuality of the owner. In an age of escutcheons 141and all the insignia of heraldry, this was but natural. All manner of instruments, all styles of dress, all kinds of ensigns rudely carved or painted, that a rough or quaint fancy could suggest, were placed in a conspicuous position by the hatch or over the doorway, to catch, if it were possible, the eye of the wayfarer. Even the name itself, when it was capable of being so played upon, was turned into a symbol readable to the popular mind. Nor was it deemed necessary that the device should speak directly of the trade. Apart from implements and utensils, Nature herself was exhausted to supply sufficiently attractive signs; and what with mermaids and griffins, unicorns and centaurs, and other winged monsters, we see that they did not stop here—the supernatural also had to be pressed into this service. The animal kingdom was, however, specially popular—the hostelries peculiarly engrossing this class from the fact that they so often had emblazoned the recognizances of the family with which they stood immediately connected. Thus we still have ‘Red Lions’ and ‘White Lions,’ ‘Blue Boars’ and ‘Boars’ Heads,’ ‘White Bears’ and ‘Roebucks,’ and ‘Bulls’ Heads.’ Relics of the more special emblems remain in the barber’s pole, to the end of which a bowl was once generally attached, to show he was a surgeon also—the pawnbroker’s three balls, the goldbeater’s mallet, or the shoemaker’s last. Of the more fanciful we have a capital idea given us in the lines from Pasquin’s ‘Nightcap,’ written so late as 1612—

More than three hundred years previous to this we find such names figuring in our registers as ‘John de la Rose,’ ‘John atte Belle,’ ‘Roger Horne,’ and ‘Nicholas Sparewe,’ while ‘Cow’ is met by its Norman equivalent in the instance of ‘Richard de la Vache.’ Of the rest, too, contained in the above lines, all are found in our existing nomenclature with the exception of ‘Fryingpan.’ Still more recently, the ‘British Apollo’ contained the following:—

A word or two about these double signs before we pass on, as I cannot but think much ingenious 143nonsense has been written thereon. There can be no difficulty in accounting for these strange combinations, some of which still exist. A partnership in business would be readily understood by the conjoining of two hitherto separate signs. An apprentice who, on the death of his master, had succeeded to his business, would gladly retain the previous well-established badge, and simply show the change of hands by adding thereto his own. I cannot but think that such ingenious derivations as ‘God encompasseth us’ for the ‘Goat and Compasses,’ or the ‘Satyr and Bacchanals’ for the ‘Devil and Bag-o’-nails,’ or the ‘Boulogne Mouth’ for the ‘Bull and Mouth,’ are altogether unnecessary. A clever and imaginative mind could soon produce similar happy plays upon the conjunctions contained in the above lines, and yet the originations I have suggested for them all I think my readers will admit to be most natural. There is no more peculiarity about these than about the ordinary combinations of names we are accustomed to see in the streets every day of our lives, denoting partnership. Thus the only difference is that what we now read as ‘Smith and Wright,’ in an age when reading was less universal was, say, ‘Magpie and Crown.’ Partnerships, or business transactions, often bring peculiar conjunctions of names. So early as 1284, I find a ‘Nicholas Bacun’ acknowledging a bond to a certain ‘Hugh Motun,’ i.e. Mutton. (Riley’s ‘London,’ p. 23.) I have myself come across such combinations as ‘Shepherd and Calvert’—i.e. ‘Calveherd,’ or ‘Sparrow and Nightingale,’ or ‘Latimer and Ridley.’ During the early portion of my residence at Oxford the two Bible-clerkships connected with my 144college were in the hands of two gentlemen named ‘Robinson’ and ‘Crusoe.’ They lived on the same staircase, and their names being (as is customary) emblazoned above the door, the coincidence was the more remarkable. ‘Catchem’ and ‘Cheetham’ is said to have been the title of a lawyer’s firm, but I will not vouch for the accuracy of the statement. A story, too, goes that ‘Penn, Quill, and Driver’ once figured over a scrivener’s office, but this is still more hypothetical.

But to return. We may see, from what we have stated and quoted, that up to a comparatively recent period the written name seems to have been anything but customary even in the metropolis. Any one who will look into a book printed up to the seventeenth century will see on the titlepage the fact stated that it was published or sold at the sign of the ‘Stork,’ or ‘Crown,’ or ‘Peacock,’ or ‘Crane,’ as the case might be. How much we owe to this fashion I need scarcely say. The Hundred Rolls contain not merely a ‘Henry le Hatter,’ but a ‘Thomas del Hat;’ not only an ‘Adam le Lorimer,’ but a ‘Margery de Styrop.’ It is to some dealer in earthenware we owe our existing ‘Potts,’ some worker in metals our ‘Hammers,’ some carpenter our ‘Coffins,’ once synonymous with ‘Coffer,’ some osierbinder our ‘Basketts,’ some shoemaker our ‘Lasts,’ some cheesemonger our ‘Cheeses,’ some plowright our ‘Plows,’ some silversmith our ‘Spoons’ and ‘Silverspoons,’ and some cooper our ‘Tubbs’ and ‘Cades,’ our ‘Barrills’ and ‘Punshons,’ and so on with endless others. It was perfectly natural that all these should become surnames, that the same practice which led to men being 145called in the less populous country by such names as ‘Ralph atte Townsend,’ or ‘William atte Stile,’ or ‘Henry atte Hatch,’ or ‘Thomas atte Nash,’ should in the more closely inhabited city cause men to be distinguished as ‘Hugh atte Cokke,’ or ‘Walter de Whitehorse,’ or ‘John atte Gote’ or ‘de la Gote,’ or ‘Richard de la Vache,’ or ‘Thomas atte Ram,’ or ‘William atte Roebuck,’ or ‘Gilbert de la Hegle,’ or ‘John de la Roe,’ or ‘Reginald de la Wonte’ (weasel). Our only surprise would be were the case otherwise. Nevertheless, as we shall see in another chapter, many of these animal-names at least have arisen in another manner also.

And now we come to what we may term the second branch of local surnames, that branch which throws a light upon the migratory habits and roving tendencies of our forefathers. So far we have touched upon names implying a fixed residence in a fixed locality. We may now notice that class which by their very formation throw our minds upon that which precedes settlement in a particular spot, viz., removal—that which speaks to us of immigration. Such a name in our mediæval rolls as ‘Peter le Newe,’ or ‘Gilbert le Newcomen,’ or ‘Walter le Neweman,’ declares to us at once its origin. The owner has left his native village to push his interests and get a livelihood elsewhere, and upon his entrance as a stranger into some distant community, alone and friendless, nothing could be more natural than to distinguish him from the familiar ‘Peters,’ ‘Gilberts,’ and ‘Walters’ around by styling him as Peter, or Gilbert, or Walter the ‘New,’ or ‘Newman.’ This it is which is the origin of our ‘Stranges,’ descendants 146as they are of such mediæval folk as ‘Roger le Estrange’ or ‘Roger le Straunge.’ There was ‘Roger the Cooper’ and ‘Roger the Cheesemonger’ round the corner close to the market cross, and ‘Roger atte Ram,’ so, of course, this new-comer as distinguished from them was ‘Roger the Straunge’ or ‘Strange,’ and once so known, the more familiar he became, the more ‘Strange’ he became, though this may seem somewhat of a paradox. Thus, too, have arisen our ‘Strangers’ and ‘Strangemans.’ These, however, are the general terms. To quote a name like ‘Robert de Eastham’ or ‘William de Sutton’ is, as it were, to take up the plug from a never-ceasing fountain. We are thrown upon a list of sobriquets to which there is no tether. Take up a subscription paper, look over a list of speakers at a farmers’ dinner, scan the names of the clergy at a ministerial conference, all will possess a fair average of this class of surnames, early wanderers from one village to another, Saxons fresh escaped from serfdom seeking a livelihood in a new district, Norman tradesmen or retainers pushing forward for fresh positions and fresh gains in fresh fields. It is through the frequency of these has arisen the old couplet quoted by Verstigan—

There is probably no village or hamlet in England which has not subscribed in this manner to the sum total of our nomenclature. It is this which is so telltale of the present, for while a small rural spot like, say ‘Debenham,’ in Suffolk, or ‘Ashford,’ in Derbyshire, 147will have its score of representatives, a solitary ‘Richard de Lyverpole,’ or ‘Guido de Mancestre,’ or ‘John de Burmyngham’ will be all we can find to represent such large centres of population as Manchester, or Liverpool, or Birmingham. Mushroomlike they sprang up but yesterday, while for centuries these insignificant hamlets have pursued the even tenor of their way, somewhat disturbed, it may have been, from their equanimity four or five centuries agone, by the announcement that Ralph or Miles was about to leave them, and who, by thus becoming ‘Ralph de Debenham’ or ‘Miles de Ashford,’ have given to the world to the end of time the story of their early departure.

In the same class with the village names of England must we set our county surnames. These are of course but an insignificant number set by their brethren, still we must not pass them by without a word. In the present day, if we were to speak of a man in connexion with his county, we should say he was a Derbyshire or a Lancashire man, as the case might be. That they did this five or six hundred years ago is evidenced by the existence of these very names in our midst. Thus we can point in our records to such designations as ‘John Hamshire,’ or ‘Adam de Kent,’ or ‘Richard de Wiltshire,’ or ‘Geoffrey de Cornwayle.’ Still this was not the only form of county nomenclature. The Normans, I suspect it was, who introduced another. We have still ‘Kentish’ and ‘Devonish’ and ‘Cornish’ to represent the ‘William le Kentish’s,’ or ‘John le Devoneis’s,’ or ‘Margery le Cornyshe’s,’ of their early rolls; and 148our ‘Cornwallis’s’ also yet preserve such fuller forms as ‘Thomas le Cornwaleys,’ or ‘Philip le Cornwaleys.’

We may here mention our ‘Cockins,’ ‘Cockaignes,’ and ‘Cockaynes,’ instances of which are early found. An old poem begins—

There seems to be a general agreement among those who have studied the subject that our ‘cockney’ was originally a denizen of this fabled region, and then was afterwards, from a notion of London being the seat of luxury and effeminacy, transferred to that city. A ‘William Cockayne’ is found in the ‘Placitorum’ of Richard I.’s reign, while the Hundred Rolls are yet more precise in a ‘Richarde de Cockayne.’ Speaking of London, however, we must not forget our ‘Londonish’s.’ They are but relics of such mediæval entries as ‘Ralph le Lundreys,’ or ‘William Londonissh,’ either of whom we should now term ‘Londoner,’ one who had come from the metropolis and settled somewhere in the country. Chaucer in one of his prose works spells it ‘Londenoys,’ which is somewhat nearer the modern form. ‘London,’ once simple ‘de London,’ needs no remark.

A passing from one part of the British Empire to another has been a prolific source of nomenclature. Thus we find such names as ‘Henry de Irlaund,’ ‘Adam de Irland,’ ‘John le Irreys,’ or ‘Thomas le Ireis,’ in the ordinary dress of ‘Ireland’ and ‘Irish,’ to be by no means obsolete in the present day. ‘Roger le Escot’ or ‘Maurice le Scot’ represents, I need scarcely say, a surname that is all but interminable, 149the Caledonian having ever been celebrated for his roving as well as canny propensities. It is to our brethren over the Border, too, we owe the more special form of ‘Inglis,’ known better in the south as ‘English.’ The Hundred Rolls furnish us with such names as ‘Walter le Engleis,’ or ‘Robert le Engleys,’ or ‘Walter Ingeleys.’ Laurence Minot has the modern form. Describing Edward III.’s entrance into Brabant, he says—

The representatives of our native-born Welshmen are well-nigh as numerous as those across the Scottish line, and the early spellings we light upon are equally varied—‘le Galeys,’^[133] ‘le Waleys,’ ‘le Waleis,’ and ‘le Walsshe’ being, however, the commonest. The last is used by Piers Plowman, who speaks of

In these, of course, we at once discern the progenitors of our ‘Welshs’ and ‘Wallaces.’ ‘Walshman’ is also found as ‘Walseman.’ ‘Langlois’ seems to be firmly established in our present midst as an importation from France. It was evidently returned to us all but contemporaneously with its rise there, for as ‘L’Angleys’ or ‘Lengleyse,’ it is found on English soil in 150the thirteenth century. It is quite possible that our ‘Langleys’ are in some instances but a corruption of this name. Thus the different quarters of the British Empire are well personified so far as our directories are concerned.

We have not quite done with the home country, however. Our modern ‘Norris’s’ are of a somewhat comprehensive nature. In the first place there can be little doubt they have become confounded by lapse of time with the once not unfamiliar ‘la Noryce,’ or nurse. Apart from this, too, the term ‘le Noreys’ was ever applied in early times to the Norwegians, and to this sense mainly it is that we owe the rise of the name. And yet it has another origin. It was used in the mere sense of ‘northern,’ one from the North-country. Thus in the Hundred Rolls we meet with the two names of ‘Thomas le Noreys’ and ‘Geoffrey le Northern,’ and there is no reason why these should not both have had the same rise. A proof in favour of this view lies in the fact that we have their counterparts in such entries as ‘Thomas le Surreys’ and ‘Thomas le Southern,’ the latter now found in the other forms of ‘Sothern’ and ‘Sotheran.’ Nor are the other points of the compass wanting. A ‘Richard le Westrys’ and a ‘Richard le Estrys’ both occur in the registers of the thirteenth century, but neither, I believe, now exists. ‘North’ found as ‘de North’ needs no explanation, and the same can be said for our ‘Souths,’ ‘Easts,’ and ‘Wests.’

The distance from Dover to Calais is not great; but were it otherwise, we should still feel bound in our notice of names of foreign introduction first of all to mention Normandy. For not merely has this 151country supplied us with many of our best family names, but it enjoys the distinction of having been the first to establish an hereditary surname. This it did in the case of the barons and their feudary settlements. The close of the eleventh century we may safely say saw as yet but one class of sobriquets, which, together with their other property, fathers were in the habit of handing down to their sons. This class was local, and was attached only to those followers of the Conqueror who had been presented by their leader with landed estates in the country they had but recently subdued. As a rule each of these feudatories took as his surname the place whence he had set forth in his Norman home. Thus arose so many of our sobriquets of which ‘Burke’s Peerage’ is the best directory, and of which therefore I have little to say here. Thus arose the ‘de Mortimers’ (the prefix was retained for many generations by all), the ‘de Colevilles,’ the ‘de Corbets,’ the ‘de Ferrers,’ the ‘de Beauchamps,’ the ‘de Courcys,’ the ‘de Lucys,’ and the ‘de Granvilles.’ Thus have sprung our ‘Harcourts,’ our Tankervilles,’ our ‘Nevilles,’ our ‘Bovilles,’ our Baskervilles,’ our ‘Lascelles,’ our ‘Beaumonts,’ our ‘Villiers,’ our ‘Mohuns,’ and our ‘Percys.’ Apropos of Granville, a story is told of a former Lord Lyttelton contesting with the head of that stock priority of family, and clenching his argument by asserting his to be necessarily the most ancient, inasmuch as the littletown must have existed before the grand-ville. A similar dispute is said to have occurred at Venice between the families ‘Ponti’ and ‘Canali’—the one asserting that the ‘Bridges’ were above the ‘Canals,’ the other that the ‘Canals’ were in existence before 152the ‘Bridges.’ So hot waxed the quarrel that the Senate was compelled to remind the disputants that it had power alike to stop up Canals and pull down Bridges if they became over troublesome. But to return: the number of these Norman names was great. The muster-roll of William’s army comprised but an item of the foreign incomers. As the tide of after-immigration set in, there was no town, however insignificant, in Normandy, or in the Duchies of Anjou and Maine, which was not soon represented in the nomenclature of the land. From giving even a partial list of these I must refrain, however tempted, but see what the chapelries alone did for us. St. Denys gave us our ‘Sidneys,’ St. Clair, or Clare, our ‘Sinclairs,’ vilely corrupted at times into ‘Sinkler;’ St. Paul, our ‘Semples,’ ‘Samples,’ ‘Sempills,’ ‘Simpoles,’ and sometimes ‘Simples;’ St. Lowe, or Loe, our ‘Sallows;’ St. Amand, our ‘Sandemans’ and ‘Samands;’ St. Lis, our ‘Senlis’ and ‘Senleys;’ St. Saviour, our ‘Sissivers;’ St. Maur, our ‘Seymours;’ St. Barbe, our ‘Symbarbes;’ St. Hillary, our ‘Sillerys;’ St. Pierre, our ‘Sempers’ and ‘Simpers;’ St. Austin, our ‘Sustins;’ St. Omer, our ‘Somers;’ St. Leger, our ‘Sellingers,’ once more literally enrolled as ‘Steleger,’ and so on with our less corrupted ‘St. Johns,’ ‘St. Georges,’ and others. I do not say, however, that all these were later comers. Some of them must undoubtedly be set among the earlier comrades in arms of the Conqueror. Indeed it is impossible in every case to separate the warlike from the peaceful invasion. Looking back from this distant period, and with but scanty and imperfect memorials for guidance, it cannot but be so.

153With respect to another class of these Norman names, however, we are more certain. Their very formation seems to imply beyond a doubt that they had a settlement as surnames in their own arrondissements before their arrival on English soil. We may, therefore, with tolerable certainty set them down as later comers. The distinguishing marks of these are the prefixes ‘de la,’ or ‘del,’ or ‘du’ attached to them. Thus from some local peculiarity with respect to their early homes would arise such names as ‘Delamere,’ ‘Dupont,’ ‘Delisle,’ ‘Delarue,’ ‘Dubois,’ ‘Ducatel,’ ‘Defontaine,’ ‘Decroix,’ or ‘Deville’ or ‘Deyville.’ This latter is now found also in the somewhat unpleasant form of ‘Devil.’ They say the devil is the source of every evil. Whether this extends beyond the moral world may be open to doubt, but our ‘Evils,’ ‘Evills,’ and ‘Eyvilles,’ from the fact of their once being written with the prefix ‘de,’ seem to favour the suspicion of there being a somewhat dangerous relationship between them.^[134] These names, though 154commonly met with in mediæval records, are, nevertheless, I say, not to be put down as coeval with the Conquest, but as after-introductions when England was securely won. There befell Norman names of this class, however, what I have shown still more commonly to have befallen those of a similar, but more Saxon, category. If these prefixes ‘de la,’ ‘del,’ and ‘du’ are sometimes found retained, they are as often conspicuous by their absence. Thus while at an early date after the Conquest we find the Saxon ‘Atwood’ met by the Norman ‘Dubois,’ it is equally true that they had already to battle with simple ‘Wood’ and ‘Boys’ or ‘Boyce.’ Thus it was we find so early the Saxon ‘Beech’ faced by the Norman ‘Fail’ or ‘Fayle,’ ‘Ash’ by ‘Freen,’ ‘Frean,’ or ‘Freyne,’ ‘Hasell’ by ‘Coudray,’ ‘Alder’ by ‘Aunay,’ and, let us say, for want of a ‘Walnut,’ ‘Nut’ by ‘Noyes.’ In the same way our ‘Halls’ or ‘Hales’ were matched by ‘Meynell’ (mesnil), ‘Hill’ by ‘Montaigne,’ now also ‘Mountain,’ ‘Mead’ or ‘Medd,’ or ‘Field,’ by ‘Prall’ or ‘Prail,’ relics of the old ‘prayell,’ a little meadow. I have just set ‘Wood’ by our ‘Boys’ and ‘Boyces.’ To these we must add our ‘Busks,’ ‘Bushes,’ ‘Busses,’ all from ‘bois’ or ‘bosc.’ The ‘taillis,’ or underwood, too, gives us ‘Tallis,’ and the union of both in ‘Taillebois’ or ‘Talboys,’ as we now have it, combines the names of two of our best church musicians—‘Tallis’ and ‘Boyce.’ This comparison of early introduced Norman with names of a Saxon 155local character we might carry on to any extent, but this must suffice—illustrations and not categories are all we can pretend to attempt.

But these were not our only foreign introduced names. Coeval with the arrival of these later Norman designations a remarkable peculiarity began to make itself apparent in the vast number of names that poured in from various and more distant parts of the Continent. That they came for purposes of trade, and to settle down into positions that the Saxons themselves should have occupied, is undoubted. The lethargy of the Saxon population at this period would be extraordinary, if it were not so easily to be accounted for. There was no heart in the nation. The Saxons had become a conquered people, and, although the spirit of Hereward the Wake was quenched, there had come that settled sullen humour which, finding no outlet for active enmity, fed in spirit upon itself, and increased with the pampering. To punish open disaffection is easy; to eradicate by the stern arm of power such a feeling as this is impossible. Time alone can do it, and that but slowly. More than a century after this we find Robin Hood the idol of popular sympathy; no national hero has ever eclipsed him, and yet, putting sentiment aside, he was naught but a robber, an outlawed knave. He was but a vent for the still lingering current of a people’s feelings. It was but the Saxon and Norman over again.

We can easily imagine, then, if the spirit of the people was so lethargic as this, at how low an ebb would be the commercial enterprise of this period. No country was there whose resources for self-aggrandisement 156were greater than our own—none which had more disregarded them up to the reign of the third Edward. Till then she was the mere mine from which other countries might draw forth riches, the carcase for the eagles of many nations to feed upon. Saving the exportation of wool in its raw unmanufactured state, she did nothing for her national prosperity. The Dutch cured the fish they themselves caught on our coasts, and the looms of Flanders and Brabant manufactured the weft and warp we sent them into the cloth we wore. If our kings and barons were clad in scarlet and purple, little had England actively to do with that; her share in such superior tints was nought, save the production of the dye, for in conjunction with the Eastern indigo it was our woad the Netherlands used. That other nations were advancing, and that ours was not, is a statement, commercially speaking, I need not enlarge upon; it is a mere matter of history which no one disputes.

Not, however, that there was no trade. Far from it. Long before Edward III. had established a surer basis of order and industry, London had become a mart of no small Continental importance. This outlying city, as with other towns of growing industry abroad, had come under the beneficial influence of the Crusades. So far as the redemption of the Holy City was concerned, that strong, but noble madness which had set Christendom ablaze was a failure. But it effected much in another way. From the first moment when on the waters of the Levant were assembled a host as diverse in nation as they were one in purpose; when in their high-decked galleons and oar-banked pinnances men met each other face to face 157of whose national existence they had been previously all but unaware—one result, at least, was sure to follow—an intercommunion of nations was inevitable, and, in the wake of this, other and not less beneficial consequences. Healthy comparisons were drawn, jealousies were allayed, navigation was improved, better ships were built, harbours hitherto avoided as dangerous were rendered safe, and new havens were discovered. This influence was felt everywhere. It reached so far as England—London felt it.

But it was a minor influence—minor in comparison with our wonderful appliances—minor in comparison with the commercial spirit developing such Republics as Genoa and Venice, or the Easterling countries that border the Baltic and German Seas—a minor influence, too, especially because the Saxons had so little share in it. So far as they were concerned, this internationality was all one-sided. Denizens of all lands visited our shores, but their visits were unreturned. What an infinitesimal part of our Continental surnames in the present day are traceable to English sources. On the other hand, there was no town however small, no hamlet however insignificant, in Normandy, in the Duchies of Anjou and Maine, or protected by the cities of the Hanseatic League, that is unrepresented in the nomenclature of our land. Nay, it was this very lack of reciprocity of commerce that held out such inducements to the dwellers in other lands to visit our shores. It was to step into possession of those very advantages we slighted they came: we became but a colony of foreign artisans. Truly our metropolis in those early days of her industry was a motley community. Numerous names of foreign locality 158have died out in the lapse of centuries between; a large proportion have become so Anglicized that we cannot detect their Continental birth, but there is still a formidable array left in our midst whose lineage is manifest, and whose nationality is not to be doubted. We dare not enumerate them all. Let us, however, take a short tour over Europe and the East. We will begin with Normandy, and advance westerly, and then southerly. The provinces that border upon Normandy and Bretagne, especially to the south and eastwards, large or small, have, as we should expect, supplied us with many names. We have besides ‘Norman,’ which, like ‘le Northern,’ is of doubtful locality, ‘Bret,’ ‘Brett,’ ‘Britt,’ ‘Britten,’ ‘Briton,’ and ‘Brittain,’ from ‘Bretagne,’ and represented in our olden rolls by such men as ‘Hamo le Bret,’ or ‘Roger le Breton,’ or ‘Thomas le Brit,’ or ‘Ivo le Briton.’ Our ‘Angers’ are not necessarily so irascible as they look, for they are but corruptions, as are ‘Angwin’ and ‘Aungier,’ of the ‘Angevine of Anjou.’ Like our ‘Maines’ and ‘Maynes’ from the neighbouring duchy, they would be likely visitors to our shores from the intimate relationship which for a while endured between the two countries through royal alliances. Our ‘Arters’ and ‘Artis,’ once registered ‘de Artoys,’ came from ‘Artois;’ our ‘Gaskins,’ and more correct ‘Gascoignes,’ from ‘Gascony;’ and our ‘Burgons’ and ‘Burgoynes’ from Burgundy.^[135] To Champagne it is we are indebted for our ‘Champneys’ and ‘Champness’s,’ descendants as they are from 159such old incomers as ‘Robert le Champeneis,’ or ‘Roger le Chaumpeneys,’ while the more strictly local form appears in our ‘Champagnes,’ not to say some of our ‘Champions’ and ‘Campions.’^[136] Speaking of Champagne, it is curious that next in topographical order come our ‘Port-wines,’ sprung from the Poictevine of Poictou. So early as the thirteenth century, this name had become corrupted into ‘Potewyne,’ a ‘Pretiosa Potewyne’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls of that period. More correct representatives are found in such entries as ‘Henry le Poytevin,’ and ‘Peter le Pettevin.’ Pickardy has given us our ‘Pickards’ and ‘Pycards,’ Provence our ‘Provinces,’ and Lorraine our ‘Loraynes,’ ‘Lorraines,’ and ‘Lorings.’ ‘Peter le Loring’ and ‘John le Loring’ are instances of the latter form. More general terms for the countrymen of these various provinces are found in such registered names as ‘Gilbert le Fraunceis,’ or ‘Henry le Franceis,’ or ‘Peter le Frensh,’ or ‘Gyllaume Freynsman.’

I have mentioned ‘Norman’—one of the commonest of early sobriquets is ‘le Bigod’ and ‘le Bigot.’ Well-nigh every record has its ‘Roger le Bygod,’ or its ‘William le Bygot,’ or ‘Hugh le Bigot,’ or ‘Alina le 160Bigod.’ Amid the varying opinions of so many high authorities, I dare not speak in anywise with confidence; but, judging from these very entries which are found at an early period, I cannot but think Dean Trench and Mr. Wedgwood wrong in their conjecture that the word arose from the ‘beguines’—i.e. the Franciscans. With Mr. Taylor^[137] I am firmly convinced it is ethnic, and that as such it was familiarly applied to the Normans I am equally satisfied. In proof of its national character, Mr. Taylor quotes a passage from the romance of Gerard of Roussillon—

The popular story ascribes its origin to the fondness for oaths so peculiar to the Anglo-Norman character, and in this particular instance to the exclamation ‘by-God.’^[138] My own impression is that the origin of the word has yet to be found. With regard to surnames, however, I may say that we have at this day ‘Bigots’ in our directories as well as in everything else, and it is highly probable that our Bagots are but a corruption of the same.

Turning westward, such names as ‘Michael de Spaigne,’ or ‘Arnold de Espaigne,’ tell us at once 161who were the forefathers of our ‘Spains’ and ‘Espins;’^[139] while ‘John le Moor’ suggests to us at least the possibility that English heathlands did not enjoy the entire monopoly in the production of this familiar cognomen. The intensive ‘Blackamoor,’ a mere compound of ‘black’ and ‘moor,’ seems to have early existed. A ‘Beatrice Blackamour’ and a ‘William Blackamore’ occur in a London Register of 1417—(Riley’s ‘London,’ p. 647). Nor is Italy void of examples. The sturdy old republic of Genoa has supplied us with ‘Janeway’ and ‘Jannaway,’^[140] ‘Genese’ and ‘Jayne’ or ‘Jeane.’ Chaucer alludes to the Genoese coin the ‘jane.’ An old poem, too, speaking of Brabant as a general mart, says—

The ‘Libel on English Policy’ has the word in a similar dress.

Hall, in his Chronicles, speaking of the Duke of Clarence ravaging the French coast in Henry IV.’s reign, says, ‘in his retournyng he encountred with two greate Carickes of Jeane laden with ryche marchandise.’ (f. xxiv.)

162Its old rival upon the Adriatic still vies with it in ‘Veness,’ once enrolled as ‘de Venise.’ Rome has given us our early ‘Reginald le Romayns’ and ‘John le Romayns,’ whose descendants now write their names in the all but unaltered form of ‘Romaine,’^[141] and to Lombardy and the Jews we owe Lombard street, and our ‘Lombards,’ ‘Lumbards,’ ‘Lubbards,’ and perhaps ‘Lubbers’—not to mention our ‘Luckes,’ and ‘Luckies,’ a progenitor of whom I find inscribed in the Hundred Rolls as ‘Luke of Lucca.’ Advancing eastwards, a ‘Martin le Hunne’ looks strangely as if sprung from a Hungarian source. Whatever doubt, however, there may be on this point, there can be none on ‘William le Turc,’^[142] whose name is no solitary one in the records of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and whose descendants are by no means extinct in the nineteenth. ‘Peter le Russe’ would seem at first sight to be of Russian origin, especially with such a Christian name to the fore as the one above, but it is far more probably one more form of the endless corruptions of ‘le Rous,’ a sobriquet of complexion so extremely familiar to all who have spent any time over mediæval registers. I have already mentioned ‘le Norrys’ as connected with our ‘Norris.’ ‘Dennis,’ I doubt not, in some cases, is equally representative of the former ‘le Daneys.’ Entries like ‘William le Norris,’ or ‘Walter le Norreis,’ or ‘Roger le Daneis,’ or ‘Joel le Deneys,’ are of constant occurrence. These, added 163to the others, may be mentioned as bringing before our eyes the broadest limits of European immigration, and with scarcely an exception they are found among the English surnames of to-day.

But we must not forget the Dutch—a term that once embraced all the German race.^[143] ‘Dutchman,’ though I have found no instance in early rolls, is, I see, a denizen of our present directories, while ‘Dutchwomen,’ found in the fourteenth century, is extinct. Our ‘Pruces’ are but the old ‘le Pruce,’ or Prussian, as we should now term them. The word is met with in an old political song, and, as it contains a list of articles, the introduction of which into England from Flanders made the two countries so closely connected, I will quote it fully:—

‘Fleming,’ as our registers prove, was seemingly the popular term for all the Low Countrymen, bands of whom were specially invited over by two of our kings to spread their industry in our own land. Numbers of them came in, however, as simple wool-merchants, 164to transmit the raw material into Holland. As the old ‘Libel on English Policy’ says—

But Flanders was not the only division represented. Our ‘Brabazons’ once written ‘le Brabançon,’ together with our ‘Brabants,’ ‘Brabaners,’ and ‘Brabans,’ issued, of course, from the duchy of that name; while our ‘Hanways’^[144] and ‘Hannants’ hailed from Hainault, the latter of the two representing the usual early English pronunciation of the place-word. The old enrolled forms are ‘de Hanoia’ and ‘de Henau.’ It is very likely, therefore, that our ‘Hannahs’ are similarly derived. The poem I have just quoted, after mentioning the products of ‘Braban,’ ‘Selaunde,’ and ‘Henaulde,’ proceeds to say:—

This, and such an entry as ‘Thurstan de Holland,’ give us at once a clue, if clue were needed, to the source whence have issued our ‘Hollands.’ Holandman,’ which once existed, is, I believe, now extinct. A common sobriquet for those enterprising traders who visited us from the shores of the Baltic was ‘Easterling,’ and it is to their honest integrity as merchants we owe the fact of their name in the form of ‘Sterling’ being so familiar. In contrast to the country-made money, their coin obtained the name of ‘Easterling,’ or, as we now term it, ‘Sterling’ 165money—so many pounds sterling being the ordinary phrase for good and true coin. We have even come to apply the term generally in such phrases as sterling worth, sterling honesty, or sterling character. The more inland traders were styled ‘Almaines,’ or merchants ‘d’Almaine,’^[145] terms common enough in our earlier archives, as ‘le Aleman,’ or ‘de Almania,’ or ‘le Alemaund,’ and thus have sprung our ‘Alemans,’ ‘Almaines,’ and ‘Allmans,’ and through the French, probably, our ‘Lallimands,’ ‘D’Almaines,’ ‘Dalmaines,’ and more perverted ‘Dalmans’ and ‘Dollmans.’^[146] Thus to these enterprising and honest traders we owe a surname which from the odious forms it has assumed shows that their names, at least, were corruptible, if not their credit. I ought to have mentioned, though I have no record to quote in proof of my assertion, that our ‘Hansards’ are, I have no doubt, descendants of such Hanse merchants in our country as were members of the Hanseatic League. The founder of the Hansards, the publishers of the Parliamentary Debates, came from Norwich in the middle of the last century, and 166I need scarcely say that the city was the chief headquarters of the Flemish weaving interest at the date we are considering.

Leaving Europe for a moment, a name of peculiar interest is that of ‘Sarson,’^[147] or ‘Sarasin,’ a sobriquet undoubtedly sprung from the Crusades in the East, and found contemporaneously, or immediately afterwards, in England as ‘Sarrasin,’ ‘Sarrazein,’ ‘Sarracen,’ and in the Latinized form of ‘Sarracenus.’ The maternal grandfather of Thomas à Becket was a pure-blooded Saracen, settled in England. The ‘Saracen’s Head,’ I need not remind the reader, has been a popular inn sign in our land from the days of Cœur de Lion and Godfrey. It would seem as if they were sufficient objects of public curiosity to be exhibited. In the ‘Issues of the Exchequer’ of Henry VI.’s reign is the following:—‘To a certain Dutchman, bringing with him a Saracen to the Kingdom of England, in money paid him in part payment of five marks which the Lord the King commanded to be paid him, to have of his gift.’ Speaking of the Saracens, however, we are led to say a word or two about the Jews, the greatest money-makers, the greatest merchants, the greatest people, in a commercial point 167of view at least, the world has known. No amount of obloquy, no extent of cruel odium and persecution, could break the spirit of the old Israelitish trader. Driven out of one city, he fled to another. Rifled of his savings in one land, he soon found an asylum in another, till a fresh revolution there also caused either the king or the people to vent their passions and refill their coffers at the expense of the despised Jew. ‘Jury’ would seem to be a corrupted surname taken from the land which our Bible has made so familiar to us. It certainly is derived from this term, but not the Jewry of Palestine. It was that part of any large town which in the Early and Middle Ages was set apart for these people, districts where, if they chose to face contumely and despite, they could live and worship together. Every considerable town in England and the Continent had its Jewish quarters. London with its ‘Jewry’ is no exceptional case. Winchester, York, Norwich, all our early centres of commerce, had the same. Johan Kaye, in his account of the siege of Rhodes, says: ‘All the strete called the Jure by the walles was full of their blood and caren (carrion).’ Our ‘Jurys’^[148] are not, however, necessarily Jews, as it is but a local name from residence in such quarters, and doubtless at one time or another during the period of surname establishment Christians may have had habitation there. ‘Jew,’ on the other hand, as representing such former entries as ‘Roger le Jew’ or ‘Mirabilla Judæus,’ is undoubtedly of purely Israelitish descent. But these are not all. 168Our early records teem with such names as ‘Roger le Convers,’ or ‘Stephen le Convers,’^[149] deserters from the Jewish faith. We cannot be surprised at many of the less steady adherents of the ancient creed changing their religious status, when we reflect upon the cruel impositions made upon them at various times.^[150] I suspect our ‘Conyers’ have swallowed up the representatives of this name. Even in the day of its rise we find it set down in one record as ‘Nicholas le Conners.’

So much for general and national names. To pretend to give any category of the town-names that have issued from these wide-spread localities were, of course, impossible. Such sobriquets as ‘Argent,’ from Argentan; ‘Charters’ and ‘Charteris’ from Chartres; ‘Bullen,’ ‘Bollen,’ or ‘Boleyn’ from Boulogne,^[151] with ‘Bulness’ as representative of ‘le Boloneis;’ ‘Landels’ from Landelles; ‘Death’ or ‘D’Aeth’ from Aeth in Flanders; ‘Twopenny’ from Tupigny in the same province; ‘Gant’ and ‘Gent’ from Ghent, once ‘de Gaunt;’ ‘Legge’ from Liege (in some cases at least); ‘Lubbock,’ once written ‘de Lubyck’ and ‘de Lubek,’ 169from Lubeck in Saxony; ‘Geneve,’ once ‘de Geneve,’ and ‘Antioch,’ once ‘de Antiochia,’ are but instances taken haphazard from a list, which to extend would occupy all my remaining space. Many of these are connected with particular trades, or branches of trades, for which in their day they had obtained a European celebrity. If the peculiar manufactures of such places at home as ‘Kendall’ and ‘Lindsey’ and ‘Wolsey’ have left in our own nomenclature the marks of their early renown, we should also expect such foreign cities as were more especially united to us by the ties of industry to leave a mark thereof upon our registers. Such names as ‘Ralph de Arras’ or ‘Robert de Arraz,’ a sobriquet not yet extinct in our midst, carry us to Arras in Artois, celebrated for its tapestried hangings.^[152] Rennes in Brittany has given birth to our ‘Raines’ and ‘Rains.’^[153] Chaucer talks of pillows made of ‘cloth of raines.’ Elsewhere, too, he makes mention of ‘hornpipes of Cornewaile,’ reminding us that in all probability some of our ‘Cornwalls’ hail from Cornouaile in the same province. Romanee in Burgundy, celebrated for its wine, has left a memory of that fact in our ‘Rumneys’ and ‘Rummeys.’ 170Some of my readers will remember that in the ‘Squyr of low degree’ the king, amongst other pleasures by which to soothe away his daughter’s melancholy, promises her,

Our ‘Challens’ are but lingering memorials of the now decayed woollen manufactures of Chalons, of which we shall have more to say anon; and not to mention others, our ‘Roans’ (always so spelt and pronounced in olden times), our ‘Anvers,’ once ‘de Anvers,’ our ‘Cullings,’ ‘Cullens,’^[154] ‘Collinges,’ and ‘Lyons,’ are but relics of former trades for which the several towns of Rouen, and Antwerp, and Cologne, and Lyons, were notorious. The rights of citizenship and all other advantages seem early to have been accorded them. In the thirteenth century we find Robert of Catalonia and Walter Turk acting as sheriffs, and much about the same time a ‘Pycard’ was Mayor of London.

I must stop here. We have surveyed, comparatively speaking, but a few of our local surnames. From the little I have been able to advance, however, it will be clear, I think, that with regard to the general subject of nomenclature these additional sobriquets had become a necessity. The population of England, less than two millions at the period of the Conquest, was rapidly increasing, and, which is of far more importance so far as surnames are concerned, increasing corporately. Population was becoming every day less evenly diffused. Communities 171were fast being formed, and as circumstances but more and more induced men to herd themselves together, so did the necessity spring up for each to have a more fixed and determinate title than his merely personal or baptismal one, by which he might be more currently known among his fellows.

A class of surnames which occupies no mean place in our lists is that which has been bequeathed to us by the dignitaries and officers of mediæval times. Of these sobriquets, while some hold but a precarious existence, a goodly number are firmly established in our midst. On the other hand, as with each other class of our surnames, many that once figured in every register of the period are now extinct. Of these latter not a few have lapsed through the decay of the very systems which brought them into being. While the feudal constitution remained encircled as it was with a complete scheme of service, while the ecclesiastic system of Church government reigned supreme and without a rival, there were numberless offices which in after days fell into desuetude with the principle that held them together. Still, in the great majority of cases the names of these have remained to remind us of their former heyday glory, and to give us an insight into the reality of those now decayed customs to which they owed their rise.

We must be careful, however, at the outset to remark that a certain number of these names ought, strictly speaking, to be set down in our chapter upon sobriquets. They are either vestiges of the many outdoor pageantries and mock ceremonies so popular 173in that day, or of the numberless nicknames our forefathers loved to affix one upon the other, and in which practice all, high and low alike, joined. For instance, no one could suspect such a sobriquet as ‘Alan le Pope,’ or ‘Hugh le Pape,’ the source of one of our commonest and most familiar names, to be derived from the possessor of that loftiest of ecclesiastic offices.^[155] It could be but a nickname, and was doubtless given to some unlucky individual whose overweening and pretentious bearing had brought upon him the affix. So, again, would it be with such a title as ‘Robert le Keser,’ that is, Cæsar, corresponding to the French ‘L’empriere’ and the obsolete Norman ‘le Emperer.’ This is a word of frequent occurrence in our earlier poets. Langland says of our Lord, there was

Again, he finely says—

174This surname, too, is now all but equally common with the other, being met with in the several shapes of ‘Cæsar,’ ‘Cayser,’ ‘Cayzer,’ ‘Kaiser,’ and ‘Keyser.’^[157] The name of ‘Julius Cæsar,’ as that of one of our most esteemed professional cricketers, has only just disappeared from the annals of that noble game. The posterity of such enrolled burgesses as ‘William le Kyng’ or ‘Thomas le Kyng’ still flourish and abound in our midst. An imperious temperament would thus readily meet with good-humoured censure. ‘Matilda le Quen’ or ‘Simon Quene’ has not quite failed of issue; but had it been otherwise, it could not have been matter for any astonishment, as the sobriquet was doubtless anything but a complimentary affix. We must remember that, somewhat curiously, the old ‘quen,’ or, as the Scotch still term it, ‘quean,’ at once represents the highest rank to which a woman can reach and the lowest depth to which she can fall. So would it be once more with our endless ‘Princes,’ and ‘Comtes’ or ‘Counts,’ ‘Viscuntes,’ the heads of provincial government.^[158] There is no reason, however, why our ‘Dukes,’ ‘Dooks,’ or ‘Ducs,’ as they are more generally found in our rolls (‘Roger le Duc,’ E., ‘Adam le Duk.’ M.),^[159] should not be what they represent, or rather then represented. A ‘duke’ was of course anything but what we now understand by the term, 175being then, as it more literally signifies, a leader, or chieftain, or head. It is thus used in Scripture. Langland, to quote him again, says of Justice—

Elsewhere, too, he describes ‘Rex Gloriæ’ as addressing Lucifer upon the brink of Hades, and saying—

It is in this same category we must set, I doubt not, such old registrations as ‘Robert le Baron’ or ‘Walter le Baron,’ ‘John le Lorde’ or ‘Walter le Loverd,’ and ‘Walter le Theyn’ or ‘Nicholas le Then,’ names now found as ‘Baron,’ ‘Lord,’ and ‘Thain,’ ‘Thaine,’ or ‘Thane.’^[160] Even in the case of names of a more ecclesiastic character, we shall have to apply the same remark. We have still in our midst descendants of the ‘le Cardinals’ and ‘le Bishops’ of the thirteenth century, and there can be little doubt that these were, in the majority of cases, but nicknames given to particular individuals by way of ridiculing certain characteristics which seemed to tend in the direction the name suggested.

As I have already hinted, however, there is another and equally probable origin for many of the names I have mentioned. Pageantries and mock ceremonies 176were at this time at the very height of their popularity. The Romish Church fed this desire. Thus, for instance, take Epiphany. In well-nigh every parish the visit of the Magi, always accounted to have been royal personages, was regularly celebrated. Though the manner varied in different places, the custom was more or less the same. There was a great feast, and one of the company was always elected king, the rest being, according to the lots they drew, either ministers of state or maids of honour. Thus Herrick says—

177I need scarcely say that as popular nicknames these titles would be sure to cling to the persons upon whom they had fallen, and that they should even pass on to their descendants is no more unnatural than in the case of a hundred other sobriquets we shall have occasion to recount.

Of the rest, however, and, as I have said, maybe in some of the cases I have mentioned, the surname was but truly indicative of the office or dignity held. The Saxon has suffered here. And yet to some this may seem somewhat strange when we remember how little change really took place in the institutions of the Kingdom by the Conquest. The Normans and Saxons, after all, were but propagations from the same original stock, and however distant the period of their separation, however affected by difference of clime and association, still their customs bore a sufficient affinity to make coalescence by no means a difficult task. William was not given to great changes. He was vindictive, but not destructive. His most cruel acts were retributive, done by way of reprisal after sudden disaffection. If a conqueror must establish his power, deeds of this kind are inevitable. And even these are exaggerated. The story of the depopulation of the New Forest, it is now pretty generally agreed, is impossible—its present condition forbids of any such act to have been practicable—and the notion frequently conveyed in our smaller books of English history, that the curfew was a badge and 178token of servitude, is simply absurd, the fact being that the same custom prevailed over the whole of Western Europe, as a mere precaution against fire at a time when our towns were mainly constructed of wood. A crushed people will always misinterpret such ordinances. Prejudice of this kind is perfectly pardonable. William then, I say, was not inclined to uproot Saxon institutions. The national council still remained. The ancient tribunals with their various motes, the whole system of law which guided the administration of justice, all was well-nigh as it had been heretofore. But the language which was the medium of all this was generally changed. The old laws were indeed used, but in a translated form—old officerships still existed, but in a new dialect—the old policy was mainly upheld, but new terms of police were introduced. It was not till Edward III.’s reign that pleadings in the various courts were again carried on in the English tongue—it was not till Henry VI.’s reign the proceedings in Parliament were recorded in the people’s dialect—not till Richard III.’s day its statutes and ordinances ceased to be indited in Norman-French. This at once shows the difficulty of any officership, however Saxon, retaining its original title. The office was maintained, but the name was changed. This was the more certain to ensue, so far as the Church was concerned, from the fact that for a considerable period all ecclesiastic vacancies were filled up from abroad. Bishops and abbots were removed on pretexts of one sort or another, and their places supplied from the Conqueror’s chaplains. The monasteries were hived with Normans; the clergy generally were of foreign descent. It was the same, 179or nearly the same, with regard to civil government. The lesser courts of judicature were ruled by foreigners and the foreign tongue. The Barons, as they retired into the provinces and to the estates allotted them, naturally bore with them a Norman retinue. All their surroundings became quickly the same. Thus the French language was used not merely in their common conversation—that of course—but so far as their power, undoubtedly large, existed, in the provincial courts also.

Such entries as ‘Thomas le Shirreve’ and ‘Lena le Shireve’ remind us not merely of our present existing ‘Sheriffs,’ ‘Sherrifs,’ and ‘Shreeves,’ but how firmly this Saxon word has maintained its hold through the many fluctuations of English government. The Norman ‘Judge,’ though it is firmly established in our courts of law, has not made any very great impress upon our nomenclature. ‘Justice,’ a relic of ‘William’ or ‘Eva le Justice,’^[162] is more commonly met with. Our ‘Corners,’ when not descendants of the local ‘de la Corners’ of the thirteenth century, are but corruptions of many a ‘John le Coroner’ or ‘Henry le Corouner’ of the same period. It is even found in the abbreviated form of ‘Corner,’ in ‘John le Corner’ and 180‘Walter le Cornur.’ Thus we see that so early as this our forefathers discerned in the death of a subject a matter that concerned not merely the well-being of the crown, but that of which the crown as the true parent of a nation’s interests was to take cognizance. More directly opposed to the Norman ‘Judge’ and ‘Justice,’ and in the end displaced by them, were our Saxon ‘Demer’ and ‘Dempster’ (the older forms being ‘le Demere’ and ‘le Demester’), they who pronounced the doom. An old English Psalter thus translates Psalm cxlviii. 11:—

An antique poem, too, has it in its other form in the following couplet:—

We still employ the term ‘doom’ for judgment. Chaucer speaks familiarly of one of the Canterbury company as a ‘Serjeant of the Lawe.’ It is, in the majority of cases, to the term ‘sergeant’ as used in this capacity we owe our much-varied ‘Sargants,’ ‘Sargeants,’ ‘Sargeaunts,’ ‘Sargents,’ ‘Sergents,’ ‘Sergeants,’ ‘Sarjants,’ and ‘Sarjeants.’ The same poet says of him:—

‘Alured le Pledur,’ or ‘Henry le Pleidour,’ and ‘Peter le Escuzer,’ all obsolete as surnames, need little or no explanation. Speaking of assizes, we are reminded of our ‘Sisers’ and ‘Sizers,’ representatives of the old 181‘Assizer’—he who was commissioned to hold the court. Piers Plowman frequently mentions him:—

We are here reminded of ‘Hugh le Somenur,’ or ‘Henry le Sumenour,’ now spelt ‘Sumner,’ the sheriff’s messenger, he by whom the delinquent was brought up to the court. He was the modern apparitor in fact. In the ‘Coventry Mysteries’ it is said:—

A ‘Godwin Bedellus’ occurs so early as Domesday record, and as ‘Roger le Bedel,’ or ‘Martin le Bedel,’ the name is by no means rare somewhat later on. He was, whether in the forest or any other court, the servitor, he who executed processes or attended to proclamations. The modern forms of the name comprise, among others, ‘Beadell,’ ‘Beadle,’ ‘Beaddall,’ and ‘Biddle.’ Such names as ‘Richard le Gayeler’ or ‘Ada le Gaoler,’ are very commonly met with in our mediæval rolls. The term itself is of Norman origin, reminding us that, however menial the duty, the Saxon could not be entrusted with such an office as this. We cannot, however, speak of the gaoler and his confrères without referring to a curious sobriquet of this period, a sobriquet to which we owe in the 182present day our ‘Catchpoles’ and ‘Catchpooles.’^[163] The catchpole was a kind of under-bailiff or petty sergeant who distrained for debt, or otherwise did the more unpleasant part of his superior’s work, and was so called from his habit of seizing his luckless victim by the hair, or poll, as was the familiar term then. So general was this nickname that we find it occupying an all but official place. It is Latinized in our records into ‘cachepollus,’ a word unknown to Cicero, I am afraid. In the ‘Plowman’s Vision’ we are told of the two thieves crucified with the Saviour that:—

Another name for the catchpole was that of ‘Cacherel’ or ‘Cacher,’ both of which forms occur at this same period as surnames. An old political song says, murmuringly:—

This sobriquet also abides with us still.^[164] ‘Le Cacher,’ I fear, has been obsolete for centuries.^[165]

183Of such as were accountable for duties in the public streets, we may mention first our ‘Cryers,’ registered at the time we are speaking of as ‘Philip le Criour,’ or ‘Wat le Creyer.’ He, like the still existing ‘Bellman,’^[166] performed a fixed round, announcing in full and sententious tones the mandates of bench and council, whenever it was necessary to advertise to the public such news as concerned their common well-being. Our policeman may be modern in his name and in his attire, but as the guardian of the peace, by night as well as by day, he is but the descendant of a long line of servants who have in turn fulfilled this important public trust. His early title was borne by ‘Ralph le Weyte,’ or ‘Robert le Wayte,’ or ‘Hugh le Geyt,’ or ‘Robert le Gait.’ All these forms are of the commonest occurrence in our olden registries. By night he carried a trump, with which to sound the watches or give the alarm, and thus it was he acquired also the name of ‘Trumper,’ such forms as ‘Adam le Trompour’ or ‘William le Trompour’ being frequently 184met with at this time. To the former title of this official duty it is we owe the fact of our still terming any company of night serenaders ‘waits,’ and especially those bands of strolling minstrels who keep up the good old custom of watching in Christmas morn. A good old custom, I say, even though it may cost us a few pence and rouse us somewhat rudely, maybe, from our slumbers. ‘Wait,’ ‘Waite,’^[167] ‘Wayt,’ and ‘Whaite,’ with ‘le Geyt,’ are the forms that still exist among us. ‘Trumper,’ too, has its place equally assured in our nomenclature.

Such names as we have just dwelt upon, however, remind us of other municipal authorities, higher in position than these, to whom, indeed, these were but servitors. A sobriquet like ‘Richard le Burgess’ or ‘John le Burges’ reminds us of the freemen of the borough towns, while ‘le Mayor,’ or ‘Mayer,’ or ‘Maire,’ or ‘Mair,’ or ‘Meyre,’^[168] or ‘Mire,’ for all these different spellings are found, is equally suggestive of the chief magistracy of such. Piers, to quote him once more, speaks of:—

The feminine form of this sobriquet appears in the early but obsolete ‘Margaret la Miresse.’ Speaking 185of mayors, some lines written some years ago on the proposed elevation of a certain Alderman Wood as Lord Mayor are not without humour, nor out of place, perhaps, here:—

As a fellow to ‘Meir’ we may cite ‘Provost,’ or ‘Prevost,’ or ‘Provis,’ a term still used of the mayoralty in Scotland. ‘Councellor’ and ‘Councilman’ are still familiar terms in our midst. ‘Clavenger,’ ‘Claver,’ and ‘Cleaver’ we will mention last as filling up a list of civic offices entirely, so far as the language is concerned, the property of the dominant power. A ‘Robert Clavynger’ occurs in the Parliamentary Rolls. Its root is ‘claviger,’ the key-bearer,’ one whose office it was at this time to protect the deposits, whether of money or parchments, belonging to the civic authorities. The more common term was that of ‘Clavier,’ such entries as ‘Henry le Claver,’ or ‘John le Clavour,’ or ‘John le Clavier,’^[169] being of familiar occurrence at this time. Thus in a treaty agreed upon between the Mayor, sheriffs, and commonalty of Norwich in 1414, it was declared that 186‘the mayor and twenty-four (of the council) shall choose a common clerk, a coroner, two clavers, and eight constables, and the sixty common council shall choose a common speaker, one coroner, two clavers, and eight constables.’ (‘Hist. Norf.,’ Blomefield.) In a day when there were no patent safes we can readily understand the importance of appointing men whose one care it was to guard the chests wherein were stored up the various parchments, moneys, and seals belonging to the civic council. This comprises our list of Norman civil officers. One name, and one only, of this class is Saxon, that of ‘Alderman,’ but I have found it occurring as a surname in only one or two instances, and I believe it has now become obsolete.

Turning from municipal to ecclesiastical affairs, we find the Church of mediæval times surrounded with memorials. Some of these I have already hinted at as being mere sobriquets;^[170] none the less, however, do we owe them to the existing institutions. Such names as ‘Hugo le Archevesk’ or ‘William le Arceveske’ can be only thus viewed. In ‘Morte Arthure’ the hero holds festival at Caerleon,

While this has long vanished from our directories, the descendants of ‘John le Bissup’ or ‘Robert le Biscop’ are firmly established therein. The more Norman 187‘Robert le Vecke’ and ‘Nicholas le Vesk’ still live also in our ‘Vicks’ and ‘Vecks.’ It was only the other day I saw ‘Archdeacon’ over a hatter’s shop—and that it is no corruption of some other word, we may cite the early ‘Thomas le Arcedekne’ as a proof.^[171] Whether ‘Archpriest,’ a sobriquet occurring at the same date, was but another designation of the same, or performed more episcopal functions, I cannot say.^[172] The name, however, is obsolete in every sense. The old vicar has bequeathed us our ‘Vicars,’ ‘Vicarys,’ and ‘Vickermans.’ Chaucer says in the ‘Persons Prologue’—

Our ‘Parsons,’ as Mr. Lowther thinks, are but a form of ‘Piers’ son,’ that is, ‘Peters’ son.’ It is, however, quite possible for them to be what they more nearly resemble; indeed, I find the name occurring as such in the case of ‘Walter le Persone,’ found in the Parliamentary Rolls. Well would it be if we could say of each village cure now what our great early poet said of one he pictured forth—

188Our ‘Priests’ and ‘Priestmans’^[173] answer for themselves. ‘Thomas le Prestre’ and ‘Peter le Prest,’ I do not doubt myself, were but other changes rung upon the same, but I shall have occasion hereafter to propose, at least, a different origin for the latter. The lower ministerial office is suggested to us in ‘Philip le Dekene’ and ‘Thomas le Deken,’ but we must be careful not to confound them with ‘Deakin,’ which is often but another form of ‘Dakin,’ that is, ‘Dawkin,’ or ‘little David.’^[174] Our ‘Chaplains’ or ‘Chaplins,’ once written more fully as ‘Reginald le Chapeleine,’ represent less one who officiated in any public sanctuary than him who was attached to some private oratory belonging to one of the higher nobility. Our ‘Chanters’ or ‘Canters’ (‘Xtiana le Chauntour,’ A., ‘William le Chantour,’ M.) still maintain the dignity of the old precentors who led the collegiate or cathedral choir—but the once existing ‘Chanster’ (‘Stephen le Chanster,’ J.), strictly speaking the feminine of the other, is now obsolete.^[175] In our ‘Chancellors’ we may recognise the ancient ‘John le Chanceler’ or ‘Geoffry le Chaunceler,’ he to whose care was committed the chapter, books, scrolls, records, and what other literature belonged to the establishment with which he stood connected. 189‘Clerk’ as connected with the Church has come down in the world, for as ‘clericus,’ or ‘clergyman,’ it once belonged entirely to the ordained ministry.^[176] The introduction of lay-clerks, appointed to lead the responses of the congregation, has, however, connected them all but wholly with this later office. Nor have our ‘Secretans,’ or ‘Sextons,’ or ‘Saxtons’ preserved their early dignity. The sacristan was he who had charge of the church-edifice, especially the robes and vestments, and such things as appertained to the actual service.^[177] The present usually accepted meaning of the term, that understood by our great humorist poet when he said—

is quite of later growth. In our ‘Colets’ and ‘Collets’ (sometimes the diminutives of ‘Colin’) we are reminded of the colet, or acolyte, who waited upon the priest and assisted in carrying the bread and wine, in lighting the candles, and performing all subordinate duties. Our ‘Bennets,’ when not belonging to the class of baptismal names (as a corruption of ‘Benedict’), once performed the functions of exorcists, and by the imposition of hands 190and the aspersion of holy water expelled evil spirits from those said to be thus possessed. Last of this group we may mention our ‘Croziers’ and ‘Crosiers,’ they who at this time bore the pastoral staff. Mediæval forms of these are met with in ‘Simon le Croyzer’ or ‘Mabel la Croiser.’ I doubt not that he was a kind of chaplain to his superior, whose official staff it was his duty to bear. In the Book of Common Prayer of the 2nd year of Edward VI. it is directed: ‘Whensoever the bishop shall celebrate the holy communion, or execute any other public office, he shall have upon him, besides his rochet, an alb and cope, or vestment, and also his pastoral staff in his hand, or else borne by his chaplain.’

When we turn our eyes for a moment to the old monastic institutions, we see that they, too, are far from being without their relics. In them we have more distinctly the echo of a departed time. Many of my readers will be familiar with the distinction recorded in such names as ‘Alexander le Seculer’ and ‘Walter le Religieuse,’ or ‘man of religion,’ as Chaucer would have termed the latter. To be ‘religious’ in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was to be one of a monastic order bound by vows. Thus our great mediæval poet says in his Romance—

The ‘religieuse’ has apparently stuck to his vows, for I have never found the term in an hereditary form, 191while ‘Secular,’ as descended from such enrolled folk as ‘Walter le Secular,’ or ‘Joan, uxor Nicholas le Secular,’ still exists. I am afraid, however, the Secularist of that time could and would have told us a different tale. Of these bound orders too, while the general term, as I say, does not now exist surnominally, all the more particular titles which it embraced do. As we catch the cadence of their names a shadow falls athwart our memories, and in its wake a crowd of dim and unsubstantial figures pass before us. Once more we behold the fiery ‘Abbot’ (Juliana Abbot, A., Ralph le Abbe, C.), and the portly ‘Prior’ or ‘Pryor’ (Roger le Priour, B., William le Priur, E.). We see afresh the ‘Friar,’ or ‘Freere,’ or ‘Frere’ (Syward le Frere, A., Geoffrey le Frere, A.), so ‘pleasant of absolution’ and ‘easy of penance.’ Again our eye falls mistily upon the ‘Canon,’ or ‘Cannon’ (William le Cannon, A., Thomas le Canun, E.), with his well-trimmed beard and capped brow, and the ‘Moyne’ (now ‘Munn’) or ‘Monk’ (Beatrix le Munk, A., Thomas le Mun, A., Ivo le Moyne, A.), all closely shaved and cloaked, and cowled, that knew his way to the cellar better than to the chapel, who loved the song more than the chaunt.^[178] And now in quick succession flit by us a train of personages all beshrouded in garbs of multitudinous and quaint aspect, in cloaks and hoods, and tippets and girdles, and white and dark apparel. There is the wimpled, grey-eyed ‘Nunn’ (Alice la 192Nonne, A.), and the Dorturer, represented in olden registers by such a name as ‘Robert le Dorturer,’ he who looked to the arrangements of the dourtour, or dormitory—

The word still existed in the sixteenth century, as is evidenced by Heywood’s use of it. He says—

The figure is somewhat forced, but it has its beauty. The ‘Fermerer,’ now found as ‘Fermor’ and ‘Firmer,’ was he who superintended the infirmary. Only a few lines further on, in the earlier of the two poems from which I last quoted, we find Chaucer making mention of—

The ‘Tale of a Monk,’ too, begins—

The fermery was the hospital or ‘spital’^[180] attached to each religious house, and was under the immediate control of the above-mentioned officer. It is with him, 193therefore, we may fitly ally ‘Robert le Almoner,’ or ‘Michael le Aumoner,’ a name still abiding with us, and representative of him who dispensed the alms to the lazars and the poor. It is in allusion to this his office that Robert Brunne in one of his tales says:—

Of the same officer in more lordly society the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ thus speaks—

Many of those who were supported at this time and in this manner were lepers. We can take up no record, large or small, of the period without coming across a ‘Nicholas’ or ‘Walter le Leper.’ Leprosy was introduced into Western Europe with the return of the Crusaders. To such a degree had it spread in England, that in 1346 Edward III. was compelled to issue a royal mandate enjoining those ‘smitten with the blemish of leprosy’ to ‘betake themselves to places in the country, solitary, and notably distant’ from the dwellings of men. Such a distinctive designation as this would readily cling to a man, even after 194he had been cured of the disorder,^[182] and no wonder that in our ‘Lepers’ and ‘Leppers’ the name still remains as but one more memorial of that noble madness which set Christendom ablaze some six centuries ago. A term used synonymously at this time with leper is found in such an entry as ‘Richard le Masele’ or ‘Richard le Masle,’ that is, ‘Measle.’ Wicklyffe has the word in the case of Naaman, and also of the Samaritan leper.^[183] Langland speaks of those who are afflicted with various ailments, and adds that they, if they

Capgrave, too, to quote but one more instance, speaking of Deodatus, a Pope of the seventh century, says ‘He kissed a mysel and sodeynly the mysel was whole.’ Strange to say, this name also is not extinct. Our ‘Badmans’ are not so bad as they might seem. They, and our ‘Bidmans,’ are doubtless but corrupted forms of the old ‘bedeman,’ or ‘beadman,’ he who professionally invoked Heaven in behalf of his patron. It is hence we get our word ‘bead,’ our forefathers having been accustomed to score off the number of aves and paternosters they said by means of these small balls strung on a thread. This practice, I need not say, is still familiar to the Romish Church.

195But we have not yet done with the traces of these more distant practices. The various religious wanderers or solitary recluses, though belonging to a system long faded from our English life, find a perpetual epitaph in the directories of to-day. Thus we have still our ‘Pilgrims,’ or ‘Pelerins’ (‘John Pelegrim,’ A., ‘William le Pelerin,’ E.), as the Normans termed them. We may meet with ‘Palmers’ (‘Hervey le Palmer,’ A., ‘John le Paumer,’ M.) any day in the streets of our large towns, names distinctly relating the manner in which their owners have derived their title. The pilgrim may have but visited the shrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury; the latter, as his sobriquet proves, had, forlorn and weary, battled against all difficulties, and trod the path that led to the Holy Sepulchre—

The ‘Pardoner,’ with his pouch choked to the full (‘Walter le Pardoner,’ M.) with saleable indulgences, had but come from Rome. He was an itinerant retailer of ecclesiastic forgivenesses, and was as much a quack as those who still impose upon the credulity of the bucolic mind by selling cheap medicines. As Chaucer says of him—

‘Hermit’ I have failed to find as at present existing, 196though ‘Hermitage’ or ‘Armitage’ (‘John Harmaytayge,’ W. 3), as local names expressive of his abode, are by no means unfamiliar. Our ‘Anchors’ and ‘Ankers,’ however, still live to commemorate the old ancre or anchorite; he who, as his sobriquet implied, was wont to separate himself from the world’s vain pleasures and dwell in seclusion and solitude. In the ‘Romance of the Rose’ it is said—

Piers in his ‘Vision,’ too, speaks of—

‘Hugh le Eremite’ or ‘Silvester le Hermite’ are early forms of the one, while in the other case we find the aspirate added in ‘John le Haneker.’ The modern dress of this latter, however, presents the usual early and more correct spelling.^[185] What a vision is presented for our notice in these various sobriquets. It is the vision of a day that has faded, a day with many gleams of redeeming light, but a day of ignorance and lethargy; a day which, after all, thank God, was but the precursor of the brighter day of the Reformation, when the Church, true to herself and true to her destiny, threw off the shackles and the fetters that bound her, and began a work which her greatest foes have been compelled to admit she carried through 197amid opposition of the deadliest and most crushing kind.

Before passing on to a survey of our feudal aristocracy, I may mention our ‘Latimers,’ or ‘le Latymer,’ as I find it recorded in early lists. A latinier, or latimer, was literally a speaker or writer of Latin, that language being then the vehicle of all record or transcript. Latin, indeed, for centuries was the common ground on which all European ecclesiastics met. Thus it became looked upon as the language of interpretation. The term I am speaking of, however, seems to have become general at an early stage. An old lyric says—

Sir John Maundeville, describing an eastern route, says (I am quoting Mr. Lower)—‘And men alleweys fynden Latyneres to go with them in the contrees and furthere beyonde in to tyme that men conne the language.’ Teachers of the Latin tongue itself were not wanting. ‘Le Scholemayster’ existed so early as the twelfth century to show that there were those who professed to initiate our English youth in the rudiments of that which was a polite and liberal education in the eyes of that period. Such sobriquets as ‘le Gramayre,’ or ‘Gramary,’ or ‘Grammer,’ represented the same avocation, being nothing more than the old Norman ‘Gramaire,’ or ‘Grammarian’ as we should now call him, only we now apply the term to a philologist rather than a professional teacher. As ‘Grammar’ the surname is far from being obsolete in our midst. A ‘Nicholas le Lessoner’ is met with in 198the Hundred Rolls. He was evidently but a schoolmaster also. The verb ‘to lesson,’ i.e. to teach, is still in use in various parts of the country, and we find even Shakespeare using it. Clarence says to his murderer—

to which the murderer replies—

In looking over the pages of our early Anglo-Norman history we are at once struck by the fact of the absence of any middle class; that important branch of our community which in after and more civilised ages has done so much for English liberty and English strength. The whole genius of the feudal constitution was opposed to this. There was indeed a graduating scale of feudal tenure which bound together and connected each community; but there was of equal surety in the chain of these independent links of society a certain ring where all alliance ceased save that of service, and which separated each provincial society into two widely-sundered classes. On the one side were the baron and his nearer feudatories and retainers; and below this, on the other, came under one common standard the villein, the peasant, and the boor, looked upon by their superiors with contemptuous indifference, and barely endured as necessary to the administration of their luxury and pleasure. We have already mentioned many of those who gave the baron support. Of other his vassals we may cite ‘le Vavasour,’ or ‘Valvasor,’ a kind of middle-class landowner. The lower orders 199of chivalry have left us in our many ‘Knights’^[186] and ‘Bachelors’ or ‘Backlers’ a plentiful token of former importance. Our ‘Squiers,’ ‘Squires,’ ‘Swiers,’ or ‘Swires’^[187] carry us, as does the now meaningless Esquire, to the time when the sons of those ‘Knights’ bore, as the name implies, their shields. By the time of Henry VI., however, it had become adopted by the heirs of the higher gentry, and now it is used indiscriminately enough. Those who are so surnamed may comfort themselves at any rate with the reflection that they are lineally descended from those who bore the name when it was an honourable and distinctive title. ‘Armiger,’ the form in which the word was oftentimes recorded in our Latin rolls, still survives, though barely, in our ‘Armingers,’ this corrupted form being in perfect harmony with all similar instances, as we shall see almost immediately. One of our mediæval rhymes speaks of—

These hobelers are far from being uninteresting. When we talk of riding a hobby, we little think what a history is concealed beneath the term. A hobiler^[188] 200in the days we are speaking of, was one who held by tenure of maintaining a hobbie—a kind of small horse, then familiarly so known. A song on the times, written in the fourteenth century, and complaining of the manner in which the upper classes plundered the poor, says:—

Later on, by its fictitious representation in the Morris dances of the May-day sports, the hobby came to denote the mere dummy, and now as such affords much scope for equestrian skill in the Rotten Row of our nurseries. What tricks time plays with these words, to be sure, and what a connexion for our ‘Hoblers’ and ‘Hobblers’ to meditate upon. Our ‘Bannermans’ are Scotch, but they represent an office, whether in England or the North, whose importance it would be hard to estimate at this period. Nor are we without traces in our nomenclature of its existence in more southern districts. Our not unfamiliar ‘Pennigers’ and ‘Pennigars’ are but the former official pennager, he who bore the ensign or standard of his lord. They figure even in more general and festive pageants. In the York Procession we find walking alone and between the different craftsmen the ‘Pennagers.’ Probably they bore the ensigns of that then 201important corporate city. I have but recently referred to ‘Robert Clavynger’ (H.) and the probability of his having carried the club or mace or key of his superiors in office. All or well-nigh all the above names find themselves well represented in the registers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Our eye falls at once on an ‘Andrew le Gramary,’ a ‘Richard le Gramayre,’ a ‘Thomas le Skolmayster,’ a ‘Warin le Latimer,’ a ‘William le Latiner,’ a ‘Jordan le Vavasur,’ a ‘Simon le Knyt,’ a ‘Gilbert le Bacholer,’ a ‘Walter le Squier,’ or a ‘Nicholas Armiger.’

A curious relic of the military tactics of mediæval times is presented to our notice in our ‘Reuters,’ ‘Ritters,’ and ‘Rutters.’ The old English forms are found in such entries as ‘Thomas le Reuter,’ or ‘Ranulph le Ruter.’ The root of the term is probably the German ritter, or rider, a name given at this period to certain mercenary soldiers oftentimes hired by our English sovereigns out of Brabant and the surrounding country. Thus we find William of Newburgh, under the date 1173, saying that Henry II. ‘stipendarias Bribantionum copias, quas Rutas vocant, accersivit.’ (Lib. ii. cap. 27.) Trivet, relating the same fact, says (p. 73), ‘Conduxit Brabanzones et Rutarios.’^[189] An old song begins—

The nickname ‘rutterkin’ proves the Flemish origin of these troopers. Their capacity for stowing away food and drink, from all accounts, is not exaggerated in the poem from which the above is an extract. We have just mentioned our ‘Bachelors,’ and this reminds us of our ‘Childs,’ and of the days of chivalry. The term ‘child’ was a distinctly honourable title in the olden times. It was borne by the sons of all the higher nobility; if by the eldest son, then in right of his title to his father’s honours and possessions; if more generally by others, then until by some deed of prowess they had been raised to the ranks of knighthood. In either case ‘child’ was the term in use during this probationary state. Thus Byron in his ‘Childe Harold’ has but revived the ‘Childe Waters,’ ‘Childe Rolands,’ and ‘Childe Thopas’s’ of earlier times.^[190] We owe many existing and several obsolete surnames to this custom. Our ‘Childs’ are but descendants of such a sobriquet as ‘Ralph le Child;’ our ‘Eyres’ of such an entry as ‘William le Eyre;’ some of our ‘Barnes’ may be but the offspring of such a personage as ‘Thomas le Barne’ (now ‘bairn,’ that is, the born one); while ‘Stephen le Enfant’ or ‘Walter le Enfaunt’ represents an appellation that is now obsolete in England.^[191] I need scarcely add that 203this last, in the form of Infante and Infanta, still bears the same meaning in the royal families of Spain that Child did in our own land in more chivalric days.

The details of early feudal life are wonderfully depicted by our nomenclature. Owing to the boundless and forced ceremony which arose out of the prevailing spirit of feudal pride, our official memorials are well-nigh overwhelming. Feudal tenure itself became associated with office, and none seemed too servile for acceptance. As has been said of Charlemagne’s Court, so might it be said of those of others—‘they were crowded with officers of every rank, some of the most eminent of whom exercised functions about the royal person which would have been thought fit only for slaves in the palace of Augustus or Antonine’—‘to carry his banner or his lance, to lead his array, to be his marshall, or constable, or sewer, or carver, to do in fact such services, trivial or otherwise, as his lord might have done himself, in proper person, had it so pleased him—this was the position coveted by youths of birth and distinction at such a period as this.’ Many of these officerships, or the bare titles, still linger round the court of our sovereign. The higher feudatories, of course, followed the example thus set them by their suzerain, and the lesser barons these, and thus household officers sprang up on every side. See how this has left its mark upon our surnames. ‘John le Conestable,’ or ‘Robert le Constable,’ 204I need not say, is still well represented. In the ‘Man of Lawes Tale’ the poet says:—

With him we may ally our not unfamiliar ‘Castlemans,’ ‘Castelans,’ and ‘Chatelains,’ representatives of the old ‘John le Chastilioun,’ or ‘Joscelin le Castelan,’ or ‘Ralph le Chatelaine.’ The poet whom I have just quoted says elsewhere:—

Doubtless this latter was but a synonym of the constable, and his duties as governor but the same. Of decidedly lower position, but not dissimilar in character, we have also ‘Wybert le Portere,’ or ‘Portarius,’ as he is Latinized in our rolls. An old book of etiquette says:—

He at the postern would as carefully look against hostile, as our former ‘Peter le Ussher,’ or ‘Alan le Usser,’ within would against informal approach.^[192] The Saxon form, however, was evidently not wanting, for we have still ‘Doorward’ and ‘Doorman’ (‘Geoffrey le Doreward,’ A., ‘Nicholas le Doreman,’ O.) in our directories, not to mention their corrupted, ‘Durwards,’ immortalized by Walter Scott, and ‘Dormans’ and ‘Domans.’ The term ‘doorward’ is found in 205many of our early writers. Thus in an old metrical account of the bringing of Christ before Caiaphas, it is said of John when he returned to fetch in Peter:—

Our ‘Chamberlaynes’ and ‘Chambers,’^[193] (‘Simon le Chamberlain,’ M., ‘Henry le Chaumberleyne,’ B., ‘William de la Chaumbre,’ B.) had access to their lord’s inner privacy, and from their intimacy with his monetary affairs occupied a position at times similar to that of our more collegiate bursar. We have only to look at mediæval costume, its grandeur, its colours, and its varied array, to understand how necessary there should be a special officer to superintend his lord’s wardrobe. Our ‘Wardrops’ are but the former ‘de la Wardrobe,’ or ‘de la Garderoba,’ while ‘le Wardrober,’ or ‘le Garderober,’ has bequeathed us our ‘Wardropers.’ Thus the ‘Book of Curtasye’ says:—

Equally important as an attendant was the ‘Barbour.’ He especially was on familiar terms with his master—when was he not? I need scarcely say that among his other duties that of acting as surgeon in the household was none of the lightest. Still his tonsorial capacity was his first one. No one then thought of shaving himself, least of all the baron. Even so late as the sixteenth century a writer defending the use of the beard against Andrew Boorde employs this argument:—

I have no doubt it is here we must set our ‘Simisters,’ relics, as they probably are, of such a name as ‘John Somayster,’ or ‘William Summister.’ The summaster seems from its orthography to have represented one who acted as a clerk or comptroller, something akin to the chamberlain or breviter, whom I shall mention almost immediately; one, in fact, who cast up and certified accounts. Holinshed used the word as if in his day it were of familiar import. Dwelling upon a certain event, he says—‘Over this, if the historian be long, he is accompted a trifler; if he be short, he is taken for a summister.’^[194]

In such days as those, what with the number of personal retainers and the excess of hospitality expected of the feudal chief, the culinary department occupied far from an insignificant position in regard to the general accessories of the baronial establishment. Our ‘Cooks,’ or ‘Cokes,’ or ‘Cookmans,’ relics of the old ‘Roger le Coke,’ or ‘Joan le Cook,’ or ‘William Cokeman,’ even then ruled supreme over that most absolute of all monarchies, the kitchen; our ‘Kitchenmans’ (now found also as ‘Kitchingham’), ‘Kitcheners,’ and ‘Kitchens,’ or ‘de la Kitchens,’ 207as they were once written, reminding us who it was that aided them to turn the spit or handle the posnet. Our ‘Pottingers’ represent the once common ‘Robert le Potager,’ or ‘Walter le Potager,’ the soup-maker. Potage was the ordinary term for soup, thickened well with vegetables and meat.^[195] Thus in the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ the guest is bid—

a rule which still holds good in society. We are well aware of the ingredients of the dish which our Bible translators have still bequeathed to us as ‘a mess of potage.’ In its present corrupted form of ‘porridge’ this notion of a mess rather than of a soup is still preserved. Another interesting servitorship of this class has well-nigh escaped our notice—that of the hastiler: he who turned the haste or spit. In the Close Rolls we find a ‘Thurstan le Hastler’ recorded, and in the Parliamentary Writs such names as ‘Henry Hastiler’ and ‘William 208Hastiler.’ In the will of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Essex, among other household servants, such as potager, ferour, barber, ewer, is mentioned ‘William de Barton, hastiler.’ I need not remind Lancashire people that a haister, or haster, is still the term used for the tin screen employed for roasting purposes. The memorials of this interesting servitorship still linger on in our ‘Hastlers,’ ‘Haslers,’ and ‘Haselers.’ If, however, the supervision of the roasting and basting required an attendant, none the less was it so with the washing-up department. How familiarly does such a term as ‘scullery’ fall from our lips, and how little do many of us know of its history. An escuelle^[196] was a porringer or dish, and a scullery was a place where such vessels were stored after being washed.^[197] Hence a ‘squiller’ or ‘squyler’ was he who looked to this; our modern ‘scullion,’ in fact, which is but a corrupted form of the same word. In one of Robert of Brunne’s poems, we find him saying—

209In a book of ‘Ordinances and Regulations’ we find mention made even of a ‘sergeant-squylloure.’ Doubtless his duty was to look after the carriage of utensils at such times as his lord made any extended journey, or to superintend the washing of cup and platter after the open-board festivities which were the custom of early baronial establishments. To provide for every retainer who chanced to come in would be, indeed, a care. The occurrence of a ‘Roger de Norhamtone, Squyler,’ however, in the London City rolls, seems to imply that occasionally the sale of such vessels gave the title. I cannot say the name is obsolete, as I have met with one ‘Squiller;’ and ‘Skiller,’ which would seem to be a natural corruption, is not uncommon. Our ‘Spencers,’ abbreviated from ‘despencer,’ had an important charge—that of the ‘buttery,’ or ‘spence,’ the place where the household store was kept. The term is still in use, I believe, in our country farm-houses. In the ‘Sumner’s Tale’ the glutton is well described as—

and Mr. Halliwell, I see, with his wonted research, has lighted on the following lines:—

‘De la Spence,’ as well as ‘le Spencer,’ has impressed itself upon our living nomenclature. Our ‘Panters,’ 210‘Pantlers,’ and ferocious-seeming ‘Panthers,’ descendants of such folk as ‘Richard le Panter,’ or ‘Robert le Paneter,’ or ‘Henry de le Paneterie,’ are but relics of a similar office. They had the superintendence of the ‘paneterie,’ or pantry; literally, of course, the bread closet. It seems, however, early to have become used in a wider and more general sense. In the Household Ordinances of Edward IV. one of the sergeants is styled ‘the chief Pantrer of the King’s mouth.’ John Russel in his ‘Boke of Nurture’ thus directs his student—

Of the old ‘Achatour’ (found as ‘Henry le Catour’ or ‘Bernard le Acatour’), the purveyor for the establishment, we have many memorials, those of ‘Cater,’ ‘Cator,’ and ‘Caterer’ being the commonest. Chaucer quaintly remarks of the ‘Manciple,’^[201] who was so

that of him

The provisions thus purchased were called ‘cates,’ a favourite word with some of our later poets. 211Equivalent to the more monastic ‘le Cellarer,’^[202] which is now obsolete, are our numberless ‘Butlers,’ the most accepted form of the endless ‘Teobald le Botilers,’ ‘Richer le Botillers,’ ‘Ralph le Botelers,’ ‘William le Botellers,’ ‘Walter le Butillers,’ or ‘Hugh le Buteilliers,’ of this time. As we shall observe by-and-by, however, this was also an occupative name.^[203]

With so many officers to look after the preparations, we should expect the dinner itself to be somewhat ceremonious. And so it was—far more ceremonious, however, than elegant in the light of the nineteenth century. Our ‘Senechals’ and ‘Senecals’ (‘Alexander le Seneschal,’ B., ‘Ivo Seneschallus,’ T.), relics of the ancient ‘seneschal,’ Latinized in our records as ‘Dapifer’ (‘Henry Dapifer,’ A.), arranged the table. The root of this word is the Saxon ‘schalk,’ a servant which, though now wholly obsolete, 212seems to have been in familiar use in early times.^[204] An old poem tells us—

In ‘Sir Gawayne,’ too, the attendant is thus described—

We are not without traces of its existence in other compounds. Thus our ‘Marshalls’ were originally ‘marechals;’ that is, ‘mare-schalks,’ the early name for a horse-groom or blacksmith. The Marshall, however, was early turned into an indoor office, and seems to have been busied enough in ordering the position of guests in the hall, a very punctilious affair in those days. The ‘Boke of Curtasye’ says:—

Our ‘Gateschales,’ a name now altogether obsolete, were the more simple porter, while our ‘Gottschalks,’ a surname more frequently hailing from Germany, but once common with ourselves as a Christian name, denote simply ‘God’s servant.’ But we are wandering. Let us come back to the dinner-table. Such sobriquets as ‘Ralph le Suur’^[205] or ‘John le Sewer’ 213remind us of the sewer—he who brought in the viands.^[206] A sewe, from the old French sevre, to follow, was any cooked dish, and thus is simply equivalent to our course. Chaucer, in describing the rich feasts of Cambuscan, King of Tartary, says the time would fail him to tell—

I believe the Queen’s household still boasts its four gentlemen sewers. As a surname, too, the word is still common. A curious custom presents itself to our remembrance in our ‘Says,’ who, when not of the ‘de Says’ (‘Hugh de Say,’ A.), are but descendants of the ‘le Says’ (‘John le Say,’ M.) of the Hundred Rolls. An ‘assay’ or ‘say’ was he who assayed or tasted the messes as they were set one by one before the baron, to guard against his being accidentally or purposely poisoned. An old poem uses the fuller form, where it says—

In the ‘Boke of Curtasye,’ too, we are told to what ranks this privilege belonged—

214Another term for the same made its mark upon our nomenclature as ‘Gustur’ (‘Robert le Gustur,’ T.) To gust was thus used till Shakespeare’s day, and we still speak of ‘gusto’ as equivalent to relish.

We are reminded by the fact of the existence of ‘Knifesmith’ and ‘Spooner’ only among our early occupative surnames that there were no forks in those days.^[208] There is no ‘Forker’ to be found. Even the ‘Carver’ (‘Adam le Kerver,’ A., ‘Richard le Karver,’ A.) had to use his fingers. In the ‘Boke of Kervynge,’ a manual of the then strictest etiquette in such matters, we find the following direction:—‘Set never on fyshe, flesche, beest, ne fowle, more than two fyngers and a thombe.’ Seldom, too, did they use plates as we now understand them. Before each guest was set a round slice of bread called a trencher, and the meat being placed upon this, he consumed the whole, or as much as he pleased. Under these circumstances we can easily understand how necessary would be the office of ‘Ewer,’ a name found in every early roll as ‘Brian le Ewer,’ or ‘Richard le Ewere,’ or ‘Adam de la Euerie.’ As he supplied water for each to cleanse his hands he was close followed 215by the ‘napper’ or ‘napier,’ who proffered the towel or napkin. The word, I need scarcely say, is but a diminutive of the old nape, which was applied in general to the tablecloths and other linen used in setting forth the dinner. An old book, which I have already quoted, in directing the attendant how to lay the cloth, says—

The Hundred Rolls and other records furnish us with such names as ‘Jordan le Nappere,’ or ‘John le Napere,’ or ‘Walter de la Naperye.’ Behind the lord of the board, nigh to his elbow, stood the ‘page,’ holding his cup. This seems to have been an office much sought after by the sons of the lower nobility, and it is to the honourable place in which it was held we no doubt owe the fact that not merely are our ‘Pages’ decidedly numerous in the present day, but that we also find such further particular compounds as ‘Small-page,’^[209] ‘Little-page,’ or ‘Cup-page’ holding anything but a precarious existence in our midst. There seems to have been but little difference between this office and that of the ‘henchman,’ only that the latter, as his name, more strictly written ‘haunchman,’ shows, attended his master’s behests out of doors. He, too, lives on hale and hearty in our ‘Henchmans,’ ‘Hinxmans,’ ‘Hincksmans,’ and ‘Hensmans.’^[210]

216In several of our early records of names we find ‘Peter le Folle,’ ‘Alexander le Fol,’ and ‘Johannes Stultus’ appearing in apparently honest and decent company. The old fool or jester was an important entity in the retinue of the mediæval noble. He could at least say, if he might not do, what he liked, and I am afraid the more ribald his buffoonery the greater claim he possessed to be an adept in his profession in the eyes of those who heard him. His dress was always in character with his duties, being as uncouth as fashion reversed could make it. In his hand he bore a mock rod of state, his head was surmounted by a huge cap peaked at the summit and surrounded with little jingling bells, his dress was in colour as conflicting as possible, and the tout ensemble I need not dwell upon. We still talk of a ‘foolscap,’ and even our paper has preserved the term from the fact that one of the earliest watermarks we have was that of a fool’s cap with bells. ‘Fools,’ I need not say, wherever else to be met with, are now obsolete so far as our directories are concerned.

I have just mentioned the henchman. This at once carries us without the baronial walls, and in whatever scene we are wont to regard the early suzeraine as engaging, it is remarkable how fully marked is our nomenclature with its surroundings. Several useful servitorships, however, claim our first attention. In such days as these, when the telegraph wire was 217an undreamt-of mystery, and highways traversed by steam-engines would have been looked upon as something supernatural indeed, we can readily understand the importance of the official ‘Roger le Messager,’ or ‘John le Messager,’ nor need we be surprised by the frequency with which he is met. In the ‘Man of Lawes Tale’ it is said—

Though generally found as ‘Messinger’ or ‘Massinger,’ the truer and more ancient form is not wholly obsolete.^[211] But if there were no telegraphs, neither was there any regular system of postage. The name of ‘Ely le Breviter’ or ‘Peter le Brevitour’ seems to remind us of this. I do not doubt myself the ‘breviter’ was kept by his lord for the writing or conveyance of letters or brevets.^[212] Piers Plowman uses the word where, of the Pardoner’s preaching, it is said—

218The signet of his lord was in the hands of the ‘Spigurnell’ or ‘Spigurell,’ both of which forms still exist, I believe, in our general nomenclature. As the sealer of all the royal writs, the king’s spigurell would have an office at once important and careful. The term itself is Saxon, its root implying that which is shut up or sealed. Our ‘Coffers,’ relics of the old ‘Ralph le Cofferer,’ or ‘John le Cofferer,’ though something occupative, were nevertheless official also, and are to be found as such in the thirteenth century. They remind us of the day when there were no such things as cheque-books, nor banks, nor a paper-money currency. Then on every expedition, be it warlike or peaceful, solid gold or silver had to be borne for the baron’s expenditure and that of his retinue; therefore none would be more important than he who superintended the transit from place to place of the chest of solid coinage set under his immediate care. Our early ‘Passavants,’ or ‘Pursevaunts,’ or more literally pursuivants, were under the direction of the ‘Herald,’or ‘Heraud,’ as Chaucer styles him, and usually preceded the royal or baronial retinue to announce 219its approach, and attend to such other duties of lesser importance as his superior delegated to him. In this respect he occupied a position much akin to that of the ‘Harbinger’ or ‘Herberger,’ who prepared the harborage or lodging, and all other entertainment required ere the cavalcade arrived. When we reflect upon the large number of retainers, the ceremonious list of attendants, the greater impediments to early travel, and the difficulties of forwarding information, we shall see that these officerships were by no means so formal as we might be apt to imagine. To give illustrations of all the above-mentioned surnames were easy, were it not that the number is so large that it becomes a difficulty which to select. Such entries, however, as ‘Jacob le Messager,’ ‘Godfrey le Coffrer,’ ‘Roger Passavant,’ ‘Main le Heralt,’ ‘Herbert le Herberjur,’ ‘Nicholas le Spigurnell,’ ‘Peter le Folle,’ or the Latinized ‘Johannes Stultus,’ may be recorded as among the more familiar. A reference to the Index will furnish examples of the rest, as well as additional ones of the above.

In a day when horses were of more consequence than now, we need not be surprised to find the baronial manger under special supervision. This officer figures in our mediæval archives in such entries as ‘Walter le Avenur’ or ‘William le Avenare.’^[214] As his very name suggests, it was the avenar’s care to provide for the regular and sufficient feeding of the animals placed under his charge.^[215] The ‘Boke of Curtayse’ tells us his duties—

Elsewhere, too, the same writer says—

Our ‘Palfreymans’ (‘John le Palfreyman,’ M.), though not always official, I do not doubt had duties also of a similar character in looking after the well-being of their mistress’s palfrey, and attending the lady herself when she rode to the cover, or took an airing on the more open and breezy hillside.

The two great amusements of the period we are considering were the hunt and the tournament. Of the former we have many relics, nor is the latter barren or unfruitful of terms connected therewith that still linger on in the surnames of to-day. The exciting encounters which took place in these chivalric meetings or jousts had a charm alike for the Saxon and the Norman; alike, too, for spectator as well as for him who engaged in the fierce mêlée. Training for this was by no means left to the discretion of amateur intelligence. In three several records of the thirteenth century I find such names as ‘Peter le Eskurmesur,’ ‘Henry le Eskyrmessur,’ and ‘Roger le Skirmisour.’ The root of these terms is, of course, the old French verb ‘eskirmir,’ to fence. It is thence we get our skirmish and scrimmage, the latter form, 221though looked upon now as of a somewhat slang character, being found in the best of society in our earlier writers. Originally it denoted a hand-to-hand encounter between two horsemen. We still imply by a skirmish a short and sharp conflict between the advanced posts of two contending armies. As a teacher of ‘the noble art of self-defence,’^[216] we can easily understand how important was the skirmisher. The name has become much corrupted by lapse of time, scarcely recognisable, in fact, in such a garb as ‘Scrimmenger,’ ‘Skrymsher,’ ‘Skrimshire,’ and perchance ‘Scrimshaw,’ forms which I find in our present London and provincial directories. Of those who were wont to engage we have already mentioned the majority. All the different grades of nobility were present, and with them were their esquires, with shield and buckler, ready to supply a fresh unsplintered lance, or a new shield, with its proudly emblazoned crest. I need scarce remind the reader of what consequence in such a day as this would be the costume of him who thus engaged in such deadly conflict. The invention of gunpowder has changed the early tactics of fight. Battles are lost and won now long ere the real mêlée has taken place. Then everything, whether in war or tournament, was settled face to face. To pierce his opponent where an inlet could admit his spear, or to unhorse him by the shock of meeting, was the knight’s one aim. The bloodiness of such an affray can be better imagined than described. We still hear of distorted features in the after inspection of the scene 222of battle, but we can have no conception of the mangling that the bodies of horse and rider underwent, the inevitable result of the earlier manner of warfare. Death is mercifully quick now upon the battle-field. We have still three or four professional surnames that remind us of this. We have still our ‘Jackmans,’ or ‘Jakemans,’ as representatives of the former cavalry; so called from the ‘jack’ or coat of mail they wore. It is this latter article which has bequeathed to our youngsters of the nineteenth century their more peaceful and diminutive jacket. Thus mailed and horsed, they had to encounter the cruel onslaught of our ‘Spearmans,’ and ‘Pikemans,’ and ‘Billmans,’ names that themselves suggest how bloody would be the strife when hatchet blade, and sharp pike, and keen sword clashed together. To cover and shield the body, then, was the one thought of these early days of military tactics, and at the same time to give the fullest play to every limb and sinew. This was a work of a most careful nature, and no wonder it demanded the combined skill of several craftsmen. Such occupative sobriquets as ‘Adam le Armerer’ or ‘Simon le Armurer’ are now represented by the curter ‘Armer’ or ‘Armour.’ In the ‘Knight’s Tale’ it is said—

Our ‘Frobishers,’ ‘Furbishers,’ and ‘Furbers,’ once found as ‘Richard le Fourbishour’ or ‘Alan le Fourbour,’ scoured and prepared the habergeon, or jack just referred to, while ‘Gilbert le Hauberger’ or ‘John le Haubergeour’ was more immediately engaged 223in constructing it. Our present Authorized Version, I need hardly say, still retains the word. In ‘Sire Thopas,’ too, it is used where it is said—

Our classical-looking ‘Homers’ are the naturally corrupted form of the once familiar ‘le Heaumer,’ he who fashioned the warrior’s helmet.^[217] Our ‘Sworders,’ I imagine, forged him his trusty blade,^[218] while our ‘Sheathers’ furnished forth its slip. Our ‘Platers’ I would suggest as makers of his cuirass, while our ‘Kissers’—far less demonstrative than they look—are but relics of such a name as ‘Richard le Kissere,’ he who manufactured his cuishes or thigh armour, one of the most careful parts of the entire dress.^[219] 224Lastly, our ‘Spurriers’ were there ready to supply him with his rowel, and thus in warlike guise he was prepared either for adventurous combat in behalf of the distressed damsel, or to seek favour in the eyes of her he loved in the more deadly lists.^[220]

I must not forget to mention our ‘Kemps’ while upon military affairs, a general term as it was for a soldier in the days of which we are speaking. I believe the phrase ‘to go a kemping’ is still in use in the north. In the old rhyme of ‘Guy and Colbrand’ the minstrel says—

How familiar a term it must have been in the common mouth the frequency with which the name is met fully shows.

Our ‘Slingers’ represent an all but forgotten profession, but they seem to have been useful enough in their day and generation. The sling was always attached to a stick, whence the old term ‘staffsling.’ Lydgate describes David as armed

225while in ‘Richard Cœur de Lion’ we are told—

But we must not forget old England’s one boast, her archers, and our last quotation fitly brings them to our notice. They, too, in the battle-field and in the rural list, maintained alike their supremacy. If we would be proud of our early victories, we must ever look with veneration on the bow. ‘Bowman’ and ‘Archer’ still represent the more military professional, but not alone. Even more interesting, as speaking for the more specific crossbow or ‘arbalist,’ are our ‘Alabasters,’ ‘Arblasters,’ ‘Arblasts,’ and ‘Balsters.’ In Robert of Gloucester’s description of the reign of the Conqueror, it is said—

Chaucer, too, describing a battlement, says—

In the Hundred Rolls he is Latinized as ‘John Alblastarius,’ and in the York Records as ‘Thomas Balistarius.’ The Inquisitiones style him ‘Richard le Alblaster,’ while the Parliamentary Writs register him as ‘Reginald le Arblaster.’ It was to this 226class of armour our word ‘artillery’ was first applied, a fact which our Bible translators have preserved, where, in describing the meeting between David and Jonathan, they speak of the latter as giving his ‘artillery to the lad.’ Cotgrave, too, in his dictionary, printed at the beginning of the seventeenth century, has the following:—‘Artellier, a bowyer or bow-maker, also a fletcher, or one that makes both bows and arrows.’ The mention of the fletcher brings us to the more general weapon. Such an entry as the following would seem strange to the eyes of the nineteenth century:—‘To Nicolas Frost, bowman, Stephen Sedar, fletcher,^[221] Ralph, the stringer, and divers others of the said mysteries, in money, paid to them, viz.:—to the aforesaid Nicholas, for 500 bows, 31l. 8s.; to the aforesaid Stephen, for 1,700 sheaves of arrows, 148l. 15s.; and to the aforesaid Ralph, for forty gross of bowstrings, 12l.’ (Exchequer Issues, 14 Henry IV.) This short extract in itself shows us the origin of at least three distinct surnames, viz.:—‘Bowyer,’ ‘Fletcher,’ and ‘Stringer.’ We should hardly recognise the first, however, in such entries as ‘Adam le Boghiere,’ or ‘William le Boghyere.’ ‘John le Bower’ reminds us that some of our ‘Bowers’ are similarly sprung, while ‘George le Boyer’ answers for our ‘Boyers.’ Besides these, we have ‘Robert Bowmaker’ or ‘John Bowmaykere’ to represent the fuller sobriquet. So much for the bow. Next comes the arrow. This was a very careful 227piece of workmanship. Four distinct classes of artizans were engaged in its structure, and, as we might expect, all are familiar names of to-day. ‘John le Arowsmyth’ we may set first. He confined himself to the manufacture of the arrow-head. Thus we find the following statement made in an Act passed in 1405:—‘Item, because the Arrowsmyths do make many faulty heads for arrows and quarels, it is ordained and established that all heads for arrows and quarels, after this time to be made, shall be well boiled or braised, and hardened at the points with steel.’ (Stat. Realm.)^[222] ‘Clement le Settere’ or ‘Alexander le Settere’^[223] was busied in affixing these to the shaft, and ‘John le Tippere’ or ‘William le Tippere’ in pointing them off. Nor is this all—there is yet the feather. Of the origin of such mediæval folk as ‘Robert le Fleccher’ or ‘Ada le Fletcher,’ we are reminded by Milton, where, in describing an angel, he says—

The fletcher, or fledger as I had well-nigh called him, spent his time, in fact, in feathering arrows.

Skelton in ‘The Maner of the World’ says:—

While all these names, however, speak for specific workmanship, our ‘Flowers’ represent a more general term. We are told of Phœbus in the ‘Manciples Tale,’ that

‘Flo,’ was a once familiar term for an arrow. ‘John le Floer,’ or ‘Nicholas le Flouer,’ therefore, would seem to be but synonymous with ‘Arrowsmith’ or ‘Fletcher.’ ‘Stringer’ and ‘Stringfellow’ are self-explanatory, and are common surnames still. What a list of sobriquets is here! What a change in English social life do they declare. Time was when to be a sure marksman was the object of every English boy’s ambition. The bow was his chosen companion. Evening saw him on the village green, beneath the shade of the old yew tree, and as he practised his accustomed sport, his breath would come thick and fast, as he bethought him of the coming wake, and his chance of bringing down the popinjay, and presenting the ribbon to his chosen queen of the May. Yes, times are altered. Teeming cities cover the once rustic sward, broadcloth has eclipsed the Lincoln green, the clothyard, the arrow; but still amid the crowd that rushes to and fro in our streets the name of an ‘Archer,’ or a ‘Bowman,’ or a ‘Butts,’ or a ‘Popgay’ spoken in our ears will hush the hubbub of 229the city, and, forgotten for a brief moment the greed for money, will carry us, like a pleasant dream recalled, into the fresher and purer atmosphere of England’s past.

In the poem from which I have but recently quoted we have the record of ‘gonnes,’ or ‘guns,’ as we should now term them. It would be quite possible for our nomenclature to be represented by memorials of the powder magazine, and I should be far from asserting that such is not the case.^[224] In the household of Edward III. there are enumerated, among others, ‘Ingyners lvij; Artellers vj; Gonners vj.’ Here there is a clear distinction between the ‘gun’ and the ‘engine;’ between missiles hurled by powder and those by the catapult. Fifty years even earlier than this Chaucer had used the following sentence:—‘They dradde no assaut of gynne, gonne, nor skaffaut.’ In his ‘Romance,’ too, as I have just shown, he places in juxtaposition ‘grete engines’ and ‘gonnes.’ Of one, if not both of these, we have undoubted memorials in our nomenclature. The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘William le Engynur’ and a ‘Walter le Ginnur;’ the Inquisitiones with a ‘Richard le Enginer,’ and the Writs with a ‘William le Genour.’ The descendants of such as these are, of course, our ‘Gunners,’ ‘Ginners,’ ‘Jenour,’ and ‘Jenners,’^[225] the last of which are now represented by one who is as renowned for recovering as his ancestor in days gone 230by would be for destroying life. Our ‘Gunns’ and ‘Ginns’ also must be referred to the same source. In one of the records just alluded to a ‘Warin Engaine’ is to be met with. If we elide the first syllable, as in the previous instances, the modern form at once appears.

But if in the deadly tournament the baron and his retainers found an ample pastime, nevertheless the chase was of all diversions the most popular. In this the prince and the peasant alike found recreation, while with regard to the latter, as we shall see, it was also combined with service. The woody wastelands, so extended in these earlier days of a sparse population, afforded sport enough for the most ardent huntsman. According to the extent of privilege or the divisions into which they were separated, these tracts were styled by the various terms of ‘forest,’ ‘chase,’ ‘park,’ and ‘warren.’ To any one at all conversant with old English law these several words will be familiar enough. To keep the wilder beasts within their prescribed limits, to prevent them injuring the tilled lands, and in general to guard the common interests of lord and tenant, keepers were appointed. The names of these officers, the chief of whom are entitled by appellations whose root is of a local character, are well-nigh all found to this day in our directories. Indeed there is no class of names more firmly imbedded there. In the order of division I have just alluded to, we have ‘Forester,’ with its corrupted ‘Forster’ and ‘Foster,’ relics of such registered folk as ‘Ivo le Forester,’ ‘Henry le Forster,’ or ‘Walter le Foster;’ ‘Chaser,’ now obsolete, I believe, but lingering on for a considerable period as the 231offspring of ‘William’ or ‘Simon le Chasur;’ ‘Parker,’ or ‘Parkman,’ or ‘Park,’ descended from ‘Adam le Parkere,’ or ‘Hamo le Parkere,’ or ‘Roger atte Parke,’ or ‘John del Parc,’ and ‘Warener’ or ‘Warner,’ or ‘Warren,’ lineally sprung from men of the stamp of ‘Thomas le Warrener,’ ‘Jacke le Warner,’ or ‘Richard de Waren.’ The curtailed forms of these several terms seem to have been all but consequent with the rise of the officership itself. ‘Love’ in the ‘Romance’ says:—

In his description of the Yoman, too, Chaucer adds—

Thus, again, Langland, in setting forth Glutton’s encounter with the frequenters of the tavern, speaks familiarly of—

But these are not all. It is with them we must associate our ancestral ‘Woodwards’ or ‘Woodards,’ and still more common ‘Woodreefs,’ ‘Woodrows,’ ‘Woodroffs,’ and ‘Woodruffs,’ all more or less perverted forms of the original wood-reeve.^[226] A song representing the husbandmen as complaining of the burdens in Edward II.’s reign says—

All these officers were more or less of legal capacity, men whose duty it was, bill in hand, to guard the vert and venison under their charge,^[227] to act as agents for their lord in regard to the pannage of hogs, to look carefully to the lawing of dogs, and in case of offences to present them to the verderer at the forest assize. The ‘Moorward,’ found in our early records as ‘German le Morward’ or ‘Henry le Morward,’ guarded the wilder and bleaker districts. ‘The Rider,’ commonly found as ‘Roger le Rydere’ or ‘Ralph le Ryder,’ in virtue of having a larger extent of jurisdiction, was mounted, though his office was essentially the same. Mr. Lower, remarking upon this word, has a quotation from the ballad of ‘William of Cloudesley,’ where the king, rewarding the brave archer, says:—

With him we must associate our ‘Rangers’ and ‘Keepers,’ who, acting doubtless under him, assisted also in the work of patrolling the woodland and recovering strayed beasts, and presenting trespassers to the swainmote just referred to.

The bailiff, shortened as a surname into ‘Bailey,’ ‘Baillie’ (‘German le Bailif,’ J., ‘Henry le Baillie,’ M.), like the reve, seems to have been both of 233legal and private capacity; in either case acting as deputy.^[228] This word ‘reve’ did a large amount of duty formerly, but seems now to be fast getting into its dotage. In composition, however, it is far from being obsolete. The ‘Reeve’ (‘John le Reve,’ M., ‘Sager le Reve,’ H.), who figured so conspicuously among the Canterbury Pilgrims, would be the best representative of the term in his day, I imagine—

Our ‘Grieves’ (‘Thomas le Greyve,’ A.), who are but the fuller ‘Gerefa,’ fulfilled, and I believe in some parts of Scotland still fulfil, the capacity here described, being but manorial bailiffs, in fact. ‘The Boke of Curtasye’ says—

Thus, too, our ‘Portreeves’ (‘William le Portreve,’ A., ‘Augustin le Portreve,’ A.), who in our coast towns fulfilled the capacity of our more general mayor, are oftentimes in our earlier records enrolled as Portgreve.’ ‘Hythereve’ (‘John le Huthereve,’ O.), from hithe, a haven, would seem to denote the same office, while our obsolete ‘Fenreves’ (‘Adam le Fenreve,’ A.), like the ‘Moorward’ mentioned above, 234had charge, I doubt not, of the wilder and more sparsely populated tracts of land. Many other compounds of this word we have already recorded; some we shall refer to by-and-by, and with them and these the reeve, after all, is not likely to be soon forgotten.

But the poorer villeins were not without those who should guard their interests also. In a day of fewer landmarks and scantier barriers trespasses would be inevitable. An interesting relic of primitive precaution against the straying of animals is found in the officership of the ‘Hayward’ (or ‘Adam le Heyward,’ as the Hundred Rolls have it), whose duty it was to guard the cattle that grazed on the village common. He was so styled from the Saxon ‘hay’ or ‘hedge,’ already spoken of in our previous chapter. An old poem has it—

In ‘Piers Plowman,’ too, we have the word—

It will be seen from these two references that the officership was of a somewhat general character. The cattle might be his chief care, but the common village interests were also under his supervision. The term has left many surnames to maintain its now decayed and primitive character; ‘Hayward’ and ‘Haward’ are, however, the most familiar. ‘Hayman,’ doubtless, 235is of similar origin. If, in spite of the hayward’s care, it came to pass that any trespass occurred, the village ‘pounder’ was ready at hand to impound the animal till its owner claimed it, and paid the customary fine—

So we are told in ‘Robin Hood.’ I need not add that our many ‘Pounders,’ ‘Pinders,’ and still more classic ‘Pindars,’ are but the descendants of him or one of his confrères. I do not doubt myself, too, that our ‘Penders’ (‘William le Pendere’ in the Parliamentary Writs) will be found to be of a similar origin.

While, however, these especial officers superintended the general interests of lord and tenant, there were those also whose peculiar function it was to guard the particular quarry his master loved to chase; to see them unmolested and undisturbed during such time as the hunt itself was in abeyance, and then, when the chase came on, to overlook and conduct its course. These, too, are not without descendants. Such names as ‘Stagman’ and ‘Buckmaster,’^[229] ‘Hindman’ and ‘Hartman,’ ‘Deerman’ and its more amatory ‘Dearman,’ by their comparative frequency, remind us how important would be their office in the eye of their lord.

Nor are those who assisted in the lordly hunt itself left unrepresented in our nomenclature. The old ‘Elyas le Hunderd,’ or ‘hund-herd,’ has left in our ‘Hunnards’ an abiding memorial of the ‘houndsman.’ 236Similarly the ‘vaultrier’ was he who unleashed them. It has been a matter of doubt whether or no the more modern ‘feuterer’ owes his origin to this term, but the gradations found in such registrations as ‘John le Veutrer,’ ‘Geoffrey le Veuterer,’ and ‘Walter le Feuterer,’ to be met with in the rolls of this period, set all question, I should imagine, at rest. An old poem, describing the various duties of these officers and their charges, says—

‘Fewter’ and ‘Futter,’^[230] however, seem to be the only relics we now possess of this once important care. Such names as ‘John le Berner’ or ‘Thomas le Berner,’ common enough in old rolls, must be distinguished from our more aristocratic ‘Berners.’ The berner was a special houndsman who stood with fresh relays of dogs ready to unleash them if the chase grew heated and long. In the Parliamentary Rolls he is termed a ‘yeoman-berner.’ Our ‘Hornblows,’ curtailed from ‘Hornblower,’ and simpler ‘Blowers,’ would seem to be closely related to the last, for the horn figured as no mean addition by its jubilant sounds to the excitement of the chase. He who used it held an office that required all the attention he could bring to bear upon it. The dogs were not unleashed until he had sounded the blast, and if at any time from his elevated station he caught sight of the quarry, he was by the manner of winding his instrument to certify to the huntsman the peculiar class to which it belonged. In the Hundred Rolls we find 237him inscribed as ‘Blowhorn,’ a mere reversal of syllables. Of a more general and professional character probably would be our ‘Hunters,’ ‘Huntsmans,’ and ‘Hunts,’ not to mention the more Norman ‘John le Venner’ or ‘Richard Fenner.’ It may not be known to all our ‘Hunts’ that theirs, the shorter form, was the most familiar term in use at that time; hence the number that at present exist. We are told in the ‘Knight’s Tale’ of the—

while but a little further on he speaks of—

Forms like ‘Walter le Hunte’ or ‘Nicholas le Hunte’ are very common to the old records. As another proof of the general use of this word we may cite its compounds. ‘Borehunte’ carries us back to the day when the wild boar ranged the forest’s deeper gloom. ‘Wolfhunt,’ represented in the Inquisitiones by such a sobriquet as ‘Walter le Wolfhunte,’ reminds us that Edgar did not utterly exterminate that savage beast of prey, as is oftentimes asserted. A family of this name held lands in the Peak of Derbyshire at this period by the service of keeping the forest clear of wolves. In the forty-third year of Edward III. one Thomas Engeine held lands in Pitchley, in the county of Northampton, by service of finding at his own cost certain dogs for the destruction of wolves, foxes, &c., in the counties of Northampton, Rutland, Oxford, Essex, and Buckingham; nay, as late as the eleventh year of Henry VI. Sir Robert Plumpton held one borate of land in Nottinghamshire, by service of winding a horn, and chasing or frightening 238the wolves in Sherwood Forest.^[231] Doubtless, however, as in these recorded instances, it would be in the more hilly and bleaker districts, or in the deeper forests, he found his safest and last retreat. It seems well-nigh literally to be coming down from a mountain to a mole-hill to speak of our ‘Mole-hunts,’ the other compound of this word. But small as he was in comparison with the other, he was scarcely less obnoxious on account of his burrowing propensities, for which the husbandman gave him the longer name of mouldwarp. His numbers, too, made him formidable, and it is no wonder that people found occupation enough in his destruction, or that the name of ‘Molehunt’ should have found its way into our early rolls. So late, indeed, as 1641, we find in a farming book the statement that 12d. was the usual price paid by the farmer for every dozen old moles secured, and 6d. for the same number of young ones. This speaks at least for their plentifulness. An old provincialism for mole, and one not yet extinct, was ‘wont’ or ‘want.’ This explains the name of ‘Henry le Wantur,’ which may be met with in the Hundred Rolls. In the Sloane MS. is a method given ‘for to take wontes.’ It would be in the deeper underwood our ‘Todmans’ and ‘Todhunters,’ the chasers of the fox, or ‘tod,’ as he was popularly called, found diversion enough. It would be here our ‘Brockmans’ secured the badger. I doubt not these were both 239also of professional character—aids and helps to the farmer. Indeed, he had many upon whose services he could rely for a trifle of reward in the shape of a silver penny, or a warm mess of potage on the kitchen settle. Our ‘Burders’ and ‘Fowlers,’ by their craft, whether of falconry or netting, or in the use of the cross-bow bolt, aided to clear the air of the more savage birds of prey, or of the lesser ones that would molest the bursting seed. I need scarcely remark that the distinction between ‘bird’ and ‘fowl’ is modern. The ‘fowls of the air’ with our Saxon Bible, and up to very recent days, embraced every winged creature, large and small. In our very expression ‘barndoor-fowl’ we are only using a phrase which served to mark the distinction between the wilder and the more domesticated bird. The training and sale of bullfinches seem to have given special employment then, as now, to such as would undertake the care thereof. A ‘Robert le Fincher’ occurs at an early period, and I see his descendants are yet in being. As we shall see in a later chapter, this bird has set his mark deeply upon our sobriquet nomenclature. Our ‘Trappers,’ whether for bird or beast, confined their operations to the soil, capturing their spoil by net or gin.

We owe several names, or rather several forms of the same name, to the once favourite pursuit of falconry. Of all sports in the open air this was the one most entirely aristocratic. In it the lord and his lady alike found pleasure. It had become popular so early as the ninth century, and, as Mr. Lower says, in such estimation was the office of State falconer held in Norman times that Domesday shows us, apart from 240others, four different tenants-in-chief, who are described each as ‘accipitrarius,’ or falconer. Until John’s reign it was not lawful for any but those of the highest rank to keep hawks, but in the ‘Forest Charter’ a special clause was introduced which gave power to every free man to have an aerie. So valuable was a good falcon that it even stood chief among royal gifts, and up to the beginning of the seventeenth century it brought as much as 100 marks in the market.^[232] Royal edicts were even passed for the preservation of their eggs. From all this, and much more that might be adduced, it is easy to understand how important was the office of falconer, nor need we wonder that it is one of the most familiar names to be found in early rolls. Of many forms those of ‘Falconer,’ ‘Falconar,’ ‘Faulkner,’ ‘Falkner,’^[233] ‘Faulconer,’ and ‘Faukener,’ seem to be the commonest. The last form is found in the ‘Boke of Curtasye’—

241In our former ‘Idonea or Walter le Oyseler’ we recognise but another French term for the same. A special keeper of the goshawk, or ‘oster,’ got into mediæval records in the shape of ‘William le Astrier,’ or ‘Robert le Ostricer,’ or ‘Richard le Hostriciere,’ or ‘Godfrey Ostriciarius.’ The Latin ‘accipiter’ is believed to be the root of the term, which with such other perverted forms as ‘Ostregier,’ ‘Ostringer,’ ‘Astringer,’ and ‘Austringer,’ lingered on the common tongue till so late as the seventeenth century.^[234] A curious proof of the prevailing passion is found in the name of ‘Robert le Jessmaker,’ set down in the Hundred Rolls. The ‘jess’ was the leathern or silken strap fastened closely round the foot of the hawk, from which the line depended and was held by the falconer. That the demand for these should be so great as to cause a man to give himself up entirely to their manufacture, will be the best evidence of the ardour with which our forefathers entered into this pastime. The end of falconry was, however, sudden as it was complete. The introduction of the musket at one fell swoop did away with office, pursuit, with, in fact, the whole paraphernalia of the amusement, and now it is without a relic, save in so far as these names abide with us.

In concluding this part of our subject it is pleasant to remind ourselves that, however strong might be the antagonism which this chapter displays between Norman and Saxon, the pride of the one, the oppression of the other, that antagonism is now overpast and gone. We well know that a revolution was at work, 242sometimes showing itself violently, but generally silent in its progress, by which happier circumstances arrived, happier at any rate for the country at large. We well know how this consummation came, how these several races became afterwards one by the suppression of that power the more independent of these barons had wielded, by confusion of blood, by the acquisition of more general liberty, by mutuality of interests, by the contagious influences of commerce, and, above all, by the kindly and prejudice-weakening force of lapsing time. All this we know, and, as it is in a sense foreign to our present purpose, I pass over it now. I trust that I have already shown that there is something, after all, in a name; at any rate in a surname, for that in it is supplied a link between the past and the present, for that in the utterance of one of these may be recalled not merely the lineaments of some face of to-day, but the dimmer outline of an age which is past beyond recall for ever. Viewed in a light so broad as this, the country churchyard, with each mossy stone, is, apart from the diviner lessons it teaches, a living page of history; and even the parish register, instead of being a mere record of dry and uninteresting facts, becomes instinct with the lives and surroundings of our English forefathers.

I now come to the consideration of occupations generally, and to this I think it will be advisable to devote two chapters. One reason for so doing, the main one in fact, is that they seem naturally to divide themselves into two classes—those of a rural character, very numerous at that time on account of agricultural pursuits being so general, and those of a more diverse and I may say civilized kind, bearing upon the community’s life—literature and art, dress, with all its varied paraphernalia, the boudoir and the kitchen. In considering the former, the character of our surnames will give us, I imagine, by no means a bad or ineffective picture of the simplicity of our early rural life, its retirement, and even calm. In shadowing forth the latter, we shall be enabled to see what were the available means of that age, and by the very absence of certain names to realise how numberless have been the resources that discovery has added at a more recent period. It will be well, too, to give two entire chapters to these surnames, as being worthy of somewhat further particularity than the others. They betray much more of our English life that has become obsolete. Local names, as I have said already, while 244they must ever denote much of change, denote the changes more especially of Nature herself, which are slow in general, and require more than the test of four or five centuries to make their transitions apparent. Personal or Christian names vary almost less than these. The Western European system is set upon the same foundation, and whatever has been peculiar to separate countries has long since, by the intermingling of nations, whether peaceful or revolutionary, been added to the one common stock. Some indeed have fallen into disuse through crises of various kinds. A certain number, too, of a fanciful kind, as we have already seen, have been added within the last two centuries, but these latter have not of course affected our surnames. Nicknames, which form so large a proportion of our nomenclature, remain much the same; for a nation’s tongue, while receiving a constant deposit and throwing off ever a redundant phraseology, still, as a rule, does not touch these; they are taken from the deeper channel of a people’s speech. But the fashion and custom of living is ever changing. New wants spring up, and old requirements become unneeded; fresh resources come to hand, and the more antique are at once despised and thrown aside. In a word, invention and discovery cast their shafts at the very heart of usage. Thus it is that we shall have such a large number of obsolete occupations to recount—occupations which but for our rolls even the oldest and most reliable of our less formal writings would have failed to preserve to us.

It is quite possible for the eye to light upon hamlets in the more retired nooks and crannies of England that have undergone but little change during even the 245last six centuries, hamlets of which we could say with Goldsmith:—

I have seen, or I at least imagined I have seen, such a picture as this; but if there be, this of all times is that in which we must be prepared for a revolution. Our railways are every day but connecting us with the more inaccessible districts, following as they do the curves of our valleys, winding alongside our streams, like nature and art in parallel. As they thus increase they bear with them equally increased facilities for carrying the modernized surroundings and accessories of life on this, on that, and on every hand. Thus usage is everywhere fast giving way before utility, and thus in proportion as art and invention get elbow-room, so does the primitive poetry of our existence fade from view. We can remember villages—there are still such—around which time had flung a halo of so simple aspect, villages whose steads were grouped with so exquisite a quaintness, so utterly and beautifully irregular, so full of unexpected joints and curves, and all so thatched, and embrowned, and trellised, that with the loss of them we have lost a pastoral. There may be indeed a certain poetry in model villas of undeviating line and exact altitude; there may be a beauty in an erection which reminds you in perpetuity of the great Euclidian truth that a straight line is that which lies evenly between its extreme 246points, but at times it puts one in sober mood to think all the touches of a past time are to fade away, and these be in their stead. How different the tale nomenclature tells us of former rusticity and simpler tastes.

The early husbandman required but little decorative refinement for his homestead. To keep out the cold blast and the driving rain, to have a niche by the fireside comfortable and warm, this was all he asked or wished for. His roof was all but invariably composed of thack or thatch, and every village had its ‘thatcher.’ Busy indeed would he be as the late autumn drew nigh, and stack and stead must be shielded from the keen and chilling winter. The Hundred Roll forms of the surname are ‘Joan le Thaccher’ and ‘Thomas le Thechare;’ the Parliamentary Writs ‘John le Thacher;’ while the more modern directory furnishes us with such changes rung upon the same as ‘Thatcher,’ ‘Thacker’^[235] (still a common provincialism for the occupation), and ‘Thackery,’ or ‘Thackeray,’ or Thackwray.’^[236] These latter are of course but akin to the old ‘John le Fermery,’ or ‘Richard le Vicary,’ the termination added being the result of popular whim or caprice. 247Our ‘Readers’ had less to do with book lore than we might have supposed, being but descendants of the mediæval ‘William le Redere,’^[237] another term for the same kind of labour. The old ‘Hellier,’ or ‘Helier,’ carries us back to a once well-known root. To ‘hill,’ or ‘hele,’ was to cover, and a ‘hilyer’ was a roofer.^[238] Sir John Maundville says with regard to the Tartars, ‘the helynge of their houses, and ... the dores ben alle of woode;’ and John of Trevisa speaks of the English ‘whyt cley and red’ as useful ‘for to make crokkes and other vessels, and barned tyyl to hele with houses and churches.’ Gower, too, uses the word prettily, but perfectly naturally, when he says—

Amongst other of the many forms that still survive surnominally we have ‘Hillyer,’ ‘Hillier,’ ‘Hellier,’ 248‘Hellyer,’ and the somewhat unpleasant ‘Helman’ and ‘Hellman.’ Earlier instances may be found in the Hundred Rolls in such entries as ‘Robert le Heliere’ or ‘Will. Heleman.’ Our ‘Tylers’ are well and quaintly represented in the early rolls. One mediæval spelling of this good old-fashioned name is ‘Tyghelere’ (Adam le Tyghelere, P.W.), while such forms as ‘le Tuglur,’ ‘le Tuler,’ or ‘le Tewler,’ as representatives of the Norman-French vocabulary, meet us on every hand. Whether any of their descendants have had the courage to reproduce any of these renderings I cannot say. I do not find any in our directories. Our ‘Smiths’ have not been quite so qualmish. With the tylers we may fitly introduce our ‘Shinglers,’ they who used the stout oaken wood in the place of burnt clay. Churches were oftentimes so covered. Mr. Halliwell quotes the following somewhat sarcastic couplet:—

Piers Plowman, too, speaks similarly of Noah’s Ark as the ‘shyngled ship.’^[240] All these names have, occupatively speaking, now become obsolete, or nearly so; our ‘Slaters,’ or ‘Sclaters,’ or ‘Slatters,’ having usurped the entire position they were formerly content to share with their humbler brethren.^[241]

249In the majority of the above names we shall find the Saxon to be in all but whole possession of the field. The fact is, the roof and its appurtenances were little regarded for a long period by our early architects, if we may give such a grand term to those who set up the ordinary homestead of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. There were no chimneys even in the residences of the rich and noble. A hole in the roof, or the window, or the door, one of these, whether in the homes of the peer or the peasant, was the outlet for all obnoxious vapours. With the Normans, however, came a great increase of refinement in the masonry and wooden framework of which our houses are composed. Such names as ‘Adam le Quarreur,’ or ‘Hugh le Quareur,’ ‘Walter le Marbiler,’ or ‘Geoffrey le Merberer,’ ‘Gotte le Mazoun,’ or ‘Walter le Masun,’ or ‘Osbert le Machun’ represent a cultivation of which the earlier settled race, if they knew something, did not avail themselves in their merely domestic architecture. Two of these occupations are referred to by ‘Cocke Lorelle,’ when he speaks of—

‘Henry le Wallere,’ whose sobriquet was ennobled later on by one of our poets, is the only entry I can set by these as belonging to the Saxon tongue.^[243] It is the same with the Norman ‘Amice le Charpenter’ and ‘Alan le Joygnour.’ While the former framed 250the more solid essentials, the very name of the latter infers a careful supervision of minutiæ, of which only a more refined taste would take cognizance. The descendants of such settlers as these still hold the place they then obtained, and are unchanged otherwise than in the fashion of spelling their name.

Of the plaster work we have a goodly array of memorials, the majority of which, of course, are connected with a higher class work than the mere cottager required. The ordinary term in use at present for a maker of lime is ‘limeburner.’ It is quite possible that in our ‘Limebears’ or ‘Limebeers’ we have but a corruption of this. Such sobriquets as ‘Hugh le Limwryte’ and ‘John le Limer’ give us, however, the more general mediæval forms. The latter is still to be met with among our surnames. But these are not all. We have in our ‘Dawbers’ the descendants of the old ‘Thomas le Daubour,’ or ‘Roger le Daubere,’ of the thirteenth century. ‘Cocke Lorelle,’ whom I have but just quoted, mentions among other workmen—

Our ‘Authorised Version’ when it speaks of ‘the wall daubed with untempered mortar,’ still preserves their memorial, and our ‘Plasters’ and ‘Plaisters’ are but sturdy scions of many an early registered ‘Adam le Plastier,’ ‘Joanna le Plaisterer,’ or ‘John le Cementarius.’ The last of this class I would mention is ‘Robert Pargeter’ or ‘William Pergiter,’ a name inherited by our ‘Pargiters’ and ‘Pargeters.’ This was an artisan of a higher order. He laboured, in fact, at the more ornamental plaster work. In the 251accounts of Sir John Howard, A.D. 1467, is the following entry:—‘Item, the vj day of Aprylle my master made a covenaunt with Saunsam the tylere, that he schalle pergete, and whighte and bemefelle all the new byldynge, and he schalle have for his labore xiijs. ivd.’^[244] It is used metaphorically, but I cannot add very happily, in an old translation of Ovid—

‘Roger le Peynture’ or ‘Henry le Peintur,’ ‘Ralph le Gilder’ and ‘Robert le Stainer,’ were engaged, I imagine, in the equally careful work of decorating passage and hall within, and all have left offspring enough to keep up their perpetual memorial. Thus, within and without, the house itself has afforded room for little change in our nomenclature, though the artisans themselves have now a very different work to perform to that of their mediæval prototypes. The increase of wealth and a progressive culture have not merely taught but demanded a more careful and refined workmanship in the details of ordinary housebuilding. We may readily imagine, however, even in this early day, how little the simple bondsman, or freer husbandman, had to do with such artisans as even then existed. I do not find, at least the exceptions are of the rarest, that these workmen dwelt in the more rural districts at all. Their names are to be met with in the towns, where the richer tradespeople and burgesses were already beginning to copy 252the fashions and habits of life of the higher aristocracy.

We have already noticed the ‘town’—how it originally denoted but the simple farmstead with its immediate surroundings, then its gradual enlargement of sense as other steads increased and multiplied around it. We have also seen how the old ‘ham’ or home gathered about it such accessions of human abodes as converted it in time into one of those village communities, so many of which we still find in the outer districts, almost, as I have said, unaltered from their early foundation. It was in these various homesteads dwelt the peasantry. There might be seen our ‘Cotmans’ and ‘Cotters’ (‘Richard Coteman,’ A., ‘Simon le Cotere,’ F.F.), the descendants, doubtless, of the ‘cotmanni’ of Domesday Book. Similar in origin and as humble in degree would be our now numerous ‘Cotterels’ or ‘Cottrels’ (‘William Coterel,’ M., ‘Joice Cotterill,’ Z.), till a comparatively recent period an ordinary sobriquet of that class of our country population. A curious memorial of a past state of life abides with us in our ‘Boardmans,’ ‘Boarders,’ ‘Bordmans,’ and ‘Borders.’ They were the tenants of lands which their lord kept expressly for the maintenance of his table, the rental being paid in kind. Hence our old English law-books speak familiarly of bord-service, or bord-load, or bord-land. The term board in this same sense still lingers on the common tongue, for we are yet wont to use such phrases as bed and board, or a frugal board, or a board plentifully spread. A determinate, as distinct from an unfixed service, has left its mark in our ‘Sockermans,’ ‘Suckermans,’ and ‘Sockmans,’ they 253who held by socage, or socmanry, as the old law-books have it. Under this tenure, as a condition of the meagre rental, the stout-hearted, thick-limbed rustic was to be ready, as his lord’s adherent, to stand by him in every assault, either as archer, or arbalister, or pikeman—that is, fealty was to eke out the remaining sum which would otherwise have been due. But there were of these Saxon husbandmen some under no such thraldom, however honourable, as this, and of these freeholders we must set as the highest our ‘Yomans’ and ‘Yeomans.’ This term, however, became an official one, and it is doubtful to which aspect of the word we are to refer the present owners of the name. It is possible both features may have had something to do with its origination. How anxious they who had been redeemed, or who had been born free, though of humble circumstances, were to preserve themselves from a doubtful or suspected position such names as ‘Walter le Free’ or ‘John le Freman’ will fully show. We find even such appellatives as ‘Matilda Frewoman’ or ‘Agnes Frewyfe,’ in the latter case the husband possibly being yet in bondage. In our ‘Frys,’ a sobriquet that has acquired much honour of late years and represented in mediæval rolls by such entries as ‘Thomas le Frye’ or ‘Walter le Frie,’ we have but an obsolete rendering of ‘free.’^[245] These, as we see, are all Saxon—but Norman equivalents are not wanting. Our ‘Francoms’ or ‘Francombs’ and ‘Frankhams,’ names by no means uncommon in our existing registers, are but 254Anglicised dresses worn by the posterity of such registered folk as ‘Henry le Franchome,’ or ‘Reginald le Fraunchome,’ or ‘Hugh le Fraunch-humme.’ ‘William le Fraunk,’ too, or ‘Fulco le Franc,’ can boast many a hale descendant in our ‘Franks;’ and ‘Roger le Franklyn’ or ‘John le Fraunkelyn’ in our ‘Franklins,’ a name from henceforth endeared to Englishmen as that of our gallant but lost Arctic hero. From Chaucer’s description of one such we should deem the ‘franklin’ to have been of decidedly comfortable position, a well-to-do householder, in fact.

But we are not without vestiges of the baser servitudes of the time, and in this category we must set the great bulk of the agricultural classes of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The descendants of the old ‘Ivo le Bondes’ and ‘Richard le Bondes’ are still in our midst, and to judge merely from their number then and now enrolled, we see what a familiar position must that of personal bondage have been.

says an old rhyme.^[246] Still more general terms for those who lay under this miserable serfdom were those of 255‘Knave’ or ‘Villein.’ ‘Walter le Knave’ or ‘Lambert le Vilein’ or ‘Philip le Vylayn’ are names registered at the time of which we are speaking. The odium, however, that has gradually gathered around these sobriquets has caused them to be thrown off by the posterity of those who first acquired them as simple bondmen. Indeed, there was the time when, as I shall have occasion to show in a succeeding chapter, our forefathers could speak of ‘Goodknaves’ and ‘Goodvilleins.’ Feudal disdain of all that lay beneath chivalric service, however, has done its work, and we all now speak, not merely as if these terms implied that which was mean and despicable in outward condition, but that which also was morally depraved and vile. ‘Geoffrey le Sweyn’ or ‘Hugh le Sweyn,’ however, by becoming the exponent of honest rusticity, has rescued his sobriquet from such an ill-merited destiny, and has left in many of our ‘Swains’ a token of his mediæval gallantry. ‘John le Hyne’ or ‘William le Hyne’ (found also as Hind), as representative of the country labourer, is equally sure of perpetuity, as the most cursory survey of our directories will prove.^[247] Of the ‘Reve’ in the ‘Canterbury Tales,’ we are told:—

In the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ too, the word occurs. In the account of the reconciliation betwixt Jacob and Esau the former is made to say:—

256In the rural habitations we have mentioned, then dwelt these various members of the lower class community.

The sobriquets we have just briefly surveyed, however, are of a more general character. We must now, and as briefly, scan some of those which in themselves imply the particular service which as rustic labourers their first owners performed, and by which the titles were got. This class is well represented by such a name as ‘Plowman.’ Langland, when he would take from a peasant point of view a sarcastic survey of the low morality of his time, as exemplified in the English Church ere yet she was reformed, could fix upon no better sobriquet than that of ‘Piers Plowman,’ and has thus given a prominence to the name it can never lose. What visions of homely and frugal content we discern in the utterance of such a surname as this; what thoughts of healthy life, such as are becoming rarer with each returning year—

It was with him at early dawn would issue forth our ‘Tillyers’ or ‘Tillmans,’ to help him cleave the furrow. A little later on we might have seen our ‘Mowers’ and ‘Croppers’^[248] hanging up their scythes and sickles, as the autumn, in richly clad garb, passed slowly by. Then again in due season busy enough 257would be the ‘Dyker,’ now spelt ‘Dicker,’^[249] and the ‘Dykeman’ or ‘Dickman.’ With what an enviable appetite would these eat up to the last relic their rasher of bacon and black bread, and quaff their home-brewed ale, a princely feast after the hard toil of draining the field. To dike was merely to dig, the root being the same. Of the kindly plowman Chaucer says—

The Malvern dreamer, too, speaks in the same fashion of ‘dikeres and delvers,’ and among other characters introduces to our notice ‘Daw the Dykere,’ ‘Daw’ being, as I have already shown, but the shorter David. Our ‘Drayners,’ I need not add, were but his compeers in the same labour. Perhaps one of the most beautiful features that help to make up a truly English rural landscape is the hedgerows, following the windings of our lanes, and mazy bypaths skirting our meadows. England is eminently a land of enclosures. Still all this has been the result of progressing time. If our pinder be now an obsolete officership it is because the lines of appropriation have become more clearly marked. It is only thus we can understand the importance of his position in every rural community four or five hundred years ago. No wonder, 258then, our ‘Hedgers’ and ‘Hedgmans’ are to be found whose ancestors were once occupied in setting up these pretty barriers. An old song of James I.’s day says:—

If stakes or pales were used, it is to our ‘Pallisers’ and obsolete ‘Herdleres’ our forefathers looked to set them up. The former term I have but come across once as an absolute surname, but such entries as ‘Robert Redman, palayser,’ or ‘James Foster, palycer,’ are to be met with occasionally, and at once testify to the origin of the term as found in our existing registers. ‘Pallister,’ too, is not obsolete; strictly speaking, the feminine form of the above. I find it written ‘Pallyster’ and ‘Palyster’ in an old Yorkshire inventory. But there is one more term belonging to this group which I am afraid has disappeared from our family nomenclature—that of ‘Tiner,’ he who tined or mended hedges. A ‘John le Tynere’ occurs in the Parliamentary Writs. We are reminded by Verstigan’s book on ‘Decayed Intelligence’ that ‘hedging and tining’ was a phrase in vogue not more than 200 years ago. Mr. Taylor, in his ‘Words and Places,’ connects our ‘tine’ in the ‘tines of a stag’s horns’ or ‘the tines of a fork,’ with the same root implying a ‘twig.’ In our old English forest law a ‘tineman’ was an officer very similar to the ‘hayward,’ the only apparent difference being that he served by night. The two terms are exactly similar in sense. 259We are not without relics, too, of our former means and methods of enriching the glebe. Even here several interesting memorials are preserved to us. ‘Marler,’^[251] ‘Clayer,’ and ‘Chalker’ (‘Alice le Marlere,’ A., ‘Thomas le Chalker,’ A., ‘Simon le Clayere,’ A.), still existing, remind us how commonly the land was manured with marl and other substances of a calcareous nature. Trevisa, writing upon this very subject, says—‘Also in this land (England), under the turf of the land, is good marl found. The thrift of the fatness drieth himself (itself) therein, so that even the thicker the field is marled, the better corn will it bear.’^[252] An old rhyme says:—

An interesting surname of this class is that of ‘Acreman,’ or, as it is now generally spelt, ‘Acherman,’ ‘Akerman,’ or ‘Aikman,’ for it is far from being of modern German introduction, as some have supposed. In the Hundred Rolls and elsewhere it appears in such entries as ‘Alexander le Acherman,’ ‘Roger le Acreman,’ ‘Peter le Akerman,’ and ‘John le Akurman.’ His was indeed a common and familiar sobriquet, and we are but once more reminded by it of the day when the acre was what it really denoted—the ager, or land 260open to tillage, without thought of definite or statute measure. Indeed, it is quite possible the term was at first strictly applied thus, for a contemporaneous poem has the following couplet:—

If this be the case the surname is but synonymous with ‘Plowman’ and ‘Tillman,’ already referred to.

A curious name is found in the writs of this period, and one well worthy of mention, that of ‘Adam le Imper.’ An ‘imp,’ I need scarcely remind the reader, was originally a ‘scion’ or ‘offshoot,’ whether of plants or animals, the former seemingly most common, to judge from instances. That nothing more than this was intended by it we may prove by Archbishop Trench’s quotation from Bacon, where he speaks of ‘those most virtuous and goodly young imps, the Duke of Suffolk and his brother.’^[253] Chaucer says that of

and ‘Piers Plowman’ uses the word still more explicitly—

he says. This latter quotation explains the surname. ‘Imper,’ doubtless, simply differed from ‘Gardiner’ or ‘Gardner’ in that he was more particularly engaged in the grafting of young shoots.

261From the consideration of the last we may fitly turn to the subject of fruits. There can be no doubt that in early days, so far at least as the south, and more particularly the south-west of England was concerned, the vine was very generally cultivated by the peasantry, and the wine made therefrom, however poor it might be, used by them. So early as Domesday Survey a ‘Walter Vinitor’ lived in Surrey, and a century or two later such names as ‘Symon le Vynur,’ or ‘William le Viner,’ or ‘Roger le Vynour,’ the ancestry of our ‘Viners,’ show that the vine-dresser’s occupation was not yet extinct. We have long left the production of this beverage, however, to the sunnier champaign lands of the Continent, and are content by paying a higher price to get a richer and fuller juice. Our ‘Dressers’ may either belong to this or the curriers’ fraternity. An old poem, which I have already had occasion to quote, says—

We have here the mention of pears and apples. The cultivation of these by our ‘Orcharders,’ or ‘de la Orchards,’ or ‘de la Apelyards,’ was a familiar occupation, and ‘le Cyderer,’^[254] and ‘le Perriman,’ or ‘Pearman,’ and ‘le Perrer,’ testify readily as to the use to which they were put. The home-made drinks of these early days were almost all sweet. Such decoctions 262as mead, piment, or hippocras, in the absence of sugar, were mingled with honey. We can at once understand, therefore, what an important pursuit would that be of the bee-keeper.^[255] Not merely did the occasional husbandman possess his two or three hives, but there were those who gave themselves up wholly to the tendence of bees, and who made for themselves a comfortable livelihood in the sale of their produce. Many of our surnames still bear testimony to this. ‘Beman,’ or ‘Beeman,’ or ‘Beaman,’ will be familiar to all, and ‘Honeyman’ is scarcely less common. In an old roll of 1183 we have the name Latinised in such an entry as ‘Ralph Custosapium.’ But not merely honey, but spices of all kinds were also infused into these various drinks, whether of wine or ale. We have a well-drawn picture of this in Piers Plowman’s vision where ‘Glutton’ comes across Beton the Brewstere, and the latter bidding him good-morrow, says—

Such an array of hot ingredients as this poor Glutton 263could not resist, and instead of going to Mass he turned into the tavern, and having supped

of course got uproariously drunk. Thus we see how natural it is we should come across such names as ‘Balmer,’ or ‘le Oyncterer,’ or ‘le Hoincter,’ as it is also registered, or ‘le Garlyckmonger,’ in our early records. The first still exists. The second does not, but the cumbersome and ungainly appearance of the last affords sufficient excuse for its absence. It is quite possible, however, that our ‘Garlicks’ are but a curtailment of it, and this is the more likely, as such forms as ‘Henry le Garleckmonger,’ or ‘Thomas le Garlykmonger,’ are commonly found, and evidently represented an important occupation. The Normans, like the Saxons, loved a highly stimulative dish, and garlic sauce went to everything; bird, beast, fish, all alike found their seasoning in a concoction of which this acrid and pungent herb was the chief ingredient. ‘Roger le Gaderer,’ or as we should now say ‘Gatherer,’ has left no descendant, but he may be mentioned as representing a more general term for many of the above.

In the woodlands and its open glades and devious windings, where several of these herbalists I have mentioned would be often found, we shall see, too, other frequenters. It would be here, subject to the condition of agistment and pannage, our ‘Swinnarts,’ or swineherds, tended their hogs. It would be here by the hazel bank and deeper forest pathways our ‘Nutters’ and ‘Nutmans’ would be found, as the autumn began to set in, and browner and more golden tints 264to fleck the trees and hedgerows. It would be here, as the chills of early winter drew on, and the fallen leaves lay strewn around, our ‘Bushers’ or ‘Boshers’ (relics of the old ‘John le Busscher’ or ‘Reginald le Buscher’), and our more Saxon ‘Thomas le Woderes,’ ‘Robert Wudemongers,’ and ‘Alan le Wodemans’ (now ‘Woodyers’ and ‘Woodmans’), would be occupied in gathering the refuse branches for firing purposes—here our ‘Hewers’ (once found as ‘Ralph le Heuer’) and more specific ‘Robert le Wodehewers,’^[256] our ‘Hackers’ and ‘Hackmans,’ would be engaged in chopping timber, perchance for building purposes, perchance for our ‘Ashburners,’^[257] to procure their potash from. Oftentimes, no doubt, would these various frequenters of the woodland boscage be roused from their rude labours to watch as the hornblower (now ‘Hornblow’) awoke the shrill echoes, the lordly chase sweep through the glade till it was hidden by the embrasures of the forest, or the darkening twilight, or the bending hill.

One single glance backward over the names we have so far recorded in this chapter, and one thing will be obvious—their all but entirely Saxon character. Our agriculture terms, whether with regard 265to the work itself or the labourer, belong to the earlier tongue. There is nothing surprising in this. While in the nomenclature of trade we find the superior force and energy of the Norman temperament struggling with and oftentimes overcoming the more sober humour of the conquered race, in the country and all the pursuits of the country the latter was far ahead of its rival. It was better versed in agricultural pursuits, and ever retained them in its own hands. At the same time, as we well know, this very detention was but the mark of its defeat and the badge of its slavery. It was a victory where, nevertheless, all is lost. Wamba the jester, in ‘Ivanhoe,’ if I may be excused such a trite illustration, reminds us that our cattle, while in the field, and under the guardianship of the enslaved Saxon, were called by the Saxon terms of ‘ox,’ ‘sheep,’ and ‘calf,’ but served upon the tables of their lords became Norman ‘beef,’ ‘mutton,’ and ‘veal’—that is, while the former fed them, the latter it was that fed on them. Thus in the same way, if those homely pursuits which attached to the tilling of the soil, the breeding of cattle, the gathering in and the storing of the harvest—if these maintained the terms which belonged to them ere the Conquest, they are so many marks of serfdom. Provided the supply on his board was only profuse enough, the proud baron troubled himself little as to the supplier, or how or under what names it was procured. See how true this is from our nomenclature. There is a little word which has dropped from our lips which once played an important part in our vocabulary—I mean that of ‘herd’—not as applied to the flock, but the keeper. 266We still use it familiarly in compounds, such as swineherd or shepherd, but that it once had a separate existence of its own is proved by the many ‘Heards,’ or ‘Herds,’ or ‘Hurds,’ that still abound surnominally in our midst; relics as they are of the ‘John le Hirdes,’ or ‘Alice la Herdes,’ or ‘Robert le Hyrdes,’ of our olden records. Chaucer so uses it. We now speak of our Lord as the ‘Good Shepherd.’ He, however, gives us the simpler form where St. Urban is made to say—

Thus again, in the ‘Townley Mysteries’ the angel who visited the shepherds as they kept their flocks by night is represented as arousing them by saying—

See now the many compounds of which this purely Saxon word is the root. Are we in the low-lying pastures. In our ‘Stotherds’ and ‘Stothards,’ our ‘Stoddarts’ and ‘Stoddards,’ still clings the remembrance of the old stot or bullock-herd; in our ‘Yeatherds’ (as in our ‘Yeatmans’), the heifer herd; and in our ‘Cowards,’ far from being so pusillanimous as they look, the homely ‘cowherd.’ In ‘William and the Werfolf’ we are told—

Nor are these all. In our ‘Calverts’ and ‘Calverds’ we are reminded of the once well-known ‘Warin le 267Calveherd,’ or ‘William le Calverd,’ as I find him recorded; in our ‘Nuttards’ the more general but now faded ‘neteherd’ or ‘noutherd,’^[258] and in our obsolete ‘John Oxenhyrds’ and ‘Peter Oxherds,’ the familiar ox. Are we in the grazing paddock. In our ‘Coultherds,’ ‘Coulthards,’ and ‘Coultards’ (‘John Colthird,’ W. 9), not to mention our ‘Coultmans’ and ‘Coltmans,’ we have ample trace of their presence. Are we again on the bleak hill-side. The sheep have given us our ‘Shepherds,’ the rams our ‘Wetherherds’ (now generally written ‘Weatherheads’), the kids our ‘Gottards,’ not to say some of our ‘Goddards,’ memorials of the once common goatherd. Are we under the woodland pathways where the beech-nuts abound. There, too, the herd was to be found, for in our ‘Swinnarts,’ ‘Hoggarts,’ and ‘Sowards’ we are not without a further token of his usefulness. In three instances I have found ‘herd’ connected with the winged creation. In the Parliamentary Writs occurs ‘William le Swonherde,’ in the Corpus Christi Guild (Surt. Soc.), ‘Agnes Gusehyrd’ and ‘Joan Gusehyrd,’ and in the Hundred Rolls ‘Henry le Rocherde,’ i.e., rook-herd.^[259] ‘Swanherd’ reminds us that swans were an important article of diet in early times. In 1482 an Act was passed forbidding any but freeholders (and they only if they had lands of the annual value of five marks) to have marks or games of swans. (‘Stat. Realm,’ vol. ii. p. 447.)

268It will have already become clear to the reader that this term ‘herd’ played no unimportant part in the vocabulary of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. But even now we have not done. For instance, our ‘Stobbarts’ and ‘Stubbards’ are manifestly descendants of such a name as ‘Alice Stobhyrd’ or ‘Thomas Stobart,’ the owners of both of which are set down in the Black Book of Hexham Priory in company with ‘John Stodard,’ ‘William Oxhyrd,’ and ‘Thomas Schipherde.’^[260] I should have been in some difficulty in regard to the meaning of this ‘stob’ or ‘stub’ had not Mr. Halliwell in his dictionary of archaic words given it as an old rural term for a bull. This surname, therefore, is satisfactorily accounted for. I cannot be quite so positive with regard to our ‘Geldards’ and ‘Geldarts,’ but I strongly suspect their early ancestor was but a confrère of the swineherd or hogherd, ‘gelt,’ or ‘geld,’ as a porcine title, being a familiar word to our forefathers of that date. Our ‘Gattards’ and ‘Gathards,’ too, may be mentioned as but mediævalisms for the goatherd, ‘Gateard’ and ‘Gatherd’ being met with in North English records contemporaneously with the above. Such a sobriquet as ‘Adam le Gayt,’ while it may be but a form of the old ‘wayt’ or watchman, is, I imagine, but representative of this northern provincialism. It occurs locally in ‘William de Gatesden’ or ‘John de Gatesden,’ both found in the Parliamentary Writs. With 269two more instances I will conclude. In our ‘Hunnards’ still lives the memory of ‘Helyas le Hunderd,’ the old houndsman, while in ‘Richard le Wodehirde’ or ‘William le Wodehirde’ we have but another, though more general, sobriquet of one of those many denizens of the forest I have already hinted at. How purely Saxon are all these names! What a freshness seems to breathe about them! What a fragrance as of the wild heather and thyme, and all that is sweet and fresh and free! And yet they are but so many marks of serfdom.

I have just incidentally referred to the swineherd. It is difficult for us, in this nineteenth century of ours, to conceive the vast importance of this occupation in the days of which we are writing. Few avocations have so much changed as this. Hog-tending as a distinct livelihood is well-nigh extinct. Time was, however, when the rustic community lived upon bacon, when the surveillance of swine was a lazy, maybe, but nevertheless an all-important care. We still speak of a ‘flitch of bacon,’ a term which, while etymologically the same as ‘flesh,’ shows how to the early popular mind that article represented the sum total of carnal luxuries. Our use of the word ‘brawn’ is of an equally tell-tale character. Every one knows what we mean by brawn. Originally, however, it was the flesh of any animal. Chaucer says—

When, however, the wild boar had been brought down, and salted, and put aside for winter use, how natural that to the housewife it should engross this general sense. It is to the importance this unsavoury-looking 270animal held in the eyes of early rustics we must attribute the fact of so many names coming down to us connected with its keep. As I have just hinted, such sobriquets as ‘John le Swineherd’ or ‘Nicholas le Hogherd’ were common enough in the country parts, our ‘Swinnarts’ and ‘Hoggarts’ being witnesses. The sowherd remains in our ‘Sowards,’ and is as Saxon as the others. The same tongue is strong again in our ‘Pigmans’ ‘Sowmans,’ ‘Hogmans,’ and still more secluded ‘Denyers’ and ‘Denmans.’ The Norman, however, is to be accredited with our many ‘Gilbert le Porchers’ and ‘Thomas le Porkeres,’ by which we may see that when daintily served up under the name of ‘pork’ it was not disdained on the baron’s table. Lastly, we may mention our early ‘Philip le Lardiners’ and ‘Hugh le Lardiners,’ names that in themselves suggest to us the one purpose of the herdsman, the fattening of his charge. They would be found generally, therefore, neath the fastnesses of the forest, where the

and where the mast and beech-nuts abounded, the chief pannage, it would seem, of that day.^[261] Higher up, as far indeed as the bleak and barren wolds, the shepherd cared for and tended his flock. His was a common occupation, too, as our nomenclature shows. Evidently he was as prone in those days to the oaten reed as the poets of all ages have loved to depict him, 271for it is to his Norman-introduced name of ‘Berger’ we owe the ‘bergeret,’ or pastoral ode. The song indeed, so called, has died away from our ears, but ‘Berger,’ or ‘Bercher,’ as it was often written, still lives, and may carry us back for a moment to these wholesomer times.

Nor, if we approach more closely to the farmyard enclosure, are we without memorials. The farm of old, as applied to the soil, was of course that piece of land which was rented for agricultural purposes, and I doubt not the chief of the old ‘Robert le Fermers’ and ‘Matilda le Fermeres’ represent this more confined sense. ‘Farmer,’ whether colloquially or in our registers, is the modern form. Udal, however, maintains the more antique dress, when he says, ‘And that the thyng should so be, Chryst Hymself had signyfied to fore by the parable of the husbandmen or fermers.’

While ‘herd,’ as a root-word, implied the tendance of cattle in the meadows and woods and on the hillsides, ‘man,’ I suspect, was equally significative of their guardianship in the stable and the yard. Thus if the ‘cowherd’ was in the field, the ‘cowman’ would be in the stall. We may here, therefore, set our familiar ‘Cowmans,’ ‘Bullmans,’ ‘Heiffermans,’ and ‘Steermans,’ or ‘Stiermans.’^[262] One or two provincialisms, I imagine, have added also to this stock. Mr. Lower thinks our ‘Twentymans’ to be derived from ‘Vintenarius,’ a captain of twenty. This may be so, but I suspect the more correct origin will be found in ‘twenterman’ or ‘twinterman,’ he who tended the 272‘twenters’ or ‘twinters,’ the old and once familiar ‘two-winter,’ or, as we now generally say, ‘two-year-old.’ If the ‘steer,’ the ‘heifer,’ the ‘cow,’ and the ‘bull’ gave a sobriquet to the farm labourer, why not this? As a farmyard term it occurs in every provincial record of the fifteenth and even sixteenth century. Thus, to quote but one instance, I find in a will dated 1556 mention made of ‘6 oxen, item, 18 sterres (steers), item, 11 heifers, item, 21 twenters, item, 23 stirks.’ (Richmondshire Wills, p. 93.) An inventory of the same date includes ‘3 kye, item, one whye.’ This latter term was equally commonly used at this period for a ‘heifer.’ Our ‘Whymans’ and ‘Wymans’ will, we may fairly surmise, be their present memorial. ‘Cowman,’ mentioned above, was met by the Norman ‘Vacher,’ such entries as ‘John le Vacher’ or ‘Walter le Vacher’ being common, and as ‘Vacher,’ or more corruptly ‘Vatcher,’ it still abides in our midst. ‘Thomas le Stabeler,’ or ‘William le Stabler,’ too, are yet with us; but descendants for ‘Thomas le Milkar’ or ‘William le Melker’ are, I fear, wanting. A Norman representative for these latter is found in the Parliamentary Writs in the case of ‘John le Lacter.’ There is the smack of a kindred labour in the registered ‘Thomas le Charner,’ for I doubt not his must have been but an antique dress of ‘Churner.’ Another form is found in an old Richmondshire will dated 1592, where mention is made of ‘Robert Chirner’ and his sister ‘Jane Chirner.’ As an additional proof that his occupation was such as I have surmised, I may add that in the same record in the valuation of household property the churn is spelt chirne. (Richmondshire Wills, p. 235, note.) The 273most interesting sobriquet of this class, and the one which has left the most memorials, is found in such mediæval names as ‘Cecilia le Day,’ or ‘Christiana la Daye,’ or ‘Stephen le Dagh.’ A ‘day’ was a dairyman, of which word it is but another form. Chaucer, in one of the most charming of his descriptions, tells us of a poor widow, how that she—

The present representatives of this name are met with in the several forms of ‘Deye,’ ‘Daye,’ ‘Day,’ ‘Dayman,’ and the more unpleasantly corrupted ‘Deman.’

It is quite evident, judging from the places of abode in which we find our early ‘Fishers’ and ‘Fishermans,’ that it is to followers, though professional, of the quaint and gentle-minded Izaac Walton we owe our many possessors of these names, rather than to the dwellers upon the coast, although both, doubtless, are represented. Such entries as ‘Margaret le Fischere,’ or ‘Henry le Fissere,’ or ‘Robert le Fiscere’ 274are very common. This latter seems a sort of medium between the others and such a more hard form as ‘Laurence le Fisker.’ The finny species themselves gave us such sobriquets as ‘John le Fysche’ or ‘William Fyske,’ and both ‘Fish’ and ‘Fisk’ still exist amongst us. The Norman angler is seen in ‘Godard le Pescher’ or ‘Walter le Pecheur,’ while ‘Agnes le Pecheresse’ bespeaks the fact that even women did not disdain the gentle art.

But the moment we hint of the village streamlet we are thrown upon a subject vast indeed—the mill and the miller. He was emphatically, you see, the miller. Even now, in these busy grasping days, when we have cotton mills and saw mills, silk mills and powder mills, mills for this and mills for that, still it never occurs to us, when we talk of the miller, that any one could possibly mistake our meaning. And well may it be so, for it is with him we entwine pleasant remembrances of the country, the wheel, the stream, the lusty dimpled trout; with him we associate all of comfortable, peaceful content. A white jacket and a white cap, with a black coat for Sundays—how black it would look to be sure—a bluff, good-humoured face, a friendly nod, and a blithe good-morrow, up early and to bed betimes, and his memoir is written, and a very pleasant memoir, too, with a moral to boot for discontented folk, would they but see it. The old word for mill was ‘milne,’ hence we still have the earlier form, ‘Milnes’ and ‘Milner’ being nearly as familiar to us in that respect as ‘Mills’ and ‘Miller.’ Besides these we have ‘Milman’ and ‘Milward,’ who once, no doubt, acted as 275custodian, the modern ‘man on the premises,’ in fact.^[264] The ancestry of all these is proved by such registered forms as ‘John le Mellere,’ ‘William le Melner,’ ‘Robert le Milleward,’^[265] ‘John del Mill,’ or ‘Thomas atte Milne,’ all of which are found scattered over our earlier rolls.^[266] Our ‘Threshers’ and ‘Taskers’ (Benedict le Tasker,’ H.R.) busied themselves in urging the flail. I have only lit upon the latter term once as in ordinary colloquial use. Burton in the preface to his ‘Anatomy’ says—‘many poor country-vicars, for want of other means, are driven to their shifts,’ and ‘as Paul did, at last turn taskers, maltsters, costermongers, graziers, etc.’^[267] Our ‘Winners,’ shortened from ‘Winnower,’ winnowed the grain with the fan; our ‘Boulters’ or ‘Bulters,’^[268] ‘Siviers’ and ‘Riddlers,’ (‘Geoffrey le Boltere,’ A., ‘William Rydler,’ Z., ‘Ralph le Siviere,’ A.), still more carefully separated the flour from the bran. How beautifully Shakespeare 276presses this into his imagery many will remember, where Florizel speaks of—

Our Bible translators, too, must have yet been familiar with the simpler process of this earlier time when they rendered one of the prophet’s happier foretellings into the beautiful Saxon we still possess:—‘The oxen likewise, and the young asses that ear the ground shall eat clean provender, which hath been winnowed with the shovel and with the fan.’ The manufacture or use of the fan wherewith to purge the flour made our ‘Walter le Vanners,’ ‘Simon le Fanneres,’ ‘Richard atte Vannes,’ or ‘William atte Fannes,’ familiar names at this time. In Cocke Lorelle’s Bote, we find among other craftsmen—

We must not forget, too, our ‘Shovellers’ and more common ‘Showlers,’ ‘showl’ being ever the vulgar form. It was for no purpose of rhyme, only the word is so used where we are asked—

With these many reminders, it is not likely that either the miller or his men are likely to become soon forgotten.

The smithy, of course, was an inseparable adjunct to the small community. The smith, unlike the wright, was engaged upon the harder metals, the 277latter being incidentally described to us by Chaucer when he says of one of his personages in the Reeves Story, that—

Looking at the many compounds formed from these two roots, we find that in the main this distinction is maintained. Let us take the wright first. We have but just mentioned ‘Ralph le Siviere,’ or ‘Peter le Syvyere.’ For him our ‘Sivewrights’ were manifestly occupied, to say nothing of the farmer’s wife. The farmer himself would need the services of our ‘Plowwrights’ (‘William le Plowritte,’ A., ‘William le Ploughwryte,’ M.), and would he carry his produce safely to the distant market or fair he must needs have a good stout wain, for the track athwart the hillside was rough and uneven, and here therefore he must call into requisition the skill of our many ‘Wheelwrights,’ or ‘Wheelers,’ ‘Cartwrights’ and their synonymous ‘Wainwrights.’^[269] Adding to these ‘Boatwright,’ or ‘Botwright,’ ‘Shipwright,’ and the obsolete ‘Slaywright,’ the old loom manufacturer, we see wood to have been the chief object at least of the wright’s attention. But we have other names of a different character. ‘Limewright’ or ‘Limer’ (‘Hugh le Limwryte,’ A., ‘John le Limer,’ A.) ceases to maintain this distinction, so do our ‘Glasswrights,’ equivalent to our ‘Glaziers’ or ‘Glaishers’ (‘Thomas le Glaswryghte,’ X., ‘Walter Glasenwryht,’ W. ii., ‘William Glaseer,’ Z.).^[270] ‘Le Cheesewright,’ or ‘Chesswright,’ 278like ‘Firminger’ and ‘Casier,’ brings us once more into the scullery, and ‘Breadwright’ into the kitchen. ‘Alwright’ is doubtless but the old ‘alewright,’ and ‘Goodwright,’ which Mr. Lower deems to be a maker of goads, I cannot but imagine to be simply complimentary, after the fashion of many others which I shall mention in another chapter. Our ‘Tellwrights’ or ‘Telwrights’ have given me much trouble, and though at first I did not like it, I think Mr. Lower’s suggestion that they have arisen from the Pauline occupation of tent-making is a natural one. ‘Teld’ was the old English word for a tent. In the metrical Anglo-Saxon Psalter the fourteenth psalm thus commences—

We still speak of a ‘tilt’ when referring to the cover of a cart or wagon, or to any small awning of a boat. It is quite possible, therefore, that the name has originated in the manufacture of such canopies as these. Admitting this, I would merely suggest ‘Tilewright’ as requiring but little corruptive influence to bring it into the forms in which we at present find the word.^[271] 279Should this be the case, we must place it with ‘le Tyler,’ of whom we have but recently spoken. ‘Arkwright’ I mention last as being worthy of more extended notice. In this is preserved the memory of a once familiar and all-important piece of cabinet furniture—that of the old-fashioned ark. Much store was set by this long years ago by the north-country folk, as is shown by the position it occupies in antique wills, often being found as the first legacy bequeathed.^[272] Shaped exactly like the child’s Noah’s ark, it seems to have had a twofold character. In one it was simply a meal-bin. Thus in the ‘Tale of a Usurer’ we are told:—

In the other it was more carefully put together. The trick of its secret spring, known only to the housewife and her lord—sometimes I dare say, only to the latter—it contained all the treasure the family could 280boast. Here were kept what parchments they possessed; here lay stored up fold on fold of household linen, venerated by the female inmates nearly as much as the grandmothers themselves, whose thrifty fingers had woven it in days long past and gone. We see thus that upon the whole the wright wrought his manufacture out of his own more specific material, seldom, at any rate, poaching upon the preserves of his friend the smith. The smith worked in iron and the metals. This good old Saxon name, with the many quaint changes that have been rung upon it, deserves a whole chapter to itself. How then can we hope to do justice to it in a few sentences? We do not know where to begin, and having once begun, the difficulty at once arises as to where we can end. How few of us reflect upon the close connexion that exists between the anvil and the smith himself, and yet it is because he smote thereupon that he got his name. As old Verstigan has it:—

Putting in all the needs which in this agricultural age his occupation would be necessary to supply, still we could scarcely account for the enormous preponderance he has attained over other artisans, did we not remember that his services would also be required in the production of warlike implements. Sword and ploughshare alike would be to his hands. Chaucer speaks of:—

281Between and including the years 1838 and 1854 there were registered as born, or married, or dead, no less than 286,307 Smiths. Were we indeed to put into one community the persons who bear this name in our land, we should have a town larger than Leeds, and scarcely inferior in size and importance to that of the capital of the midland counties.

The smith is often spoken of colloquially as the blacksmith, a title which, while it has not itself a place in our nomenclature, reminds us of others that have, and of a peculiar custom of earlier days. The word ‘blacksmith’ dates from the days of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ and it is quite evident that at that time it was customary for the smith to have his name compounded with sobriquets according to the colour of the metal upon which he spent his energies. Thus the former ‘Thomas Brownesmythe’ evidently worked in copper and brass, ‘William le Whytesmyth’ in tinplate, ‘John Redesmith’ in gold, a ‘Goldsmith’ in fact; ‘Richard Grensmythe’ in I am not sure what, unless it be lead; and ‘John Blackesmythe’ in iron. The last is the only one I fail to discover as now existing among our surnames—a circumstance, however, easily accounted for from the settled position the simple ‘Smith’ himself had obtained as an artificer of that metal. But these are not the only compounds. Our ‘Smiths’ are surrounded with connexions of not merely every hue, but every type. Thus ‘Arrowsmith,’ already alluded to with its contracted ‘Arsmith,’ tells its own tale of archery service; ‘Billsmith’ and ‘Spearsmith’ remind us of the lances, or rather lance heads, that did such duty in the golden days of Agincourt and Poictiers. Of a more peaceful nature would be the work of our 282‘Nasmyths,’ like our ‘Naylors,’ mere relics of the old nailsmith. Closely connected with them, therefore, we may set our ‘Shoosmiths,’^[273] but Saxon representatives of the Norman-introduced ‘Farrier.’ The surname still clings chiefly to the north of England, where the Saxon, retaining so much more of its strength and vigour than in the south, preserved it as the occupative term for centuries. Springtide and the approach of sheep-washing would see our ‘Sheersmiths’ busy, while the later autumn would have its due effect upon the trade of our ‘Sixsmiths’ and ‘Sucksmiths,’ pleasant though curiously corrupted memorials of the old sicklesmith, or ‘Sykelsmith,’ as I find the name spelt. The bucklesmith (‘John le Bokelsmythe,’ X.), whose name is referred to in the poem I have but recently quoted, has similarly and as naturally curtailed himself to ‘Bucksmith.’^[274] Our ‘Bladesmiths’ fashioned swords, being found generally in fellowship with our ‘Cutlers’ and obsolete ‘Knyfesmythes.’ Our ‘Locksmiths,’ of course, looked to the security of door, and closet, and cupboard;^[275] while our ‘Minsmiths’ (‘John le Mynsmuth,’ M.), for I believe they are not as yet quite obsolete, hard at 283work in the mint smithy, forged the coin for the early community. As, however, I shall have occasion to refer to him again I shall merely cite him, and pass on.^[276] But we may see from the little I have said that the smith never need fear obsoletism. Apart from his own immediate circle, he is surrounded by many, if not needy, yet closely attached relatives. We must not forget, however, that the Norman had his smith, too, and though the Saxon, as we have thus seen, has ever maintained his dignity and position, still our early rolls are not without a goodly number of ‘Adam le Fevres,’ ‘Richard le Fevers,’ or ‘Reginald le Feures,’ and their cognate ‘Alan le Ferons’ and ‘Roger le Feruns.’ Representatives of all these, minus the article, may be readily met with to-day in any of the large towns of our country.

We may take this opportunity of saying a word about lead, inasmuch as the uses to which it was put made the manufacturer therein familiar to rural society. The leadbeater, in fact, was all-important to 284the farmer’s wife and the dairy, for the vessels which held the milk, as it underwent its various processes until it was turned out into butter, were commonly his handiwork. Such names as ‘Gonnilda le Leadbetre,’ or ‘Reginald le Ledbeter,’ we find in every considerable roll, and our modern ‘Leadbeaters,’ ‘Ledbetters,’ ‘Leadbitters,’ ‘Lidbetters,’ and probably ‘Libertys,’ are but their descendants. That mixture of lead with brass or copper which went by the term of ‘latten’ or ‘laton’ has left in our ‘Latoners’ and ‘Latners’ a memorial of the metal of which our old country churchyard tablets were made, not to say some of the household utensils just referred to. We find even more costly and ornamental ware manufactured of this, for among other relics preserved by the pardoner, Chaucer tells us:—

Such a name then as ‘Thomas le Latoner’ or ‘Richard le Latoner’ would be well understood by our forefathers.

But we must not wander. In nothing does our nomenclature bequeath us a more significant record than in that which relates to the isolation of primitive life. We who live in such remarkable days of locomotive appliance cannot possibly enter into the difficulties our forefathers had to encounter in regard to intercommunication. An all but impassable barrier separated our villages from the larger and distant towns. The roads, or rather, not to dignify them by 285such a term, the tracks,^[277] were sometimes scarce to be recognised, everywhere rough and dangerous. Streams, oftentimes much swollen, must be forded. Where bridges existed our ‘Bridgers’ and ‘Bridgemans’ took the king’s levy; where none were to be found our ‘Ferrimans’ rendered their necessary aid. The consequent difficulties with regard to conveyance were great. The larger of the county towns carried on but an uncertain and irregular communication, while the remoter villages were wholly dependent either on the travelling trader or peddler, or on the great fair, as it came round in its annual course. What a stock of goods would be laid in by the bustling wife, and the farmer himself on this latter occasion! Imagine them starting forth to lay in a supply for a whole year’s wants. No wonder the good, sound cob and the stout wagon it drew are remembered in our surnames. Of the importance of the former such names as ‘Horsman,’ if it be not official, and ‘Palfreyman,’ or ‘Palfriman,’ not to mention ‘Asseman,’ are good witnesses. Such entries as ‘Agnes le Horsman,’ or ‘Roger le Palefreyour,’ or ‘John le Palfreyman’ are familiar to every early register. Our ‘Tranters’ and ‘Traunters’ are but relics of the old ‘Traventer,’ he who let out 286posthorses. In process of time, however, he got numbered among the many itinerant peddlers or carriers, of whom I shall speak shortly. Bishop Hall, in one of his Satires, says—

Our ‘Corsers’^[278] or ‘Cossers,’ too, little altered from the former ‘le Corsour,’ represent, as did the obsolete ‘Horsmonger,’ the dealer in horseflesh. Another branch of this occupation is represented by our ‘Runchemans,’ ‘Runcimans,’ or ‘Runchmans.’ They dealt in hackney-horses, ‘rounce’ or ‘rouncie’ being the then general term for such. Chaucer’s ‘Shipman’ was mounted upon one—

It was, however, a term applied in common to all manner of horses, and it is quite possible the names given above must be classed simply with ‘Horseman’ and such like. Brunne, in describing Arthur’s Coronation, mentions among other his gifts—

287In such grand-looking entries as ‘William le Charreter,’ or ‘John le Caretter,’ or ‘Andrew le Chareter,’^[280] we should now scarce recognise the humble ‘Carter,’ but so is he commonly set down in the thirteenth century, our ‘cart’ itself being nothing more than the old Norman-French ‘charette,’ so familiarized to us by our present Bible version as ‘chariot.’ This in the edition of 1611 even was spelt after the old fashion as ‘charet.’ Our ‘Charters’ are evidently but relics of the fuller form, a ‘John le Charter’ appearing in the Parliamentary Writs.^[281] ‘Char,’ the root of ‘charet,’ still remains with us as ‘car.’ In ‘Cursor Mundi’ it is said—

Gower, too, has the word—

This was used by people of rank as a fashionable vehicle for purposes of pleasure; oftentimes, too, by ladies.^[282] Corresponding with the other, the driver of 288such was ‘John le Charer’ or ‘Richard le Charrer,’ the present existing forms in our directories being ‘Charman’ and ‘Carman.’^[283] ‘Cartman,’ I need not add, is also found as well as ‘Carter.’ All these terms, however, are from the Norman vocabulary. The Saxon word in general use was ‘wagon’ or ‘wain,’ the conductor of which now dwells in our midst as ‘Wagoner’ or ‘Wagner,’ and ‘Wainman’ or ‘Wenman.’ ‘Charles Wain’ or the ‘Churls Wain’ is the name that constellation still bears, and which has clung to it, in spite of the Norman, since the day, a thousand years and more, that the Saxon so likened it. As in the case of so many other double words representative of our twofold language, these two separate terms have come now to denote their own specialty of vehicle, and it is even possible that so early as the day in which ‘le Wainwright’ and ‘le Cartwright’ took their rise this distinction had 289already begun to exist. It is thus our English language has become so rich, this sheep-and-mutton redundancy of which Walter Scott in his ‘Ivanhoe’ has so well reminded us. ‘Richard le Drivere’ or ‘John le Drivere’ of course must be placed here, not to mention an ‘Alice le Driveress,’ who figures in the Hundred Rolls.

Of such consequence was it that the horse-gear should be carefully put together that it occupied the full attention of several different artisans. Such names as ‘Benedict le Sporier,’ or ‘Alan le Lorymer,’ or ‘Nicholas le Lorimer,’ are found in every considerable roll of the period, and they still exist. The one of course looked to the rowel, the other to the bit. ‘John le Sadeler’ needs little explanation, his posterity being still alive to speak in his behalf. The old Norman-introduced word for a saddle was ‘sell,’ and that it lingered on for a considerable period is shown by Spenser’s use of it, where he says—

Every mediæval roll has its ‘Warin le Seler’ or ‘Thomas le Seller.’^[284] The pack-saddle was of such importance that it required a special manufacturer, and this it had in our now somewhat rare ‘Fusters’ or 290‘Fewsters.’^[285] In his ‘Memorials of London,’ Mr. Riley mentions a ‘Walter Polyt, fuyster’ (p. xxii.). A fuster was, strictly speaking, a joiner employed in the manufacture of the saddle-bow, that is, the wooden framework of the old saddle. It is derived from the French ‘fust,’ wood, and that from the late Latin ‘fustis.’ Our ‘Shoosmiths,’ as I have before hinted, made the horseshoe, while ‘John le Mareshall,’ or ‘Ranulph le Marescal,’ or ‘Osbert le Ferrur,’ or ‘Peter le Ferrour,’ fitted it to the foot. The modern forms are simple ‘Marshall,’ and ‘Ferrier,’ or ‘Ferrer.’ In the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ it is said—

Nothing could be more natural than that the shoeing-forge should become associated with the doctoring of horseflesh, but it is somewhat strange that when we now speak of a farrier we recognise in this old term^[286] simply and only the horse-leech. So full of changes are the lives of words, as well as places and people.

A curious insight into mediæval travel is presented to our notice in our ‘Ostlers’ and ‘Oastlers’ and ‘Oslers,’ relics of such old registries as ‘Ralph le Hostiler’ or ‘William le Ostiller.’ This term, once applied, as it rightly should, to the ‘host’ or ‘hosteller’ himself, has now become confined to the stableman, thus incidentally reminding us how important this part of the hostel duties would be at such a time as I am endeavouring to describe. The idea of the 291hosteller being one whose especial office it was to tend that which was their sole means of locomotion, thus in time resolved itself into a distinct name for that branch of his occupation.^[287] The old ‘Herberjour’ gave lodging, whence it is we get our ‘arbour.’ Our kings and barons in their journeys always kept an officer so termed, whose duty it was to go before and prepare and make ready for their coming. Owing to the large number of household attendants for whom lodging was required, this was an important and responsible duty. Thus has arisen our ‘harbinger,’ so often poetically applied to the sun as heralding the approach of day. The older spelling is preserved in the ‘Canterbury Tales,’ where it is said—

It is, however, as applied to lodging-house keepers our many enrolled ‘Herbert le Herberjurs,’ ‘Roger le Herberers,’ ‘William le Herbers,’ or ‘Richard le Harebers,’ are met with, and I doubt not our ‘Harbers’ and ‘Harbours’ are their offspring. In this sense the word is used by our mediæval writers in all its forms, whether verb, or adjective, or substantive. Tyndale’s version of Romans xii. 13 is, ‘Be ready to harbour,’ where we now have it ‘given to hospitality.’ Bishop Coverdale, speaking of the grave, says—‘There is the harborough of all flesh; there lie the rich and the poor in one bed’ (Fruitful Lessons). He adds also, in another place, that Abraham was ‘liberal, 292merciful, and harborous’—i.e., ready to entertain strangers (The Old Faith). Bradford, too, to give but one more quotation, prays God may ‘sweep the houses of our hearts, and make them clean, that they may be a worthy harborough and lodging for the Lord’ (Bradford’s Works). Market Harborough still preserves this old word and its true sense from being forgotten. With the bearers, therefore, of the above names we may ally our ‘Inmans’ and ‘Taverners.’ The latter term is frequently found in early writings, and was evidently in ordinary use for the occupation—

While, however, the tavern has undergone but little change, the inn has. With our present Bible an inn is ever a lodging, and this was once the sole idea the term conveyed. It was not for casual callers by day, but for lodgers by night. Thus Chaucer in his ‘Knight’s Tale’ uses the verb—

Until the fair or wake came on, as I have said, the community in the more retired nooks and corners of the country depended entirely on the mounted merchant. He it was who conveyed to them the gossip of the time. He it was, or one of his confrères, that 293brought them everything which in those days went under the category of small luxuries. The more lonely parts of the highway were infested by robbers. Hence the pack-horsemen and other mounted traders generally travelled in company, with jingling bell and belted sword—a warning to evil-minded roadsters. This was all the more necessary as they but seldom kept to the main thoroughfare. A straight line between the adjacent hamlets best describes their course. Such local terms as ‘Pedlar’s Way,’ or ‘Pedder’s Way,’ or ‘Copmansford,’ still found in various parts of the country, are but interesting memorials of the direct and then lonely route these itinerant traders took in passing from one village to another. The number of these roadsters we cannot otherwise speak of than as that of a small army. Many of them, so far as our nomenclature is concerned, are now obsolete, but not a few still survive. Amongst those of a more general character we find ‘Sellman’ or ‘Selman.’^[288] From the old verb ‘to pad,’ which is still used colloquially in many districts, for the sober and staid pace the pack-horsemen preserved, we get our ‘Padmans’ and ‘Pedlers,’ or ‘Pedlars,’ once inscribed as ‘William le Pedeleure’ or ‘Thomas le Pedeler.’ It is of kin to ‘path.’ We still talk of a ‘footpad,’ who not more than two centuries ago would also have been spoken of as a ‘padder.’ So late as 1726 Gay, in one of his ballads, says—

294Perchance of similar origin, but more probably from the old ‘ped,’ the basket they carried, are our ‘Pedders,’ ‘Peddars,’ and ‘Pedmans.’ ‘Martin le Peddere’ or ‘Hugh le Pedder’ or ‘William Pedman’ was a common entry at this time. On many parts of the English coast a fish-basket is still familiarly known as a ‘ped,’ and Mr. Halliwell, I see, quotes from another writer a statement to the effect that in Norwich, up to a recent day, or even now, an assemblage whither women bring their small wares of eggs, chickens, and other farm produce for sale, is called a ‘ped-market.’ It is likely, therefore, that with these we must ally ‘Godewyn le Hodere’ or ‘John le Hottere,’ who derived their sobriquets, I doubt not, from the fact of their carrying their hods or panyers on their backs, just as masons do now those wooden trays for mortar which bear the same name.^[289] Their very titles remind us that our ‘Huckers,’ ‘Hawkers,’ and ‘Hucksters,’ relics of the old ‘William le Huckere,’ ‘Simon le Hauckere,’ or ‘Peter le Huckster,’ were from the first good at haggling and chaffering wherever a bargain was concerned. Our ‘Kidders,’ the ‘William le Kyderes’ of the fourteenth century, were of a similar type, whatever their origin, which is doubtful. Probably, however, we must refer them to the ‘kid’ or ‘kit,’ the rush-plaited basket they carried their goods in. We still speak of ‘the whole kit of them,’ meaning thereby the collective mass of any set of articles.^[290] This view is strengthened—we 295might almost say proved—by the fact of a ‘Robert Butrekyde’ being found in the Hundred Rolls of this period. This would be a sobriquet given to some one from the basket he was wont to bear to and from the country market where he carried on his calling. Later on we find it used for a large mug or bowl. In the ‘Farming Book of Henry Best,’ written in 1641, we find it said—‘Some will cutte their cake and putte (it) into the creame, and this feast is called the creame-potte or creame-kitte’ (p. 93). The kidder’s usual confrère was the ‘Badger’—up to the seventeenth century an ordinary term for one who had a special licence to purchase corn from farmers at the provincial markets and fairs, and then dispose of it again elsewhere without the penalties of engrossing. It is generally said the sobriquet arose from the habits of the four-legged animal of that name in stealing and storing up the grain. The more probable solution, however, is that it is but a corruption of ‘baggager,’ from his method of carriage.

But we must not forget in our list of early English strolling merchants that the wandering friars themselves were oftentimes to be met with bearing treasure wherewith to tempt the housewife, and no bad bargainers, if we may accept the statement made against them by an old political song:—

Our ‘Tinklers’ and ‘Tinkers,’ like our more northern ‘Cairds,’ seem to have been scarcely removed in degree from the strolling gipsies. They acquired their name from the plan they adopted of heralding their coming by striking a kettle, a plan of attracting attention more euphoniously practised by our bellmen, with whom we are still familiar. Such names as ‘Alice Tynkeller’ in the fourteenth century, or ‘Peter le Teneker’ found in the thirteenth century, show how early had this method been adopted and the sobriquet given.^[292] Last, but not least, come our ‘Chapman’ or ‘Copeman’^[293] and ‘Packman.’^[294] The former is sometimes met with as ‘Walter’ or ‘John le Chepman,’ which at once reminds us of his origin, that of the ‘cheap-man,’ or ‘cheap-jack,’ as we should now style him. 297The old ‘cheaping,’ or ‘chipping,’ a market-place, still lingers locally in such place-names as ‘Chipping-Norton,’ or ‘Chipping-Camden,’ or the local surname ‘Chippendale;’ and the verb ‘to chop’—i.e., to purchase, I believe, is not yet extinct amongst us. The once common phrase for selling and exchanging was ‘chopping and changing.’ Coverdale uses it. Speaking of Christ driving out the money-changers from the Temple, he says, ‘The Temple was ordained for general prayer, thanksgiving, and preaching, and not for chopping and changing, or other such like things’ (The Old Faith). Thus the term ‘chapman’ would be no unmeaning one to our forefathers. But we must give him a paragraph to himself.

The chapman, you must know, was a great man. According to more modern usage, he had a fixed residence, but we may still see him at times, after the olden fashion, travelling about in a large booth-like conveyance or rumble. This vehicular mode of transit set him far above the rank of ordinary footpads. He was a sort of pedlar in high life, in fact, and if his position was lofty, his abilities were generally equal to a performance of its duties. O the sensation his arrival caused! The village green was instantly instinct with life. From impossible nooks and crannies surged forth a small army of all ages. Hoarded pennies or twopennies were drawn forth from cherished hiding-places, and flinty maternal pockets were for the nonce assailed with comparative success. To the young folks it was the next best thing to Punchinello, the chapman was so funny. Besides, he had so many things wherewith to tempt their juvenile fancy. What was there he had not? Everything 298that could under any lax code of fancy possibly or impossibly come under the all-expansive term of hardware was crowded within the magic recesses of that chapman’s van. Dolls and dishes, scissors and hats, cornplasters and cosmetics, lollipops in the shape of soldiers, and lollipops in the shape of windmills issued forth in a succession as insinuating to the purse as it was tempting to the imagination. And what a man was Jack himself; he had a joke for everyone, a frown for none. His face was an ever-changing picture, bluffed by the wind and burnt by the sun; still it was ever cheery withal, now demure, half waggish, half impudent, anon all benevolence as he details the merits of his latest painless corn-suppressing plaster, and assures the gaping swains that his sole object in life, since the happy moment when he first became acquainted with its virtues, has been to carry through the world the blissful tidings to suffering man. All this, he adds, with reckless impudence, has been done at a great personal pecuniary sacrifice; but an approving conscience, and the blessings showered upon his head by the recipients of his generosity, have been his ample reward. Of course they sell like wildfire, and the profits are enormous.^[295]

Our ‘Packmans,’ ‘Paxmans,’ and perhaps ‘Packers,’ were, as a rule, the village commissioners.^[296] What a simple and homely state of life do their names suggest. 299No half-hourly omnibus, or still more frequent train, whisked off the bustling housewife to the big town—now some sleepy old place with grass-grown streets, and half a century behind the times, where ‘news much older than the ale goes round’—but then the thrifty emporium of cheese and butter and such like stores, and great in the eyes of country bumpkins. No; if you visited the town in those days you must make a day of it. And the mistress knew better than do this. Leave her dairy, forsooth—what would become of the cream if she left Malkin to forget her work, and talk with Giles the cowboy behind the stable door all morning? She leave, indeed! Of course she could not, so there was the pack-horseman, who for a trifling commission went to and from the market for her and her neighbours. As he returned in the cool of the evening, when the sun was low and work over, you might see him pausing awhile at the door of the farmsteads, long after he has given the mistress her store, and, more slily, Malkin her ribbon. He is in no hurry now, for he is telling the country folk all the news; how the great world is wagging, and how there has been a great battle with the Frenchers some six or eight weeks ago (news, good or bad, did not travel fast in those days). The Frenchmen are looked upon by the simple rustics as the very impersonification of iniquity, they being under a sort of impression that a Frenchman is a being who defies God and man alike, and would think no bones of eating you up. At once the packman is plied for a full, true, and particular account of the battle, and he, there being none to gainsay his description, and with an eye probably to the good wife’s 300best ale, which, as he well knows from experience, will be brought forth with a freedom of hospitality proportionate to the horror of the details, fills up a bloody tale with sundry touches of a most tragic character, while the country folk gape in wide-mouthed terror, and the old grandmother cries ‘Lord, ha’ mercy on us!’ His face is lost to sight once more in the ale jug, and then he passes on to other steads, where a similar scene and a similar reward await his thirsty soul. Another name in evident use for the packman was that of ‘Sumpter,’ ‘Martin le Someter’ or ‘William le Sumeter’ being common entries at this time. We are still familiar with the term as applied to the mule or horse that carried the baggage, but in a personal sense it has long been extinct,^[297] saving in our directories, where as ‘Sumpter’ and ‘Sumter’ it is by no means seldom met with. How large a load these animals were required to bear we may picture to ourselves from a verse found in ‘Percy’s Reliques’—

But useful as were all these various itinerants, it was at the great yearly wakes or fairs, held in commemoration of the church dedication, that the housekeepers round laid in their greatest store. The term ‘wake’ denotes ‘a watching,’ because of the vigil 301observed during the night preceding the festival itself. Indeed ‘wake’ and ‘watch’ were for centuries synonymous words.^[298] Wicklyffe translates Mark xii. 37—‘Forsooth, that that I say to you, I say to all, Wake ye.’^[299] Thus it is that our ‘Wakemans’ are but memorials of the old village guardian or night watchman, while our ‘Wakes’ can boast a title dating so far back as the time when ‘Hereward the Wake,’ or Watchful, was fighting the last battle of the down-trodden and oppressed Saxon.^[300] These fairs were by no means for mere pleasure-seekers, as we might imagine from such a term as ‘church-ale,’ or judging by the aspect of such festivals in the present day. They had an end to answer, and an important end, and in early times they fulfilled it. It was here the farmers round brought their produce, ready to sell their wool for good sound money, or to exchange it for commodities 302of which they stood in need. It was here the foreign trader came to purchase sheep-fells and other skins, soon, by transmission abroad, to be worked up by Flemish hands into good broadcloth, and retransmitted again to London or provincial marts. Edward the Confessor obtained a sum of 70l., an immense amount at such a time as this, from the tollage at a fair held in Bedfordshire. Of many celebrated fairs, those of Smithfield on St. Bartholomew’s Day (which still exists as a kind of perpetual one), York, Winchester, and Ely seem to have been the most frequented. That in the Isle of Ely was kept up on and for some days after the feast of St. Awdrey, or Audrey, the corrupted name of St. Etheldreda, which as a surname our ‘Awdreys’ still preserve. This seems to have become specially noted for its sale of trinkets, toys, and cheap and gay laces—so much so that in course of time ‘tawdry,’ or St.-Awdry, ware became the colloquial and general term for such. Drayton we even find using the word substantively when he says:—

Of the still greater one held at Winchester, we find Piers the Plowman speaking:—

The ‘Wife of Bath,’ too, has a word to say upon this subject. Says she:—

What a picture does all this present to our eye. We can see the circular stand of booths belting the rails of the quaint belfried edifice, sometimes, I am afraid, the sacred precincts within.^[302] Behind these we may note how busy are our ‘le Stallers’ and ‘le Stallmans,’ now found also as ‘Stalman;’ not to say our ‘Stallards,’ that is, stall-wards, and obsolete ‘le Vendours.’ No infliction too severe can be made upon their readiness to please. Elbowing and chaffering and good-humoured haggling are the order of the day. Here the stupid, happy swain, with his be-ribboned sweetheart tucked under his arm, is buying their little stock wherewith to start life; here the child is made blissful with a trumpet, and the hoary-headed rustic gets a warmer cap for his crown. Here, too, it is that the chapman and other of his confrères, as I have already hinted, are buying in their varied commodities. All alike are well catered for. When we talk of ‘packing up our duds,’ few of us, I imagine, are aware that we are using a word of most familiar import in long generations gone by. A ‘dud’ then was a coarse, patched linen gown, gaudy in colour, made 304up in fact of variegated pieces of this material. Hence he who sold such cheap, flashy goods at a fair, any old fripperer in truth, was styled a ‘dudder’ up to comparatively recent times, and the booth itself a ‘duddery.’ ‘Duderman’ and ‘Dudder’ (now obsolete), ‘Dudman’ and ‘Dodman,’ are all, I doubt not, but interesting memorials of this once flourishing lower class trade. Such names as ‘Thomas Dudman’ or ‘Ralph Deuderman’ greet us occasionally in the olden rolls. ‘William Fairman,’^[303] found in the Parliamentary Writs, would be, I suppose, a more general vendor. He has not a few descendants.

But while bartering and the purchase and sale of these varied household commodities occupied no small amount of attention, such a sober mode of passing the fairtide was very far from being the intention of the younger and gayer portion of the assemblage; nor was there, indeed, any lack of that which could feed or give zest to their relish for amusement, though it was not always of the most innocent nature. Our ‘Champions’ and ‘Campions’ are but relics of the old ‘William le Champion,’^[304] or ‘Katerine le Chaumpion,’ a sobriquet which would easily affix itself to some sturdy and swarthy rustic who had thrown his adversary in the wrestling ground. This has ever been a popular sport amid our more rural communities. The Miller, Chaucer says:—

In an old poem I have already quoted, the mother warns her daughter:—

Doubtless such a sobriquet as ‘Richard le Fytur,’ that is ‘Fighter,’ would be but representative of the same. The country folks were not slow, too, to copy their masters, and in the friendly joust the former, ‘Thomas le Justere’ or ‘Robert le Justure,’ would brace himself amid the excited ring to unseat his fellow-swain, affording much sport to the on-looking wags.

By the maypole you may see the conjuror, or ‘Wiseman,’ as he was generally termed, battening himself upon the superstitious minds of the assembled hinds. In the Hundred Rolls he figures as ‘Wysman’ and ‘Wyseman.’ A little further on our ‘Players’ would be enacting their mummery. The great crowd there in the corner are watching the showman with his dancing bear, a yearly treat the younger holiday-seekers always appreciated. What a change has come over our English habits with regard to this animal. Dancing was the least cruel of the sports connected with it. Time was when every noble of position had his bears and his bearward, when even royalty could boast a master of the king’s bears, and 306when as a pastime the bear-baiting took an easy pre-eminence in the eyes of all holiday folk. A skit on the Earl of Warwick, banished to the Isle of Man, written 1399, says:—

In one of our earlier rolls I find several names that bear relation to this familiar sport. Of such are ‘Geoffrey Bearbaste’ and ‘Alexander Bearbait.’ More common to us in the present day, however, are the descendants of the more simple ‘Berward’ (‘Michael le Berward,’ H.R.) and ‘Bearman,’ or ‘Berman’ (‘Ralph Bareman,’ H.R.). In ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ mention is made of—

Whether ‘Jenkyne’ was a mythic personage, or whether any of our present ‘Berwards’ are his lineal issue, I cannot pretend to say.^[307] Any way, however, 307the name would be common enough then. Bull as well as bear baiting, I need not say, was a popular pastime with our forefathers. We still talk of bulldogs. Probably our ‘Bullards’ could formerly have told us something about this. Fit rival to these latter, you may see the ‘Cockman,’ or, as he was more generally termed, the ‘Cocker,’ matching his birds in the adjacent pit. The author of the ‘Townley Mysteries’ does not give the cocker a good character—at least he places him in very bad company—

Among other instances the Hundred Rolls furnish us with ‘Simon le Cockere’ and ‘William le Koker.’

Professional dancers, I need scarcely say, were seldom absent from the mediæval festival. Tripping it lightly to some Moorish round, we may see such folk as ‘Harvey le Danser’ or ‘Geoffrey le Hoppere,’ inciting the younger villagers to follow their example. The latter name, which occurs frequently at this time, reminds us that our modern slang term ‘hop’ has but restored the ancient use of this word. Our Prayer-Book version of the Psalms still employs the verb in the verse, ‘Why hop ye so, ye high hills?’^[308]—and Chaucer, in picturing the merry ’prentice, says—

308The feminine ‘hoppestere,’ which he also uses, does not sound quite so euphonious. In the ‘Pardoner’s Tale,’ among other of the dissolute folk in Flanders, are mentioned ‘tombesteres’—

These, I doubt not, were female dancers, and performers of such bodily gyrations and flexions as mountebanks are still skilled in. The masculine form is found in such an entry as ‘William le Tumbere,’ whom we should now, so far as his professional tricks were concerned, term a tumbler.

All this time the mirth of music is at its loudest, though it is somewhat hard to separate the tones of the various rival minstrels. There is a trio in one corner by the tavern door there, discoursing sounds which are certainly equal, if not superior, to the Teutonic bands of more modern days. Indeed, with regard to the latter, I am beginning to suspect the conjecture of a friend of mine to be perfectly true—that they are German convicts shipped off, with cracked and second-hand trumpets, by the Commissioners of Police to save their keep. It is, however, right perhaps that the country which sends us the best should also have the option of sending us the worst music in the world. The trio we may see here, 309at any rate, have one advantage—that of their poetic mediæval costume. The first we may notice is the ‘Fiddler,’ represented by such men as ‘Robert Fyffudlere,’ or ‘John le Fythelere,’ or the Latinized ‘Rulard Vidulator.’ This last reminds us that it is now also written ‘Vidler.’ He of course played on the violin, for I must not say ‘fiddle,’ it is far too Saxon, for modern cultivated days. The Clerk of Oxenforde seems to have been superior to the generality of later university men, for he had—

Certainly time effects wonderful changes. But I doubt whether even he would have found much profit, not to say pleasure, in the study of Aristotle, or any other philosopher, had he been subjected to the daily practice of a well-scraped viol in an adjacent dormitory,^[309] the author of which could boast but one tune in his repertoire, and was determined that every one should know it. After the Fiddler—Saxon or no Saxon, I’ll stick to it for the nonce—comes the ‘Piper’ with his reedy stop, and next to him the ‘Taborer’ beating his drum with such rare effect as to make him the very idol of the youngsters. Spenser calls him the ‘tabrere,’ which form, as well as ‘Tabrar,’ Tabberer,’ ‘Tabor,’ and ‘Taber,’ still exists in our nomenclature.

Such entries as ‘Arnold le Pyper,’ or ‘Robert le Pipere,’ or ‘William le Tabourer,’ or ‘John le Taburer,’ are of frequent occurrence in mediæval rolls.

is the order of the gentle author of the ‘Faerie Queen;’ so having disposed of the two former, the ‘Crowder’ with his six-stringed viol duly engages our attention next, though he ought more correctly to have been yoked with the ‘Fiddler.’ ‘Crouth’ was but another form of the same word. An old Saxon Psalter thus renders Psalm cl. 4—

Wicklyffe, too, translates Luke xv. 25 as follows:—‘But his eldre sone was in the feeld, and whaune he cam and neighede to the hous he herde a symfonye and a crowde.’^[310] Like our ‘Harpers’ and more northern ‘Bairds,’ the ‘Crowder’ or ‘Crowther’ (for as surnames both forms exist) was oftentimes blind, and thus gained the ear of an audience, if not appreciative, at least sympathetic. Seldom, indeed, did he leave cottage, or hall festival, or fair, without a guerdon, and a kind word to boot; for while customs fade out and die, pity, thank God, knows neither change of season nor chance of time. Mediæval forms 311of the above may be found in ‘Richard le Cruder’ or ‘Thomas le Crowder.’ But we have yet several more surnames to mention which prove the once great popularity of this latter class of instrument. ‘German le Lutrere’ and ‘John le Leuter’ have left no descendants, I think.^[311] The more common term was lutanist, but of this I have found no instance. While the lute had generally ten strings, and was struck by the hand, the viele or viol had six, was of stronger make, and was played with a bow. It seems to have been a favourite instrument in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, for such registrations as ‘Benedict le Viler,’ ‘Nicholas le Vylour,’ ‘Wyot le Vilur,’ or ‘Jacob le Vielur,’ occur with tolerable frequency at that period. Another Norman-introduced word was that of ‘gigue,’ or ‘gig.’ This, however, seems to have differed from the others in being of the very roughest manufacture, and made specially for professional dancers. These ‘giguers’ were extremely popular at rural festivals of any kind. At one and the same instant they would be tripping it round on the ‘light fantastic toe,’ singing some not too select verses, accompanying themselves on their sturdy instrument, and yet would have a hand to spare for a trifle if you should offer it. If you doubted it you had but to try them. It is thus we have got our ‘jig,’ our ‘gigot,’ or leg of mutton, too, being so called from its resemblance thereto. The surnominal form is found in such entries as ‘Walter le Gigur,’ or ‘Alexander le Gygur,’ 312but I doubt whether either is represented now. The last of this class of instrumentalists we may mention is ‘William le Sautreour,’ he who struck the ‘gay sawtrye,’ as Chaucer terms it. The more correct form of the word was ‘psaltery.’ It was specially used as an accompaniment for the voice, hence it is freely used in this sense in the Authorized Version. I do not doubt myself that some of our ‘Salters’ are but a change rung on the mediæval ‘Sawtrer.’ The ‘Fluter,’ I believe, has left no descendants, but in ‘Nicholas le Floutere’ he was to be met with at this date, and, I need not say, would be as familiar as he would be acceptable on such an occasion as this. The lusty young Squire was so musical that—

There is one name I must mention here, that of ‘Peter le Organer,’^[312] perhaps connected with ‘Orger’ of the same date. The owner of this more modern-looking term may either have been organist at some monastery or abbey-church, or he may have played upon the portable regal, in which latter case he too might possibly have been seen here. But ‘organ’ was a very general term. In the old psalters it seems to have been used for nearly every species of instrument. We should scarcely speak now of ‘hanging up our “organs” upon the willows,’ but so an old version of the Psalms has it. Did we not know they were a modern invention we might have been inclined to suspect ‘le Organer’ to have been but a strolling 313performer upon the ‘hurdy-gurdy.’ That, however, was an infliction mercifully spared to our forefathers. In concluding this brief survey of mediæval music, I cannot, I think, do better than quote, as I have done partially once before, Robert de Brunne’s account of the coronation of King Arthur, wherein we shall find many, if not most, of the professional characters I have been mentioning familiarly spoken of. He says—

But we are not without traces of the troubadour. The simple vocalist, a strolling professionalist, too, in many instances, remains hale and hearty in our ‘Glemans,’ ‘Gleemans,’ and ‘Glemmans,’ not to mention our ‘Sangsters.’ Amid such lulls as might intervene, we should hear them at the popular festivals bidding for favour with their old-fashioned stories of ‘hawk and hound,’ and ‘my ladyes bower,’ set, no doubt, to airs equally à la mode. A contemporary poet tells us their song

The recitation of these stories seems to have been a 314peculiarly popular profession. Our ‘Rhymers’ oftentimes showed their skill in the art of rhythmical narration by weaving the exploits they described into extempore verse.^[313] The ‘Juggler’ or ‘Joculator,’ originally a minstrel or ‘jester,’ something akin to the clown of later days, became by-and-by more celebrated for his skill in legerdemain than loquacity, and now little else is understood by the word. Almost every baron, and even the king himself, had his favourite jester; but it was an art put to the most corrupt purposes, and ‘Jagge the Jogelour’ is set in very low company by Piers Plowman. Certainly his jokes were of the lewdest description, even for the rough times in which he lived. His voice, too, was sufficiently elevated, if we may trust the account given in the ‘Romance of Alexander,’ for—

The ‘Dissour,’ the old Norman ‘diseur,’ similar in character to the rhymer and the juggler, seems to have left no memorial, saving it be in our ‘Dissers;’^[314] 315neither can I trace ‘le Tregetour’ later than the fifteenth century. Every footprint of his professional existence, indeed, is now faded from our view. And yet there was the day when none could be more familiar than he. The Hundred Rolls record not merely ‘Symon le Tregetor,’ but ‘William le Tregetur’ also, while ‘Maister John Rykele’ is spoken of by Lydgate as ‘sometime Tregitour of noble Henrie, King of Engleland.’ Chaucer, too, mentions sciences

while in another place he speaks of seeing

with other equally marvellous feats. Thus we see that the art of legerdemain was not neglected at this time.

I doubt whether any relics we possess so completely convey to our minds the radical changes which have swept across the face of our English Commonwealth as do these lingering surnames. They remind us of the invention of printing, of the spread of literature, and of the slow decay thereby of the professions they represented. They tell us of a changed society, they tell us of a day of rougher cast and looser trammels; 316they tell us of a life around which the lapse of intervening years has thrown a halo of so quaint aspect that we all but long, in our more sentimental moods, to be thrown back upon it again. Placing these tell-tale names by the life of the present, we see what a change has passed over all. Let us hope this change denotes progress. In some respects it assuredly does: progress in the settlement of our common rights and duties, progress in civilization and order, progress in mental culture, progress in decorum. Still we may yet ask, with all this has there been any true progress? The juggler, ’tis true, with his licentious story, and the dissolute tragetour, both are gone—they would be handcuffed now, and put in gaol. This speaks something for a higher cultivation. But, after all, may not this be a mere outside refinement—a refinement to meet the requirements of an age in which the head is educated more than the heart—a refinement which may be had in our shops—the refinement, in fact, of the lowest of God’s endowed creatures, that of the exquisite? This is, indeed, an artificial age, and it warns us to see to it whether we are hypocrites or no; whether our life is entirely external or the reverse; whether it is all shell and no kernel, all the outside cup and platter, and within naught save extortion and excess. That mortal shall have attained the highest wisdom who, in the light of the world to come, shall have seen to the cleansing of that which is within, and if that, if the heart be cleansed, then the external life will as naturally, as it will of necessity, be pure.

We have already said enough to show that our early English pursuits were mainly pastoral. Even to this day, as we are whisked across the midland counties or driven across the Yorkshire wolds, we see what advantages we must have enjoyed in this respect. Our one chief staple was wool, and to export this in a raw unmanufactured state was the early practice. So general was this occupation that even subsidies to the crown were given in wool. In 1340, 30,000 sacks of wool were granted to Edward III. while engaged in the French War. This would be a most valuable contribution, for at this time it was held in the highest repute by foreign buyers. ‘The ribs of all nations throughout the world,’ wrote Matthew Paris, ‘are kept warm by the fleeces of English wool’ (Smiles). So early as 1056 we find the Count of Cleves obtaining a certain jurisdiction over the burghers of Nimeguen upon condition of presenting to the Emperor every year ‘three pieces of scarlet cloth of English wool’ (Macullum). With the incoming of the Flemish refugees and other settlers already mentioned this state of things was changed. The Conqueror himself had settled one band near Carlisle, but his son Henry 318soon after coming into possession removed them into Herefordshire, and the Southern Marches of the Principality. Doubtless the object of both was that of setting up a barrier against hostile encroachments on the part of the Scotch and Welsh; but the result was the spread of a peaceful and useful industry in two widely separated districts. Two other settlements, in Norfolk and Suffolk, one by Henry I., the other under the direction of Edward III., made East Anglia for centuries the Yorkshire of England. When we talk so familiarly of ‘worsted,’ or ‘lindsey-wolsey,’ or ‘kerseymere,’ or ‘bocking,’ we are but insensibly upholding a reputation which centuries ago the several villages that went by these names had obtained through Flemish aid. Thus was it then that at length our country was enabled to produce a cloth which could afford a comparison with that of the Flemish cities themselves. Of this incoming many surnames of this date remind us, the most important of which I have already mentioned in my chapter upon local names, ‘Fleming,’ as a general name for all these settlers, being the commonest.

When, however, we turn to the occupations themselves connected with the industry, we cannot but be struck by the wonderful impress it has made upon our nomenclature. The child’s ancient rhyme—

carries us to the first stage, and to the first dealer. In our ‘Woolers’ and ‘Woolmans,’ in our obsolete 319‘Woolmongers’ and ‘Woolbuyers,’^[315] in our ‘Packers’^[316] and once flourishing ‘Woolpackers,’ and in our ‘Lanyers’ and ‘Laners,’ relics of the old and more Norman ‘Bartholomew le Laner’ or ‘John le Lanier,’ we can see once more the train of laden mules bearing their fleecy treasure to the larger towns or distant coast. No wonder that Piers Plowman and others should make familiar mention of the ‘pack-needle,’ when we reflect upon the enormous number of sacks that would be in constant use for this purpose; and no wonder ‘Adam le Sakkere’ (i.e. ‘Sacker’), and ‘Henry le Canevaser’ are to be met with as busied in their provision.^[317] Another proof of the engrossing importance of this one English article of commerce is left us in our ‘Staplers.’ The ‘stapleware’ of a town was, and is still, that which is the chief commodity dealt in by that particular market. A ‘stapler,’ however, has for centuries been a generally accepted title for a woolmerchant, 320and has therefore absorbed the more general meaning the word ought to have conveyed.

The first stage towards manufacture would be the process of carding the raw and tangled material, and numberless are the ‘Carders,’ ‘Combers,’ and ‘Kempsters,’^[318] or ‘Kemsters,’ who remind us of this. In these latter sobriquets we have but varied forms of the same root ‘cemb,’ to comb. We still talk poetically of ‘unkempt locks,’ and we are told of Emelie in the ‘Knight’s Tale’ that—

The Norman corresponding name is found in ‘Robert le Peinnur’ or ‘William le Puigneur,’ but unless in our ‘Pinners’ (a supposition not unnatural) it has left no descendants. But even these are not all. It is with them we must associate our ‘Towzers’ and ‘Tozers,’ from the old ‘touse’ allied to ‘tease’—they who cleared the fibre from all entanglements. Spenser talks of curs ‘tousing’ the poor bear at the baiting, and I need not remind the reader that in our somewhat limited canine nomenclature, ‘Towzer,’ as a name for a dog of more pugnacious propensities, occupies a by no means mean place. As applicable to the trade in question, Gower uses the word when he says, in his ‘Confessio Amantis’:—

321It is here, therefore, we must place our one or two solitary relics of the rough machinery then in use. In ‘Cardmaker’ we have the manufacturer of the ‘comb’ or ‘card’ thus usefully employed; in ‘Spindler’ the maker of the pin round which the thread was wound; while our ‘Slaymakers,’^[320] ‘Slaymans,’ and obsolete ‘Slaywrights’^[321] preserve the once so familiar ‘slay’—that moveable part of the loom which the webbe with his fingers plied nimbly and deftly along the threads. A petition to Parliament in 1467 from the worsted manufacturers complains that in the county of Norfolk there are ‘divers persones that make untrue ware of all manner of worstedes, not being of the assises in length nor brede, nor of good, true stuffe and makyng, and the slayes and yern thereto belonging untruly made and wrought, etc.’ (Rot. Parl. Ed. IV.) I believe the word is not yet obsolete as a term of the craft.

I have mentioned ‘Webbe.’

says Piers in his ‘Vision.’ This appears, judging at least from our directories, to have been the more general term, and after it its longer forms, the masculine ‘Webber’ and the originally feminine ‘Webster.’ A poem written in the beginning of the sixteenth century refers to

Such entries as ‘Elyas le Webbe,’ or ‘Clarice le Webbere,’ or ‘John le Webestre,’ are of common occurrence in our mediæval and still earlier records. But the processes are anything but at an end. The cloth must be dyed and fulled. Of the first our ‘Listers,’ once enrolled as ‘Hugh le Litster’ or ‘Henry le Littester,’^[322] speak, and ‘Dyer’ or ‘Dister,’ still harder of recognition in such a guise as ‘Geoffrey le Deghere’ or ‘Robert le Dighestere,’ forms found at the period we are writing about. It was John Littester, a dyer, who in 1381 headed the rebellion in Norwich. Here the surname was evidently taken from the occupation followed. Halliwell gives the obsolete verb ‘to lit’ or dye, and quotes an old manuscript in which the following sentence occurs: ‘We use na clathis that are littede of dyverse coloures.’ Such names as ‘Gilbert le Teinturer,’ or ‘Richard le Teynterer,’ or ‘Philip le Tentier,’ which I have come across in three separate records, represent the old French title for the same occupation, but I believe they have failed to come down to us—at least I have not met with any after instance. The old English forms of ‘tincture’ and ‘tint’ are generally found to be ‘teinture’ and ‘teint.’ The teinturer is not without relics. We still speak when harassed of ‘being on the stretch,’ or when in a state of suspense of ‘being upon tenter-hooks,’ both of which proverbial expressions 323must have arisen in the common converse of cloth-workers. The tenter itself was the stretcher upon which the cloth was laid while in the dyer’s hands. On account of various deceits that had become notorious in the craft, such, for instance, as the over-stretching of the material, a law was passed in the first year of Richard III. that ‘tentering’ or ‘teyntering’ should only be done in an open place, and for this purpose public tenters were to be set up. (‘Stat. Realm,’ Rich. III.) We find many references to this important instrument in old testaments. Thus an inventory of goods, dated 1562, belonging to a man resident in the parish of Kendall, speaks of ‘Tenture posts and woodde, 6d.—ii tentures 20s.’ (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 156.) The dyes themselves used in the process of colouring are not without existing memorials. In the York Pageant, already referred to, we find, walking in procession with the woolpackers, the ‘Wadmen,’ that is, the sellers of woad, unless indeed, they were the dyers themselves. The more common spelling was ‘wode,’ and when not local, ‘Thomas le Wodere’ or ‘Alan le Wodeman,’ with their modern ‘Wooder’ and ‘Woodman,’ will be found, I doubt not, to be the representative of this calling. ‘John Maderman,’ and ‘Lawrence Maderer’ remind us of the more reddish and popular hues. Great quantities of this were yearly imported from Holland, especially Middleburgh. The old ‘Libel on English Policy’ speaks of—

as being

324The thickening mill, however, has left us several words of much more familiar import than these—viz., ‘Tucker,’ ‘Fuller,’ (or ‘Fulman’^[323]) and ‘Walker.’^[324] Among other older forms we find ‘Roger le Tukere,’ ‘Percival le Toukare,’ ‘Walter le Fullere,’ ‘Ralph le Walkere,’ and ‘Peter le Walkar.’ Of the first Piers in his ‘Vision’ makes mention, where he speaks of

‘Cocke Lorelle’ also refers to—

‘Walker,’ claiming as it does an almost unrivalled position in the rolls of our nomenclature, reminds us of the early fashion of treading out the cloth before the adaptations of machinery were brought to bear on this phase of the craft. In Wicklyffe’s version of the story of Christ’s transfiguration he speaks of his clothes shining so as no ‘fullere or walkere of cloth’ may make white upon earth.^[325] Reference is made to the 325same practice by Langland also when, using this whole process of cloth-making as an illustration, he says:—

We are here not merely furnished with the entire process itself, but the terms themselves employed harmonize well with the names I have mentioned. ‘Walker’ and ‘Tucker’ or ‘Towkare’ or ‘Toker,’ as it was variously spelt, together with ‘Tuckerman,’ have, however, disappeared as terms of this trade; and it is in our directories alone we can find them declaring these forgotten mysteries of a more uncouth manufacture.

The ‘taseles’ mentioned in the poem quoted above were the common ‘teasel’ or ‘tassel,’ a rough prickly plant allied to the thistle, which when dried was used for scratching the cloth, and thus raising a nap thereupon. Thus in Willsford’s ‘Nature’s Secrets’ it is said, ‘Tezils, or Fuller’s Thistle, being gathered or hanged up in the house, where the air may come freely to it, upon the alteration of cold and windy weather will grow smoother, and against rain will close up his prickles.’ (Brand’s ‘Pop. Ant.,’ vol. iii. p. 133.) In an inventory of the property of Edward Kyrkelands, of Kendall, dated 1578, we find the following articles 326mentioned:—iiii syckles, a pair wyes and iii stafs, tazills, 5s. 8d.—more in tazills, 2s.—iiii tentors, 40s. (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 274.) The occupation itself is referred to in an old statute of Edward IV.—‘Item, that every fuller, from the said feast of St. Peter, in his craft and occupation of fuller, rower, or tayseler of cloth, shall exercise and use taysels and no cards, deceitfully impairing the same cloth’—‘en sa arte et occupacion de fuller et scalpier ou tezeiler de drap, exercise et use teizels, &c.’ (4 Ed. IV. c. 1.) It is probable that our ‘Taylors’ have engrossed this name. We find it lingering in Westmoreland, about Kendal, till the middle of the sixteenth century, in a form which required but little further change to make it the same. In the will of Walter Strykland, dated 1568, there is mentioned among other legatees a certain ‘Edward Taylzer,’ a manifest corruption of ‘Teazeler.’ (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 224.) A century earlier than this, however, such names as ‘Gilbert le Tasseler’ or ‘Matilda le Tasselere’ were entered in our more formal registers.

Our ‘Baters’ and ‘Beaters,’ relics of the old ‘Avery le Batour’ or ‘John Betere,’ were all but invariably cloth-beaters, although, like the fuller ‘wollebeter,’^[326] they may have been busied at an earlier stage of the manufacture. Capgrave, in his ‘Chronicles,’ under date 30 A.D., says, ‘Jacobus, the son of Joseph first bishop of Jerusalem, was throwe there fro the pinacle of the temple and after smet with a fuller’s bat.’^[327] With the mention of our ‘Shearers’ (‘Richard 327le Sherere,’ M.) and endless ‘Shearmans,’ ‘Sharmans,’ or ‘Shermans’ (‘Robert le Sherman,’ ‘John le Shereman,’ M.), who represent the shearing of the manufactured fabric, rather than that of the sheep itself, we have the process complete. The cloth is at length ready to be transmitted into the care of our ‘Drapers’ and ‘Clothiers,’ and from them again through the skilled and nimble fingers of our numberless ‘Tailors.’ From all this we may readily see what an important influence has England’s one great staple of earlier days had upon the nomenclature of our countrymen.

Such a name as ‘Ralph le Flexman,’ with its many descendants, reminds us of the manufacture of linen, which, if not so popular as that of wool, was nevertheless anything but unfamiliar to the early craftsman. Our ‘Spinners’ carry us to the primary task of thread-making, an employment, however, all but entirely in the hands of the women. The distaff and the weaker sex have been ever associated, whether in sacred or profane narrative. Thus it is that ‘spinster’ has become stereotyped even as a legal term. Chaucer, four hundred years ago, somewhat uncourteously said:—

Our modern ‘linen’ is formed from ‘lin’ or ‘line’—flax—as ‘woolen’ is from ‘wool.’ Hence we still speak of the seed of that plant as ‘linseed.’ That this was the common form of the word we might prove by many quotations.

328says an old poem. Even Spenser speaks of ‘garment of line,’ and in ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ allusion is made to ‘lyne-webbers’ and ‘lyne-drapers.’^[328] We need not be surprised, therefore, to meet with such names as ‘Elias Lyndraper,’ or ‘Henry le Lindraper,’ or ‘John le Lyner.’ Only this last, however, has survived the changes of intervening centuries, and still holds a precarious existence as ‘Liner.’ ‘Weaver’ was more common. A more Norman equivalent is found in such a sobriquet as ‘John le Teler,’ or ‘Henry le Telere,’ or ‘Ida la Teleress,’ a name which is not necessarily of modern French refugee origin, as Mr. Lower would lead us to suppose. Indeed, a special part of the ladies’ head-dress had early obtained the name of a ‘teler,’ from the fine texture of the linen of which it was composed.^[329] It is but too probable that this name has become lost, like ‘Taylzer,’ in the more common ‘Taylor.’ This process of absorption we shall find to be not unfrequent. Nor are we without a memorial of the bleaching of linen. ‘Whiter,’ if not ‘Whitster,’ still lives in our directories. It seems strange that our ‘Blackers’ should denote but the same occupation; but so it is—they, like our old ‘Walter le Blakesters’ or ‘Richard le Bleckesters,’ being but the harder and more antique form of our present ‘bleacher.’^[330] Our term 329‘bleak,’ preserving as it does the earlier pronunciation, is but the same word, being formerly used to denote pallor, or wanness, or absence of colour. From this, by a natural change, it came to signify anything cheerless or desolate. With perfect honesty in this case, at any rate, we may ‘swear that black is white.’

With regard to silk, we had but little to do. The manufacture of this important cloth was barely carried on in Western Europe during the period of the establishment of surnames. It was nigh the close of the fifteenth century before it appeared in France. All our silks were imported from the East by Venetian and Genoese merchants. Of the latter an old poem says, they come—

Still we find a company of silkwomen settled in London at an early period. In the records of this city occur such names as ‘Johanna Taylour, Silkwyfe,’ in 1348, and ‘Agatha Fowere, Silkewoman,’ in 1417.^[331] In 1455 a complaint was raised by ‘the women of the mystery and trade of silk and threadworkers in 330London, that divers Lombards and other foreigners enriched themselves by ruining the said mystery.’ I think, however, we shall find that all these were engaged less in the manufacture of fabrics than of threads for the embroiderers to use. Thus, as connected with the throwing or winding of these silken tissues, we come across such names as ‘Thrower’ and ‘Throwster,’ the former having been further corrupted into ‘Trower.’^[332]

Next to wool, perhaps leather formed the most important item of early manufacture. We can hardly now conceive the infinite use to which it was put at this period. In military dress it had an especial place, and in the ordinary costume it was far from being confined to the extremities, as we have it now. Jerkins, chausses, girdles, pouches, gipsire—all came under the leather-dresser’s hands. In 1378 we find a jury, called together to decide upon a case of alleged bad tanning, to have been composed of ‘saddlers, pouchmakes, girdlers, botel-makers, tanners, curriers, and cordwainers.’ Of the more general manufacture of hides we have numerous relics; indeed, we are at once introduced into the midst of a throng of tradesmen, the very list of which proves the then important character of the article on which they spent their energies. Such names as ‘Jordan le Tannur,’ or ‘Loretta le Tannur,’ ‘Richard le Skynnere,’ or ‘Hamo le Skynnere,’ are still numerous both in the tanyard and the directory, and need little explanation. Our 331‘Curriers’ are also self-evident; but I have not met with any instance as yet in mediæval times. Our more rare ‘Fellmongers’ were once occupied more directly with the larger hides, or fells, as they were called, of the farmyard stock. Less connected with them, therefore, than with the others, we may mention such men as ‘William le Barcur,’ or ‘Nicholas le Barkere,’ or ‘Robert Barcarius,’ the ancestors of our modern ‘Barkers,’^[333] who, by the very frequency with which they are met, show how important was the preparation of bark in the tanners’ yard. In the conversation between Edward the Fourth and the Tanner of Tamworth, as given by Percy, it is said—

Such names as ‘John le Tawyere’ or ‘Geoffrey le Whitetawier’ (now found as ‘Whittear,’ ‘Whittier,’ and ‘Whityer’), not to mention such an entry as that of ‘Richard le Megucer,’ throw us back upon the time when the terms these men severally bore as surnames would be of the most familiar import. Their owners spent their energies in preparing the lighter goat and kid skins, which they whitened, and made ready for the glovers’ use.^[334] The verb ‘to taw,’ however, was also used of dressing flax, and we may have to place ‘Tawyer’ in some instances in this category.

we are told in ‘Robin Goodfellow.’ Our ‘Towers,’ while apparently local, may be in some instances but a corruption of this same term. So early as the 14th century we find a certain ‘Eustace le Wittowere’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls, and that the simpler form should similarly be corrupted would be natural enough.^[335] Thus we see that leather, too, is not without its memorials. The more furry skins, as used in a somewhat more specific form as articles of dress, or to attach thereto, we will allude to by-and-by. As we traverse in some semblance of order the more definite wants and requirements of early social life, the importance of these several crafts will be more clearly brought out. We must not forget that there were the same needs then as now, though of a different mould. Man in all time has had to be fed, and clothed, and housed; and if in all these respects he has in these modern days become more civilized and polished, it has been the result of a gradual process by which he has slowly, and not without many a struggle, thrown off, one by one, this custom and that, which belonged to a ruder era and a rougher cast of society. Our surnames of occupation are a wonderful guide in this respect. A tolerable picture of early life may be easily set before us by their aid; for in them are preserved its more definite lineaments, and all we need is to fill up the shading for ourselves. 333Forgotten wants, needs now no longer felt, requirements of which a progressive civilization slowly slipped the tether, necessities of dress, of habit, of routine, all, while the reality has long faded from view, have left their abiding memorial in the nomenclature of those who directly supplied them. Let us, however, observe, as in our other chapters, some kind of order—clothing, food, and general needs, this seems the proper course of procedure. And yet one more observation ere we do so. We have already spoken of the early system of signs as advertising the character of the articles to be sold. The early shop was far more prominent as a rule than the modern one. The counter, instead of being within the walls of the house, projected forward upon the pathway, so much so that we can only compare them to those tables we may often see at night, where under the lee of the walls costermongers offer shellfish, or tripe, or coffee to the passers-by. This was objectionable enough; but it was not all. Each dealer loudly proclaimed to the wayfarer the merits of his goods, vying with his neighbour in his endeavours to attract attention to himself or distract it from the other, especially if, as was often the case, a number of traders trafficked in the same class of merchandise. Others, and their name was legion, had no shop at all, not even the street table or counter, but passing up and down with wooden platters or deep baskets, made the very air discordant with their loudly reiterated cries of ‘Hot sheep’s feet,’ or ‘Mackerel,’ or ‘Fresh-herring,’^[336] or ‘Hot peascods,’ or ‘Coloppes.’ It is in reference to this we find Langland saying—

Lydgate has a still fuller and more detailed description of this in his ‘London Lackpenny,’ and as it is tolerably humorous I will quote it somewhat largely, using Mr. Bowen’s modernization of it—

If we pass on from shop to shop in a more quiet and undisturbed fashion than poor ‘London Lackpenny,’ we must not forget that we are, at least so far, enjoying that which our forefathers could not.

With regard to the head-dress, and to begin with this, we have many memorials. ‘Tire,’ once a familiar word enough, is still preserved from decay by our Authorized Version of the Scriptures. Thus, for example, it is said in Ezekiel, ‘make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of thine head upon thee.’^[337] I do not know how comprehensive are the duties belonging to our present ‘tirewoman’ or lady’s-maid, but in the day when the tragic story of Jezebel was first translated, the sense of the word was entirely confined to the arrangement of her mistress’s ‘tiara,’ which is but another form of the same term. In the ‘Paradise Lost’ it is found as ‘tiar’—

When we remember their former size, their horned and peaked character, and the variety of the material used, arguing as they do the then importance of the fact, we need not be surprised at meeting with comparative 336frequency such a surname as ‘Tyrer,’ ‘Tyerman,’ or ‘Tireman.’ It is somewhat hard to say whether our ‘Coffers’ are relics of the old ‘Coffrer’ or ‘Coifer,’ but as the latter business was all but entirely in the hands of females, perhaps it will be safer to refer them to the other. Such names, however, as ‘Emma la Coyfere’ or ‘Dionysia la Coyfere,’ found in the thirteenth century, may serve to remind us of the peculiar style of the head-gear which the ladies affected in these earlier times. The more special occupation of preparing feathers or plumes has left its mark in our ‘Plumer’ and ‘Plummer,’ memorials of the old ‘Mariot le Plumer’ or ‘Peter le Plomer.’ The old ‘caul’ or ‘call’ still lives in our ‘Calmans’ and ‘Callers.’ ‘Elias le Callere’ occurs in the Parliamentary Writs, and ‘Robert le Callerere’ in the ‘Munimenta Gildhallæ.’ Judging from the ‘Wife of Bath’s Tale,’ we should imagine this also to have been a female head-dress. There the old witch appeals to the Queen and her court of lady attendants as to them who wear ‘kercheif or calle’—

Another form of the surname is found in ‘Alicia la Kellere,’ now simple ‘Keller,’ the article itself being also met with in a similar dress. In the ‘Townley Mysteries’ a fallen angel is represented as saying that a girl—

In its several more general uses it has always maintained 337its strict meaning of a covering.^[338] Hoshea, we may recollect, speaks figuratively of God’s ‘rending the caul of Israel’s heart.’ Probably the word is connected with the ‘cowl’ of other monkish days, and thus may be associated with our ‘Coulmans’ and ‘Cowlers.’ ‘Richard le Couhelere,’ an entry of the fifteenth century, may belong to the same group.^[339] A once familiar sobriquet for a hood was that of ‘chapelle,’^[340] whence our edifice of that name and the diminutive ‘chaplet.’ The Parliamentary Writs give us an ‘Edmund le Chapeler;’ the Hundred Rolls furnish us, among other instances, with a ‘Robert le Chapeler.’ ‘Theobald le Hatter,’ ‘Robert le Hattare,’ ‘Thomas le Capiere,’ ‘Symon le Cappere,’ or ‘John Capman’ need no explanation. The articles they sold, whether of beaver, or felt, or mere woollen cloth, were largely imported from Flanders. Thus it is that Lydgate, as I have but recently shown, picturing the 338streets of London, mentions spots in his progress therethrough where—

That many of these wares, however, were of home manufacture is equally undoubted, and of this we are reminded by our ‘Blockers,’ representatives of the old ‘Deodatus le Blokkere.’ The ‘block’ was the wooden mould upon which the hat was shaped and crowned. In ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ Beatrice is made to say: ‘He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.’ The ‘blocker,’ I doubt not, was but a hat-maker; we still call a stupid man a blockhead. Our ‘Hurrers’ (‘Alan le Hurer,’ H.R., ‘Geoffrey le Hurwere,’ H.R.), once so important as to form a special company with articles and overseers, as representative of an old general term, are not so familiar as we might have expected them. Bonnets, caps, hoods, hats, all came under their hands. Strictly speaking, however, a ‘hure’ or ‘howre,’ as Chaucer spells it, was a shaggy cap of fur, or coarse jagged cloth. In an old political song of Edward the First’s time it is said—

That the word itself should have dropped from our vocabulary is to me a mystery.^[341] Even in our nomenclature 339the rarity of our ‘Hurers’ and ‘Hurrers’ is to me inexplicable, bearing as it does no possible proportion to the former importance of the occupation. But this, as I have said before, is one of the peculiarities of personal nomenclature, depending entirely as it does on the uncertainties of descent. The head, we see, was not neglected.

The sale of woollen cloth by our ‘clothiers’ and ‘drapers’ we have already mentioned. The tailor then, as now, made it up into the garments which the age required. Few names went through so many metamorphoses as this. ‘Mainwaring,’ it is said, can be found in over a hundred and thirty different spellings. The exact number with regard to ‘Taylor’ I cannot state, as I have not dared hitherto to encounter the task of collecting them. The forms recorded in one register alone give us such varieties as ‘le Tayllur,’ ‘le Tayllour,’ ‘le Tayller,’ ‘le Taylir,’ ‘le Taylour,’ ‘le Taylur,’ ‘le Taillur,’ and ‘le Talur.’ We have also the feminine ‘la Taylurese’ in the same roll.^[342] A name obsolete now in a colloquial sense, but common enough in our directories, is ‘Parminter,’ ‘Parmenter,’ or ‘Parmitar,’ a relic of the old Norman-French ‘Parmentier,’ a term a few hundred years ago familiarly used also for the snip. Among other mediæval forms are ‘Geoffrey le Parmunter,’ ‘Saher le Parmentier,’ ‘William le Parmeter,’ and ‘Richard le Parmuter.’ The Hundred Rolls give us the same 340sobriquet in a Latin dress as ‘William Parmuntarius.’^[343] As associated with the tailor, we may here set down our ‘Sempsters,’ that is, ‘Seamster,’ the once feminine of ‘Seamer,’ one who seamed or sewed. Mr. Lower hints that our ‘Seymours’ may in some instances be a corruption of this latter form, but I must confess I discover no traces of it.

The sobriquet of ‘William le Burreller’ introduces us to a cloth of a cheap mixture, brown in colour, of well-nigh everlasting wear, and worn by all the poorer classes of society at this period. So universal was it that they came to be known by the general term of ‘borel-folk,’ a phrase familiar enough to deeper students of antiquarian lore. The Franklin premises his story by saying—

Our ‘Burrells’ are still sufficiently common to preserve a remembrance of this now decayed branch of trade. They may derive their name either from the term ‘borel’ or ‘burel’ pure and simple, or from ‘Burreller,’ and thus represent the trade from which the other, as a sobriquet, owed its rise. The manufacturer is referred to by ‘Cocke Lorelle,’ in the line—

Special articles of costume now wholly disused, or confined or altered in sense, crop out abundantly in 341this class of surnames. At this period a common outdoor covering for the neck was the wimple, or folded vail, worn by women. To this day, I need not say, it is part of the conventual dress. The author I have just quoted beautifully describes Shame as—

Of this princess, too, whose careful dress he so particularly describes, he says—

The maker of such was, of course, our ‘Wympler.’^[344] Among other ornaments belonging to the princess, also, is mentioned ‘a pair of beads,’ that is, bracelets of small coral, worn upon the arm, and in this case ‘gauded with green.’ A ‘Simon Wyld, Bedemaker,’ is found in the London records of this time, and no doubt ‘Thomas le Perler’ could have told us something about the same. Beside these, therefore, we may set our still existing ‘Paternosters,’ relics of the old ‘Paternostrer,’ who strung the chaplet of beads for pattering aves. ‘Paternoster Row,’ literally the ‘Paternostrer’s Row’ was some centuries ago the abode of a group of these, doubtless then busy artisans. Mr. Riley, in his interesting ‘Memorials of London,’ records a ‘William le Paternostrer’ as dwelling thereby.^[345] It is among such valuables we 342must undoubtedly set pins at this period. Judging by those which have descended to us, we should best describe them as ‘skewers.’ So anxious was Absolom the clerk to please Alison that, according to Chaucer, he sent her—

Whatever her appetite for the latter, there can be little doubt that the first would be acceptable enough in a day when these were so valued and costly as to be oftentimes made objects of bequeathment. Such entries as ‘Andrew le Pynner’ or ‘Walter le Pinner’ are, of course, common at this time, and their descendants still flourish in our midst. Our more rare ‘Needlers’ are but relics of such folk as ‘Richard le Nedlere’ or ‘John le Nedlemakyere.’^[346] Piers, in his Vision, speaks of—

‘Cocke Lorelle’ also mentions—

The Norman form ‘le Agguiler,’ or ‘Auguiler,’ still lives in our ‘Aguilers’ if not ‘Aguilars.’ A ‘Thomas le Agguiler’ represented York in the Parliament of 1305. Chaucer uses ‘aguiler’ in the sense of a needlecase—

343But if pins and needles were valued more highly then than they are now, none the less did ‘buttons’ fulfil their own peculiar and important use. ‘Henry le Botoners’ or ‘Richard le Botyners’^[347] may be found in most of our records. I do not see, however, that their descendants have preserved the sobriquet, unless, after the fashion of several other words in our vocabulary, they are flourishing secretly among our ‘Butlers,’ and thus helping to swell the already strong phalanx that surname has mustered. While, however, all these representatives of so many though kindred occupations seem to have flourished in their separate capacities, I do not doubt but that ‘Richard le Haberdasher’ would have been able to supply most of the wares they dealt in. His was a common and lucrative employment in a day when, to judge by the contents of a shop of this kind as set down in the London Rolls, he could offer for purchase such a wide assortment as spurs and shirts, chains and nightcaps, spectacles and woollen threads, beads and pen-cases, combs and ink-horns, parchments and whipcords, gaming-tables and coffins (Riley’s ‘London Memorials,’ p. 422). There seems to be little doubt, however, that in the first place he dealt simply in the ‘hapertas,’ a kind of coarse, thick cloth much in vogue at this time, and that it was from this he acquired the name he bore.^[348]

344The now, I fear, obsolete ‘Camiser’ made the ‘camis’ or chemise, or linen underdress—he was the shirtmaker, in fact. The former spelling lingered on to Spenser’s time, who writes of a

It is with him we must properly associate our ‘Smockers,’ ‘Smookers,’ and anachronistic ‘Smokers,’ who, though their chief memorial remains in the rustic smockfrock still familiar in our country districts, were nevertheless chiefly busied with the ‘smok,’ such as the patient Griselda wore. Of one of his characters Chaucer says—

Such phrases as ‘smock-treason,’ ‘smock-loyalty,’ and ‘smock-race,’ and the flower ‘Lady-smock,’^[349] still remind us that the word was once generally understood of female attire. Of the flower Shakespeare makes beautiful mention when he says—

345The word slop is now well-nigh confined to the nether garments of our youngsters, but though, in this pluralized sense, it can date back to the time when the bard of Avon said of one of his personages that he was—

still, singularly used, it was in vogue far earlier. A ‘slop’ in Chaucer’s day, and even up to the fifteenth century, was a kind of frock or overmantle.^[350] In the ‘Chanon Yemannes’s Tale,’ the host expresses his surprise that the Chanon, a ‘lord of so high degree,’ should make so light of his worship and dignity as to wear garments well-nigh worn out. He says—

Our ‘Slopers’ still remind us of this. Our ‘Pilchers,’ relics of ‘Hugh le Pilecher’ or ‘Nicholas le Pilchere,’ are equally interesting. In his proverbs on covetousness and negligence, the writer I have just instanced thus speaks—

A ‘pilch’ was a large outer tippet made of fur, and worn in winter. The modern ladies’ ‘pelisse’ is but another form of the same root. Speaking of furs, however, we must not forget our ‘Furriers,’ and once common ‘Pelters’ and ‘Pellipers.’ They were engaged in the preparation of the more furry coats of the wilder animals. In the Hundred and other Rolls 346mention is frequently made of such names as ‘Geoffrey le Pelter’ or ‘Reyner le Peleter.’ A ‘pell’ or ‘pelt’ was any undressed skin. The ‘clerk of the Pells’ used to be the guardian of the rolls of the Exchequer, which were written upon a coarse parchment of this kind. As a general term of dress it was once of the most familiar import. Wicklyffe, in his complaint to the king, speaks of the poor being compelled to provide gluttonous priests with ‘fair hors, and jolly and gay saddles and bridles, ringing by the way, and himself in costly cloth and pelure.’ An old song written against the mendicant friars, too, says—

Among the many ordinances passed to curtail the subject’s liberty in regard to his attire, much is written on the fashion of wearing furs. It seems to have been the great mark between the higher and lower classes. In 1337 it was enacted by Edward III. that no one of those whom we now term the operative class should wear any fur on his or her dress, the fur to be forfeited if discovered. The names I have mentioned above still remain in fair numbers as a memorial of this period.

Such a name from the ‘Rolls of Parliament’ as that of ‘John Orfroiser,’ although now obsolete, reminds us of an art for which English craftsmen obtained a well-nigh European reputation in mediæval times, that of embroidery. ‘Aurifrigium’ was the Latin word applied to it, and this more clearly betrays 347the golden tissues of which its workmanship mainly consisted. In the ‘Romance of the Rose,’ it is said of the fair maid ‘Idlenesse’—

The term ‘Broiderer,’^[352] however, was the more common, and with him all textures and all colours and all threads came alike. The Hebrew word in our Bible, variously rendered as ‘broidered work,’ ‘needlework,’ and ‘raiment of needlework,’ was translated in a day when this would be of the most familiar import. Our ‘Pointers’ and ‘Poynters’ manufactured the tagged lace which fastened the hose and doublet together. In Shakespeare’s ‘1 Henry IV.’ there is a playful allusion to this where Falstaff, in the act of saying—

348is interrupted by the response—

It has been asserted that the presence of this name in our modern directories is entirely the result of later French refugee immigration; but such registered forms as ‘John le Poyntour,’ ‘Robert le Poynter,’ or ‘William Poyntmakere’ are found in the records of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with sufficient frequency to justify the belief that it was a much earlier denizen than many suppose.^[353] In the former ‘Henry le Lacer’ or ‘Richard le Lacer’ we have, too, but a fellow-manufacturer. Lace, it is true, is now rather a delicate fabric of interwoven threads; once, however, it was but the braided string for fastening the different articles of dress together. Thus, the ‘shoes-latchet’ mentioned in Scripture is a mere diminutive of the word as thus used. The hose and doublet were invariably so attached. The verb ‘to lace,’ I need not add, is still entirely employed in this its literal sense. There were other means, however, of holding the several garments together, and not a few of which are still brought to our remembrance in our nomenclature. ‘Adam le Gurdlere’ or ‘Robert le Girdlere’ speaks for himself. It was for the girdle our former ‘Agnes Pouchemakers,’ ‘Henry Pouchers,’ ‘Robert le Purseres,’ and ‘Alard le Bursers’ (when not official) made the leathern pouch carried thus at her side for greater readiness by the careful housewife. 349Chaucer, whose sharply-cut descriptions of the dress of his company are invaluable to those who would study more closely the habits of the time, tells us of the Carpenter’s wife that—

The Norman equivalent of Girdler was ‘le Ceynturer’ (‘Nicholas le Ceynturer,’ A.) or ‘le Ceinter,’ but I have failed to find any traces of it beyond the fourteenth century.^[354] Our decayed ‘Brailers’^[355] and ‘Bregirdlers’ represent but the same occupation in more definite terms. The old English ‘brayle’ (from the Norman ‘braie’ or ‘braye,’ meaning ‘breeches’) was a waistband merely, a kind of strap, oftentimes attached to and part of the trousers themselves. The nautical phrase of ‘brailing up sails’ is, I fear, the only relic we possess conversationally of this once useful term. A ‘brailer’ (‘Roger le Braeler,’ A., ‘Stephen le Brayeler,’ X.) or ‘bregirdler’ (‘John le Bregerdelere,’ X.) was, of course, a manufacturer of these. Maundeville, in his ‘Travels,’ speaks of a ‘breek-girdille’ (p. 50). The now almost universal suspender was a later introduction, the names of ‘Bracegirdler’ and ‘Bracegirdle,’ which are not yet extinct, denoting, seemingly, the process of change by which the one gradually made way for the other. A ‘brace,’ from the Latin ‘brachium,’ the arm, encircles 350the shoulder as a ‘bracelet’ does the wrist. It is quite possible, however, they may be but a form of ‘breek-girdle.’ ‘Ivo le Glover’ or ‘Christiana la Glovere’ have left descendants in plenty, but they had to fight a hard battle with such naturalized foreigners as ‘Geoffery le Ganter’ or ‘Philip le Gaunter.’ At one time these latter had firmly established themselves as the nominees of the manufacture, and the only wonder to me is how we managed to prevent ‘gants’ from superseding ‘gloves’ in our common parlance. The connexion of the ‘gauntlet’ with military dress, however, has preserved that form of the term from decay. Both ‘Ganter’ and ‘Gaunter,’ I need scarcely say, are firmly set in our midst.

And now we must descend once more till we come to the lower extremities, and in a day of so much tramping it on foot we need not feel surprised if we find many memorials of this branch of the personal outfit. The once common expression for a shoemaker or cobbler was that of souter.^[356] It is of constant occurrence in our olden writers. Thus the Malvern Dreamer speaks of—

Elsewhere, too, he uses the feminine form when he makes mention of—

The masculine term, I need not remind Scotchmen, is still in colloquial use across the Border, and that it was once so in England our many ‘Souters,’ ‘Sowters,’ 351and ‘Suters,’ and ‘Suitors,’ misleading as these latter are, are sufficient evidence. Such entries as ‘Andrew le Soutere,’ ‘Robert le Souter,’ or ‘Richard le Sutor’ are common to old registers. In the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ ‘sowtare’ is defined as a ‘cordewaner’ or ‘cordynare,’ and this at once brings us to our ‘Cordwaners,’ ‘Cordiners,’ and ‘Codners.’ They were so termed because the goatskin leather they used came, or was supposed to have come, from Cordova in Spain. In the ‘Rime of Sire Thopas,’ that personage is thus described:—

In the ‘Libel on English Policy,’ too, we find it said of Portugal—

In the Hundred Rolls it is represented by such a name as ‘Hugh le Cordwaner’ or ‘Ranulph le Cordewaner.’^[357] ‘William le Corviser,’ from the same records, or ‘Durand le Corveser,’ held a name which struggled for some time for a place, but had finally to collapse.^[358] 352‘Cobbler’ (‘Richard le Cobeler,’ A.), though it has existed as a name of occupation fully as long as any of the above, has, I believe, never been able so far to overcome the dislike to the fact of its being a mere mending or patchwork trade as to obtain for itself an hereditary place in our nomenclature. ‘Cosier’ has fared better, as have ‘Clouter’ and ‘Cloutman,’ relics of the old ‘John’ or ‘Stephen le Clutere,’ why I do not know. We all remember how the inhabitants of Gibeon ‘did work wilily, and went and made as if they had been ambassadors, and took old sacks upon their asses, and wine bottles, old and rent, and bound up, and old shoes and clouted upon their feet, and old garments upon them.’ Another name we may notice here is that of ‘Patten-maker,’ a ‘James Patyn-makere’ being found enrolled in a Norwich guild of 1385. Cocke Lorelle mentions among others:—

A patten seems in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries to have been very similar to our clog, only that the former was more easily put on and off. It was of a wooden sole, rimmed with iron. We find in 1464 353the Patynmakers of London presenting a grievance in that the fletchers alone were allowed to use aspen-wood, whereas it was the ‘lightest tymbre to make of patyns or clogges.’ (Rot. Parl. iv. 567.) Mr. Way, in his Notes to the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum,’ says they were worn much by ecclesiastics to protect the feet from chill when treading the cold bare pavements of the churches, and he quotes a Harleian MS. dated 1390 regarding an archiepiscopal visitation at York: ‘Item, omnes ministri ecclesie pro majore parte utuntur in ecclesiâ et in processione patens et clogges contra honestatem ecclesie, et antiquam consuetudenem capituli.’ The patten-maker was evidently of some importance at this time.^[360]

Perhaps fashion never went to such an absurd extreme as it did in the fourteenth century with respect to wearing peaked shoes. An old poem entitled the ‘Complaint of the Ploughman,’ says of the friars, and alluding to their inconsistencies, that they wear—

Piers Plowman, too, speaks of a knight coming to be dubbed—

This last reminds us that they were commonly styled ‘copped shoon.’ Such a sobriquet as ‘Hugh le Coppede’ or ‘John le Copede’ would seem to refer to this. Probably the owner had carried on the practice to an even more extravagant length than his neighbours, and 354very likely he was one of those who caused a law to be passed in 1463 forbidding any knight, or any one beneath that rank, to wear any shoes or boots having pikes passing the length of two inches! Even this curtailment, I imagine, would astonish the weak minds of pedestrians in the nineteenth century. Of a similar craft with the shoemaker came ‘the hosier’ or ‘chaucer,’ the latter of which has become, surnominally, so famous in English literature. Though now obsolete, such a name as ‘Robert le Chaucer’ or ‘William le Chaucier’ was anything but uncommon at this time. Like ‘Suter,’ above-mentioned, it has a Latin source, its root being ‘calcearius.’ Chausses, however, were not so much boots as a kind of leathern breeches worn over mail armour. There is probably, therefore, but little distinction to be made between them and the ‘hose’ of former days, though it is somewhat odd that leather, which once undoubtedly was the chief object of the hosier’s attention, should now in his shop be conspicuous by its absence. While ‘Chaucer’ has long ago become extinct, ‘Hosier’ or ‘Hozier’ is firmly established in our nomenclature. Thus we see that clothing is not without its mementoes.

A curious surname is presented for our notice in our ‘Dubbers,’ not to be confounded with our ‘Daubers’ already mentioned. To ‘dub’ was to dress, or trim, or decorate. Thus, with regard to military equipment, Minot says in one of his political songs—

It is thus we have acquired our phrase ‘to dub a knight.’ The term, however, became very general in 355the sense of embellishing, rather than mere dressing, and it is to this use of the word we owe the surname. Thus, in the ‘Liber Albus’ we find a ‘Peter le Dubbour’ recorded, whose trade was to furbish up old clothes; he was a fripperer in fact. In the York Pageant, already referred to more than once, we see the ‘Dubbers’ walking in procession between the ‘Bookbinders’ and ‘Limners,’ and here they were evidently mere trimmers or decorators externally of books. In another register we find a ‘dubbour,’ so called because as a hawker of fish he was in the habit of putting all the fine ones at the top of his basket, a trick still in vogue in that profession, I fear.^[361] In all these cases we see that ‘adornment’ or ‘embellishment’ is the main idea. I need not remind my more North-country readers how every gardener still speaks of ‘dubbing’ when he heaps up afresh the soil about his flowers and plants. The old forms of the name were ‘Jordan le Dubber,’ ‘Payen le Dubbour,’ and ‘Ralph le Douber,’ which last most nearly approaches its root, the old Norman-French ‘adouber,’ to arrange.

A curious occupation is preserved from oblivion in our somewhat rare ‘Raffmans.’ We have the root meaning of the word in our ‘reft’ and ‘bereft,’ implicative of that which is snatched away or swept off. Thus we still use ‘riff-raff’ in regard to the off-scouring 356of the people. A raff-merchant was a dealer in lumber of any kind. In the Guild of Saint George, Norwich, 1385, we find not merely the name of ‘John Raffman,’ but such entries as ‘Robert Smith, raffman,’ or ‘John Smith, rafman.’ The term ‘raff’ for a low fellow is not yet obsolete, and Tennyson, when he says

is only using a sobriquet which, until recently, was a very familiar one in the mouths of our peasantry. I have placed the surname here because I doubt not the occupation whence it sprung was chiefly in respect of trimmings, and the shearings of cloth, wool, and such like articles of merchandise.

Another surname we must consider here is that belonging to ‘Ketel le Mercer’ or ‘Henry le Mercer,’ now found also as ‘Marcer.’ We see in the very title that the term has engrossed a sense not strictly its own, and that, though we visit the mercer’s shop for silken goods, he was originally a dealer in every kind of ware. He represented in mediæval times, in fact, the storekeeper of our colonies. Indeed I believe that to this day in some of our more retired country parts the mercer will supply his customers with haberdashery, drugs, draperies, hardware, and all general wants, saving actual comestibles. Mr. Lower quotes an old political song against the friars, in which this more correct sense of the word is conveyed—

357Our ‘Chaloners’ and ‘Challenors,’ representatives of such old names as ‘Peter le Chaloner,’ ‘Jordan le Chaluner,’ or ‘Nicholas le Chalouner,’ originated in a foreign but most useful manufacture. Chalons-sur-Marne, at this time one of the most thriving towns of the Continent, was chiefly renowned for its woollen and worsted stuffs, and a peculiar coverlet of this sort, called by the special name of a ‘chalon,’ became celebrated over the more civilized world. In the ‘Reves’ Tale’ we are told of the miller that—

Any importer or manufacturer of these was a ‘Chaloner.’ In a public solemn pageant held in 1415 in the City of York, at the end of a list of trades to be represented, there follows this: ‘It is ordained that the Porters and Coblers should go first, then, of the right, the Wevers and Cordwaners: on the left, the Fullers, Cutlers, Girdellers, Chaloners, Carpenters, and Taillyoures: then the better sort of citizens,’ etc. (‘History and Antiquities of York,’ vol. ii. p. 126.) The trade name seems to have died out about the end 358of the fifteenth century. How corrupted a word may become in the lapse of time may be seen in the modern ‘shalloon,’ a term used for a species of worsted cloth. In such a name as ‘Hugh le Shetare’ or ‘Roger le Shetere’ we recognize him who provided that other portion of the bed gear which is referred to in the extract from Chaucer. This name is now extinct. Not so, however, our ‘Quilters,’ who still thrive in our midst hale and hearty, and need never fear obsoletism. Doubtless, as the cold of winter set in, and its warm padded qualities began to be appreciated, the quilters would be busy enough in providing such a coverlet as this. ‘Quiltmaker’ (‘John le Quyltemaker,’ H.) is also found as a variation of the above: an old poem mentions among others—

Such a name as ‘Christiana le Heldere’ or ‘Robert le Holdere’ must, I doubt not, be set here, both forms being still in existence. They belonged, I think, to the craft of upholdsters or upholders, at this time confined, it would seem, entirely to the manufacture and sale of mattresses, bolsters, pillows, and quilts, anything of a padded nature connected with bed furniture.^[363] The insertion of flocks and feathers and the stitching together of such would seem to be a woman’s work, and this is the clue, I suspect, to the fact of our now using the feminine form of upholdster. There is a curious complaint made to Parliament in 1495, by 359the metropolitan upholders, that ‘Quyltes, mattres, and cussions (were) stuffed with horse hair, fen downe, neetis here, deris here (deers’ hair), and gotis here, which is wrought in lyme fattes and by the hete of mannys body the savour and taste is so abhomynable and contagious that many of the King’s subgettis thereby been destroied.’^[364] It is prayed, therefore, that only one kind of stuff be allowed to be inserted in any one of these articles (‘Stat: of Realm,’ Henry VII.). In ‘Henry le Canevacer’ or ‘Richard le Canevacer’ we are carried back to a class of now all but entirely decayed trade. The canvaser, of course, turned out canvas, and this more especially for bags for the conveyance of the raw wool, or for tapestry purposes. In an old poem relating to German imports, it is said at the close—

Tapestry work would engage much of this. Hangings of this kind, ere wainscot came into use, were the ordinary decorations of the baronial apartment, covering as they generally did the entire length of the lower wall. In the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ we are told of the duties of one officer—

360The name of ‘Tapiser,’ for one who wove this article, is familiarized to us as that of one of the immortal company who sat down together at the ‘Tabard’ in Southwark. Our modern ‘Tapsters,’ I doubt not, afford but another example of a surname engrossing what have been originally two separate and distinct titles. In an old sacred pageant given in York in 1415, amongst other trades represented we find coupled together the ‘Couchers’ and ‘Tapisers.’^[365] Our ‘Couchers’ and ‘Couchmans’ are thus explained. They were evidently engaged less in the wooden framework, as we might have supposed, than in the manufacture of the cushions that covered it, and doubtless, like the broiderer mentioned above, worked in gold and silver and coloured threads the raised figures thereon.^[366] Thus we must ally them with such names as ‘Robert le Dosier’ or ‘Richard le Dosyere,’ makers of the ‘doss,’ a technical term given at this time for cushions 361or stools worked in tapestry.^[367] Thus the same book which I have just quoted says of the groom’s duties—

As a specific name for productions of this class the word is now quite obsolete, though familiar enough in early days; tapestry indeed, in general, has ceased to be popular, and is now all but entirely confined professionally to the weaving of carpets, and as an amateur art among ladies to those figured screens so much in vogue not more than one or two generations ago, traces of which still remain in the framed embroideries yet lingering in many of our drawing-rooms—embroideries of cats with grizzly whiskers and tawny terriers—embroideries which as children we heard with bated breath had been worked by our grandmothers when they were little girls, and thus we realised for the first time, not so much that they had done these wonderful things as that they had once been small at all, like ourselves.

We have no surname to represent the weaving of carpets, as this was an introduction of much later date than most of our other household comforts in the way of furniture. In Brand’s ‘Popular Antiquities’ an interesting quotation is given from Hentzner’s ‘Itinerary,’ who, describing Queen Elizabeth’s Presence Chamber at Greenwich, says, ‘The floor, after the English fashion, was strewed with hay.’ The strewing of church pews with rushes was common 362until recent times, and in the North of England the peculiar customs attaching to the ‘Rush-bearing,’ a kind of ‘wakes,’ are not yet extinct. It is fair to add, however, that carpets were in course of introduction at the beginning of the sixteenth century; an old poem of that date mentions—

Before proceeding any further we had better introduce our ‘Lavenders,’ or washers, for be it linen or woollen stuff, be it garment for the back or covering for the bed, all needed washing then as now. The contracted feminine ‘laundress’ is still in common use. That the masculine form, however, was early applied to the other sex is proved in the ‘Legend of Good Women,’ where we are told—

The gradation from ‘lavenderie’ to ‘laundry’ is marked by Stowe, who in his ‘Chronicles’ writes it ‘laundery.’ By similar contractions our ‘Lavenders’ are now found also in the other forms of ‘Launder’ and ‘Lander.’ An old poem says—

‘Alicia la Lavendar’ figures in the Hundred Rolls. Doubtless, like our more Saxon ‘Washers,’ she was a 363professional washerwoman. The stiffening process, of infinitely more consequence then than now, has left its mark in such a name as ‘Ralph le Starkere,’ or even in that of ‘William Starcman,’ starch and stark being once but synonymous words. Whether it were the carefully pinched wimple or the kerchief, whether it were of silk or lawn, both alike required all the rigidity that could be imparted to them, would the head be befittingly adorned. Employed, therefore, either in the sale of the starch itself or in the work of stiffening the dress, we find men of such a title as the above. Doubtless they are referred to by the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ where he speaks of—

From the outer we may now naturally and fitly turn to the provision for the inner man. Nor are we without interesting relics also in this respect. We have already described the process by which the flour was provided. The agencies in the towns for the sale of this, and the uses to which it was put, are all more or less well defined, and well established also in our present directories. I do not know whether French rolls had obtained celebrity so early as this, but the name of ‘Richard Frenshbaker’ would seem at least to give some kind of credence to the supposition. There can be no doubt, however, that he dealt in a fancy way, for in solid bread-baking the Saxon ‘Baker’ has ever kept his hands in the kneading-trough, and need never fear, so far as our nomenclature is concerned, being ousted therefrom. The feminine form has become almost equally well established 364among us, ‘Bagster’ or ‘Baxter’^[369] or ‘Backster’ (the latter spelling found in Foxe’s Roll of Marian martyrs) being among other forms of the old female ‘bakester.’ Piers Plowman speaks of—

and such good folk as ‘Elias le Baxter’ or ‘Ralph le Bakster’ or ‘Giliana le Bacster’ are very plentifully represented in our olden registers.^[370] Still the foreigner did not give way without a struggle. We have ‘Pollinger,’ ‘Bullinger,’ ‘Bollinger,’ and ‘Ballinger,’ as corruptions of the ‘boulanger’ or ‘Richard le Bulenger,’ as he is recorded. In our ‘Furners’ we see the representatives of such a name as ‘William le Furner’ or ‘Walter le Fernier,’ he who looked to the oven, while in the all but unaltered form of ‘Pester’ we may still not uncommonly meet with the descendants of many an old ‘Richard le Pestour’ or ‘Herman le Pestur,’ who had spent the best of his days in the bakehouse. Such a name as ‘John Pastemakere’ or ‘Gregory le Pastemakere’ or ‘Andrew le Pyebakere,’ which once existed, reminds us of the pastrycook, a member, as he then was, no doubt, of a by no means unimportant fraternity—that of the ‘Pastelers’ or ‘Pie-bakers.’ An old poem speaks of—

Best known, however, to most people would he be under the simple professional name of ‘cook.’ I need not remind any student of olden English records how familiar is ‘Roger le Coke’ or ‘William le Cook’ or ‘John Cokeman,’ nor will he be astonished at his being so well represented in all those forms in the directories of the nineteenth century. I could give endless references to show that this term was not confined to the kitchen servitor. The ‘City Archives’ give us an ordinance passed 2 Rich. II. (A.D. 1378) by the ‘Cooks and Pastelers,’ as an associated company, and Piers Plowman speaks of

‘Cook’ or ‘Coke’ certainly holds a high position in the scale of frequency at present, and, as I have had occasion to notice in another chapter, is one of those few tradal names that have taken to them the filial desinence, ‘Cookson’ being by no means uncommon. Of all these we might have said much, but to mention them must suffice, and to pass on. Solid bread-baking, however, as I have just hinted, was not the sole employment of this nature in early days. A poem I have recently quoted speaks of ‘waferers.’ Our ‘Wafers,’ relics of the old ‘Simon’ or ‘Robert le Wafre,’ seem to have confined themselves all but entirely to the provision of eucharistic bread, though they were probably vendors also of those sweet and 366spiced cakes which, under the name of ‘marchpanes,’ were decidedly popular. Among other gifts that Absolom the clerk gave Alison, Chaucer hints of—

and the ‘Pardoner,’ in enumerating the company of lewd folks of Flanders, speaks of ‘fruitsters,’ ‘singers with harps,’ and ‘waferers.’ Piers Plowman puts them amid still more disreputable associates. No doubt, true to the old adage, ‘near the church, never in it,’ they were wont to hang about the sacred edifice abroad and at home, offering their traffic to the devouter worshippers as they entered in. We ourselves know how searing to heart and conscience is such a life as this. That all were not of this kind we are reminded by the will of an Archbishop of York of the thirteenth century, who therein bequeaths a certain sum to two ‘waferers,’ evidently on account of their exemplary conduct while conducting their trade at the Minster door.

Chaucer, describing the prioress, says that—

she fed her small hounds. Cakes of wastel were of the purest flour and most careful bake, and were only second to the simnel in quality. Wasteler, found in such an entry as ‘John Wasteler,’ is extinct, but the shorter ‘Wastel’ still exists in our midst. Probably, in the latter case, it was originally but a sobriquet 367affixed to a baker of this peculiar kind of bread. It is in a similar manner, I doubt not, arose such early nicknames as ‘William Wytebred,’ or ‘John Holibread,’ or ‘Roger Blancpain,’ or ‘Josce Barlibred,’ or ‘Matilda Havercake,’ or ‘Lambert Simnel,’ the latter a name familiarized to the youngest student of English history. Strange to say, ‘Barlibred’ is the only one of this list that has disappeared from our directories, although ‘Barleycorn’ was in existence, I believe, but a few years ago. But to keep more strictly to tradesmen: I have no doubt myself it is here we must place our ‘Mitcheners,’ as makers of the ‘mitche’ or ‘mitchkin.’ The diminutive was the modern cracknel, while the larger seems to have been a small loaf of mixed flour. Chaucer, in his praise of contentment, says—

I have, however, no proof of the connexion I deem exists, so I merely mention it and pass on. We are more certain about our rare ‘Flawners’ and ‘Flanners,’^[372] once the manufacturers of the ‘flaon’ or ‘flawn,’ so popular as to have left its mark in our ‘Pancake Tuesday.’ Caxton, in his ‘Boke for Travellers,’ says, ‘of mylke and of eggs men make 368flawnes.’ In the story of Havelok the Dane, too, mention is made of—

A ‘Roger le Flaoner’ comes in the London Corporation records, A.D. 1307, while much about the same time I find a ‘Walter le Flawner’ in the Parliamentary writs.

I have kept our ‘Panyers’ and ‘Panniers’ till the last, because there is just a shade of doubt as to whether they owe their name to the manufacture of the basket so called or to the hawking of bread, the very practice of which custom, so familiar as it was then, has given us the term. The original meaning of ‘pannier,’ the French ‘panier,’ was bread-basket, and the word seems to have acquired a peculiar prominence from the fact that in mediæval times bakers, through being the subjects of a careful supervision, were forbidden to sell their bread anywhere but in the public market—nay, so particular were the authorities with regard to this that an officer was specially appointed to watch the ‘hutches,’ boxes, or baskets in which the loaves were exposed. A surname ‘Robert le Huchereve’ is even found in the Guildhall records as a relic of this. We can thus readily understand how hawkers of these portable covers or baskets would acquire the sobriquet of ‘panyers.’ Certain it is we find such entries as ‘Simon le Pannier,’ ‘Robert le Pannere,’ ‘Amiscus Panarius,’ or ‘Geoffrey Panyman,’ while in another register the occupation of ‘panyere’ is distinctly mentioned. We can equally readily understand how from this the term itself 369would, in course of time, obtain a wider and more general sense. That it has done so the donkey’s panniers are a proof. It is, however, somewhat strange, when we reflect upon it, that perhaps the last thing we should expect to see borne in this fashion in the present day would be that very article to which the receptacle itself owed its name.

It is somewhat remarkable that while our directories possess many records of the early manufacture of and traffic in cheese, yet there are no names whatever in the present day, I believe, and barely any in the past, which are associated with the most important of all country produce—butter.^[373] The most satisfactory clue to the difficulty will be to suppose that the cheese-merchant of that day, as often in the present, dealt in both articles. This is the more likely, as the many sobriquets given to dealers in cheese in the fourteenth century would appear to give that edible, important as it was and is, a greater prominence than singly it deserved. Thus we find such names as ‘Edward le Cheseman’ or ‘Robert le Chesemaker,’ ‘John le Chesewright,’ or ‘William le Cheswright,’ or ‘Alen le Chesmongere,’ as representatives of the Saxons, figuring somewhat conspicuously in the registers of the period.^[374] For the foreign element, too, cognomens were not wanting. ‘Benedict’ or ‘Michael le Casiere’ may even now be living 370in our ‘Cayzers,’ if they be not but another form of ‘Kaiser,’ and ‘Wilkin le Furmager’ or ‘William le Formager’ in our ‘Firmingers,’ is in no risk of immediate oblivion. The majority of the Saxon forms, I need scarcely add, are also thriving in our midst.

It may seem somewhat strange that ‘grocer,’ of all trades the most important, so far as the kitchen is concerned, should be so rarely represented in our nomenclature. But the reason is simple enough. To sell in the gross, or wholesale, was a second and later step in commercial practice. A ‘John Guter, Grossarius,’ appears in the London City Rolls so early as 1310, but it had scarcely become a familiar name of trade till the close of the fourteenth century.^[375] In 1363 a statute of Edward III. speaks concerning ‘Merchauntz nomez Grossers,’ so termed because they ‘engrossent totes maners des marchandises vendables,’ and then enhanced the price on each separate article. Before this they had been known as the Pepperers, or Spicers Guild, such names as ‘John le Espicer’ or ‘Nicholas le Espicer’ occurring not unfrequently at this period. Spice, indeed, was the then general term for all manner of drugs, aromatic and pungent, which were brought into England by foreign and especially Venetian merchants from the East. These were carried up and down the country again 371by the itinerant traders, so many of whom I have already referred to in a previous chapter. An old song, written against the mendicant friars, relates that, among other of their vagaries—

As I have just stated, however, the term ‘Grocer’ superseded that of ‘Spicer,’ and as such seems to have confined its dealings to the modernly received limit at an early date. As we must have already seen, each want had always hitherto been met by its own special dealer. With us now the Cutler would supply all the ‘Knifesmith’ and ‘Spooner’ then separately furnished; while our ‘Ironmongers’ or ‘Hosiers’ or ‘Upholdsters’ would each swallow up half-a-dozen of former occupations. Thus it was here. Our ‘John le Saucers’ or ‘Ada la Saucers’ provided salt pickle.^[376] As with the ‘Frankelein,’ so with many another there—

‘Peter le Salter’ or ‘Hugh Saltman’ furnished forth the chloride itself; ‘William le Mustarder’ or ‘Peter le Mustardman,’ or ‘Alice Mustard-maker,’ the mustard; ‘Thomas le Pepperer,’^[377] now spelt ‘Pepper,’ the pepper; 372‘Ralph le Soper’ or ‘Adam le Savonier,’ the soap. Each set before his customers’ eyes those peculiar articles of household consumption their names severally represent. All these, having flourished in the earlier age, established for themselves a better place in our register than our rare ‘Grosers’ or ‘Grossers,’ who in this respect only appeared in time to save themselves from oblivion, though they have long ago revenged themselves on their humbler brethren by swallowing up entire the occupations they followed. It is curious to note that in later days, through the various accessions of luxury, the result in well-nigh every case of foreign discovery, even ‘Grocer’ has failed to comprehend all. In our country villages we all but invariably find added ‘and licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, snuff, &c.’ In our towns, however, this addendum has been dropped, and a ‘grocer’s shop’ is the place we turn to, without thought of refusal, for these modern introduced luxuries. What changes in our domestic resources are here presented for our notice! In my previous chapter it was the over-abundance of certain rural and primitive surnames which told the story of the times in which they sprang. The contrary is here the case. It is in the absence of particular names, some of which I have already noticed, we have the best guide to the extraordinary changes that have taken place in our household economy. Look at our tea-table. Already in the two short centuries from its introduction this article has given its name to a special meal, having thrown the once afternoon supper into a nocturnal repast. Even Shakespeare could only say—

How strangely would it have affected our nomenclature had this and other like novelties been brought in earlier. We should have had ‘William le Coffyer’ giving us endless anxiety in the endeavour to separate it from the actual ‘Godfrey le Coffrer.’ We should have had, too, such folk as ‘John le Riceman,’ ‘Walter le Snuffer,’ ‘Ralph le Tobacconer,’ shortened into ‘Bacconer,’ and the still more awkward ‘le Potatoman,’ almost as inconvenient as ‘Garlickmonger,’ though doubtless it would have been quickly curtailed into ‘Taterman’ or ‘Taterer’ or ‘Tatman’ and ‘Tatter,’ and later on again into other forms too obscure to contemplate. The very recounting of these changes, which are strictly on a par with other names of a less hypothetical character, serve to impress us with the difficulties we have to encounter in the task of deciphering many of our surnames after the wear and tear they have undergone through lapsing generations.

But I must not wander. The sale of vegetables and fruits left its mark in our former ‘John le Fruemongers’ and ‘Ralph le Frueters,’ and ‘Hugh le Fruters;’ ‘Richard le Graper’ testifying seemingly to 374a more specific dealing. Our ‘Butchers’ of course have been busy enough from the day that the Normans brought them in. The variety of spelling which is found in olden records of this name is so great that I dare not attempt a list, but I believe there still exist, sans the article, such of the old forms as ‘le Bouchier,’ ‘le Bowcher,’ and ‘le Bowsher,’ while ‘Botcher’ is at least not altered in sound from ‘le Bochere’ of the same period—‘Labouchere,’ which preserves this article, is of more modern introduction from the Gallic shore. But the Norman was not without his rivals. Such names as ‘Walter le Fleshmongere,’ or ‘Eudo le Flesshemongere,’ or ‘Richard le Flesmongere,’^[379] prove that the Saxon did not give up even this branch of daily occupation without a struggle, and in the two isolated cases of ‘William Fleschour’ and ‘John Fleshewer’ that I have lit upon we are reminded that Scotland, with its still flourishing ‘flesher,’ is but the asylum where this truly Saxon term found its latest retreat. Even yet in England with the country folk the butchers’ shambles are the ‘flesh-market.’ That ‘Fleshmonger’ was the colloquial term, we may prove from a list of tradesmen mentioned in ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ a poem I have already quoted several times; reference is there made to—

375The ‘Pardoner,’ too, in the same poem, thus begins his roll—

But if not in the common mouth, yet in our rolls there were two other names of this craft, which we must not pass over unrecorded. They were those of ‘Carnifex’ and ‘Massacrer,’ both representing the slaughter-house, I doubt not. The existence of the former would lead us to suppose that the old Roman hangsman was settled in our midst, but it was merely a mediæval Latinism for a butcher.^[380] After the fashion of the time nicknames were affixed upon everybody, and our ‘Butchers’ and ‘Slaughters’ did not escape. The Hundred Rolls alone register the names of ‘Reginald Cullebol,’ ‘Henry Cullebulloc,’ ‘William Cullehare,’ and ‘William Culle-hog,’ or in more modern parlance ‘Kill-bull,’ ‘Kill-bullock,’ Kill-hare,’ and ‘Kill-hog.’ The original and more correct 376‘poulter,’ he who dealt in ‘poults’ or poultry, as we now term it, has bequeathed his name to our ‘Poulters’ and ‘Pulters.’ Such names as ‘Adam le Puleter,’ or ‘Bernard le Poleter,’ or ‘William le Pulter,’ by the frequency with which we come across them, show how much did the farmyard help to provide in these days for the supply of the dining-table.

says Langland, showing that in his time they were commonly exhibited for sale. Indeed, the fact that in the York Festival of 1415 the ‘bouchers’ and ‘pulterers’ walked in procession together clearly proves their importance at the period in which the surname arose.

We have already mentioned the fishmonger, or what was practically the fishmonger, the fisherman, in our last chapter while surveying rural occupations. Our rare ‘Pessoners’^[381] as representative of the Norman, and common ‘Fishers’ of the Saxon, lived in a day when under Roman ecclesiastic influences fish was of infinitely more importance than it is in this nineteenth century, when it is merely used as a go-between or mediator to soothe down the differences betwixt soup and beef. Then the year was dotted with days of abstinence, or strongly indented with seasons like Lent. Among the higher circles it mattered but little. So much had the culinary art excelled in 377respect of fish that such periods as they came round only brought to the epicurean mind visions of gastronomic skill that put the sterner and weightier joints utterly in the background for the time being. Pasties of herrings, congers, or lampreys were especially popular, and, judging from the lists of courses contained in some of our records, that only one of our mediæval monarchs should have succumbed to the latter is simply an historic marvel! Dishes too were prepared from the whale, the porpoise, the grampus, and the sea-wolf. ‘It is lamentable,’ says, facetiously, a writer in ‘Chambers’s Book of Days,’ referring to these viands as Lent repasts, ‘to think how much sin they thus occasioned among our forefathers, before they were discovered to be mammalian.’

A curious name is found in the Hundred Rolls, that of ‘Symon Haryngbredere.’ In what particular way he carried on his occupation I do not know. ‘Richard le Harenger’ is more explicable. Our ‘Conders’ were partners in the fishing excursions of the above. A full account of their duties may be found in Cowel’s ‘Interpreter,’ published in 1658. The conder stood upon the higher cliffs by the sea coast in the time of herring fishing, and with a staff or branch of a tree made signs to the boatmen which way the shoal was going. It seems there is a certain discoloured aspect of the water as they pass along, which is more apparent from an elevation than from the level of the sea.^[382] In mediæval times the plaice 378was a very favourite dish. The term it usually went by was that of ‘but.’ Thus it is, I doubt not, we meet with such entries, as ‘William le Butor’ or ‘Hugh Butmonger.’ From some fancied resemblance to this fish, too, it would be that such humorous sobriquets as ‘Walter le But’ or ‘John le But’ would arise.

But while good and solid food could thus be purchased on every hand, we must not forget drink, for our forefathers were great tipplers. I have already mentioned our ‘William le Viners’ or ‘Roger le Vinours,’ in most cases, I doubt not, strictly cultivators of that plant on English soil. None the less certain, however, is it that our many early ‘John le Vineturs’ or ‘Alexander le Vineters’ were also, as merchants, employed in the importation of the varied wines of the Continent into our land. How abundant and how diverse they were an old poem shall tell us—

The entry ‘Adam le Wyneter’ reminds us that in all probability it is to our early wine-merchants also we 379owe our ‘Winters.’ ‘Walter le Brewers,’ or ‘Emma le Brewsteres,’ or ‘Lawrence Beerbrewers,’^[383] abound on every hand. We are reminded of the last by ‘Cocke Lorelle’—