Chapter 18

The Miller was a stout carl for the nones,Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones.

The Miller was a stout carl for the nones,

Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones.

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-lookinganimal 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

Oak with his nuts larded many a swine,

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,for 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. Thefarmof 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‘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 thechurnis speltchirne. (Richmondshire Wills, p. 235, note.) Themost 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—

Since that day that she was last a wifeIn patience led a ful simple life,For litel was her cattle, and her rent:By husbandry of such as God her sentShe found herself and eke her doughtren two.————Her board was served most with white and black,Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack,Singed bacon, and sometimes an egg or twey,For she was as it were a manerdey.[263]

Since that day that she was last a wife

In patience led a ful simple life,

For litel was her cattle, and her rent:

By husbandry of such as God her sent

She found herself and eke her doughtren two.

————

Her board was served most with white and black,

Milk and brown bread, in which she found no lack,

Singed bacon, and sometimes an egg or twey,

For she was as it were a manerdey.[263]

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’are 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,themiller. 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 ascustodian, 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 Shakespearepresses this into his imagery many will remember, where Florizel speaks of—

The fanned snow that’s boltedBy the northern blasts twice o’er.

The fanned snow that’s bolted

By the northern blasts twice o’er.

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—

Barbers, bokebynders, and lymners;Repers,faners, and horners.

Barbers, bokebynders, and lymners;

Repers,faners, and horners.

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—

‘Who’ll dig his grave?’‘I,’ said the owl; ‘with my spade and showlI’ll dig his grave.’

‘Who’ll dig his grave?’

‘I,’ said the owl; ‘with my spade and showl

I’ll dig his grave.’

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, thelatter being incidentally described to us by Chaucer when he says of one of his personages in the Reeves Story, that—

He was a well good wright, a carpenter.

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,’like ‘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—

Lord, in thi teld wha sal wone (dwell)?In thi hali hille or wha reste mone (shall)?

Lord, in thi teld wha sal wone (dwell)?

In thi hali hille or wha reste mone (shall)?

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]Should 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:—

When this corn to the kniht was sold,He did it in an arc to hold,And opened this arc the third day.

When this corn to the kniht was sold,

He did it in an arc to hold,

And opened this arc the third day.

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 couldboast. 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 wrightwroughthis 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 hesmotethereupon that he got his name. As old Verstigan has it:—

From whence comes Smith, all be he knight or squire,But from the smith that forgeth at the fire?

From whence comes Smith, all be he knight or squire,

But from the smith that forgeth at the fire?

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:—

The smithThat forgeth sharpe swords on the stith.

The smith

That forgeth sharpe swords on the stith.

Between 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‘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 atwork 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 tothe 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:—

He had a gobbet (piece) of the sailThat seint Peter had, when that he wentUpon the sea, till Jesu Christ him hent.He had a cross of laton, full of stones,And in a glass he had pig’s bones.

He had a gobbet (piece) of the sail

That seint Peter had, when that he went

Upon the sea, till Jesu Christ him hent.

He had a cross of laton, full of stones,

And in a glass he had pig’s bones.

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 bysuch 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 outposthorses. 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—

And had some traunting chapman to his sire,That trafficked both by water and by fire,

And had some traunting chapman to his sire,

That trafficked both by water and by fire,

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—

For aught I wot, he was of Dertemouth,He rode upon a rouncie, as he couthe.

For aught I wot, he was of Dertemouth,

He rode upon a rouncie, as he couthe.

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—

Good palfreys he gave to clerksBows and arrows he gave archers,Runces good unto squiers.[279]

Good palfreys he gave to clerks

Bows and arrows he gave archers,

Runces good unto squiers.[279]

In 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—

Nay, sir, but ye must to him fare,He hath sent after thee his chare.

Nay, sir, but ye must to him fare,

He hath sent after thee his chare.

Gower, too, has the word—

With that she looked and was war,Doun fro’ the sky ther cam a char,The which dragons aboute drew.

With that she looked and was war,

Doun fro’ the sky ther cam a char,

The which dragons aboute drew.

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 ofsuch 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 hadalready 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—

And turning to that place, in which whyleareHe left his loftie steed with golden sell,And goodly gorgeous barbes.

And turning to that place, in which whyleare

He left his loftie steed with golden sell,

And goodly gorgeous barbes.

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‘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—

For eche a hors that ferroure schalle scho,An halpeny on day he takes hym to.

For eche a hors that ferroure schalle scho,

An halpeny on day he takes hym to.

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 thehosteller 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—

The fame anon throughout the town is born,How Alla King shal come on pilgrimage,By herbergeours that wenten him beforn.

The fame anon throughout the town is born,

How Alla King shal come on pilgrimage,

By herbergeours that wenten him beforn.

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—‘Thereis 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,merciful, 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—

Ryght as of a tavernereThe grene busche that hangeth outIs a sygne, it is no dowte,Outward folkys for to telleThat within is wyne to selle.

Ryght as of a tavernere

The grene busche that hangeth out

Is a sygne, it is no dowte,

Outward folkys for to telle

That within is wyne to selle.

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—

This Theseus, this duk, this worthy knight,When he had brought them into his cite,And ynned them, everich (each) at his degreHe festeth them.

This Theseus, this duk, this worthy knight,

When he had brought them into his cite,

And ynned them, everich (each) at his degre

He festeth them.

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 hisconfrères, thatbrought 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—

Will-a-wisp leads the traveller a-gaddingThrough ditch and through quagmire and bog,No light can e’er set me a-paddingBut the eyes of my sweet Molly Mogg.

Will-a-wisp leads the traveller a-gadding

Through ditch and through quagmire and bog,

No light can e’er set me a-padding

But the eyes of my sweet Molly Mogg.

Perchance 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 theirhodsor 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—wemight 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 usualconfrèrewas 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:—

There is no pedler that pak can bere,That half so dere can selle his gere,Than a frere can do;For if he give a wyfe a knyfeThat cost but penys two,Worthe ten knyves, so may I thrive,He wyl have ere he go.[291]

There is no pedler that pak can bere,

That half so dere can selle his gere,

Than a frere can do;

For if he give a wyfe a knyfe

That cost but penys two,

Worthe ten knyves, so may I thrive,

He wyl have ere he go.[291]

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.The 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? Everythingthat 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.No 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’sbest 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’—

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