CHAPTER III.IMMIGRATION AND EMIGRATION.

Isaidin my last chapter that nearly half of the names in the London Directory are of local origin, and I proved my statement by an appeal to certain figures. We have not all the brand of Cain on our brow, but certainly man has ever been “a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth.” History, sacred and profane, teems with the records of the flights of nations from one land to another. From the days of the Israelites’ escape from Egypt to the flight of the Huguenots from France, there have been emigrations which have been the direct results of persecution. From the year that saw Babel erected and the language confounded, the races of mankind have struck out a path for themselves in one direction or another of the earth’s vast continent. The curious feature is this,—It is to thedictionarywe must go to discover whence each several horde set forth. Thelanguageof every nation clearly tells where lies the cradle of its birth.

But emigration and immigration lie not alone with nationalities. The world has not always been a vagabonden masse. From the day that Jacob started for the East to find his uncle, from the morn that saw Ruth clinging to Naomi, while she said, “Whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge,” there has ever been going on a wondrous silent efflux or influx ofindividualwanderers. Just as the mother-bird at the proper time, with seeming stern but true maternal instinct, pushes out her fledgling brood to seek a home and sustenance for themselves, so it has ever been with man. To go forth and replenish the earth has been a Divine fiat which none could forego. And what thedictionaryis to the nation, thedirectoryis to the individual. In the name of each we know the land, the city, the hamlet, whence each set forward to battle with the world. At any rate, this is strictly true of all local surnames.

In the course of the last six hundred years there has not been a single village or town in England that has not found its representative in London. “All roads lead to the capital,” says an old proverb. How true this is, the London Directory shows; for at this moment it would be hard to mention a place, big or small, from John o’ Groats to Land’s End,—the Dan and Beersheba of England,—whose name is not found therein as the title of some individual whose ancestor, long generations ago, left his native home to settle in what was, even then, the big city. I was struck theother day by seeing two shops adjacent, the shopkeepers’ names on the doors being “Dearnally” and “Dennerley.” Dearnally and Dennerley! What a curious circumstance! My mind went back six centuries, and I wove a little story. Six hundred years ago, two brothers, or schoolfellows, or playmates, leave the little secluded hamlet of Dearnley.[43]One is John, the other William. John goes to Bristol. “Whence come you?” say his Bristol associates. “From Dearnley,” he replies. Henceforward he is John o’ Dearnley, by-and-by to become simple John Dearnley. “Whence come you?” says a Norwich artisan to William, who has turned his steps eastwards. “From Dearnley: I wonder shall I see it again,” responds William, sadly, who is already home-sick,—for homes were homes then as well as now. Henceforth he is William o’ Dearnley, or Will Dearnley. Each marries, has children, dies. His descendants, bearing his name, are scattered hither and thither over the broad land, like leaves before the cold keen blast of an October wind. Corruptions of the name of course ensue. The descendants of John are “Dearnally”; of William “Dennerley.” Centuries after this, in the year of grace 1877, one of John’s generation, who has found his way to a big city, sees a new house, takes it, is a grocer, and inscribes his name Dearnally above. In the meantime another stranger is eyeing a contiguous shop in the same block of buildings. “Fine opening for a butcherhere,” says he to himself: “I will take these premises.” He does so. Up goes his name. What is it? Dennerley! Thus, after long years, nay, centuries, two descendants of the two playfellows, probably brothers, are to be seen dwelling together, each ignorant that when he wishes his neighbour good morning, he is rejoining links in a chain snapped, oh, so long ago! The invisible destinies of God have recovered the lost associations of twenty generations! Said I not, the London Directory is a romance?

I have selected this story for a purpose. It explains the origin of every local surname in existence. A man, in a new community to which he had joined himself, might go by the name of his occupation, as “Tinker,” or father’s Christian name, as “Peterson,” or by a nickname from his social habits, as “Good-fellow”; but in five cases out of ten he bore the title of the spot whence he issued forth. Take a few instances of the mode and manner in which these local surnames were formed. All my illustrations shall be from the London Directory. For perspicuity’s sake I will separate them into classes.

(a)Local names terminating in“er”and“man.” “Churchman” would seem to bespeak the original possessor an Episcopalian. But there was no dissent in the twelfth or thirteenth century. It could give no individuality as such. It was a local name, implying that John or Peter Churchman dwelt by the church. Hence also “Churcher.” In the north, “Church” was pronounced “Kirk.” Therefore, in the north these two names are found as “Kirkman” and “Kirker,”—exactly as we find “Thacker” inYorkshire to be “Thatcher” in Surrey. Of this same class are Crosser and Crossman, reminding us that there was a time in pre-Reformation days when every village had its cross, which was as much a landmark as it was an object of reverence. Bridger and Bridgman lived beside the wooden or stone structure that spanned the stream.

(b)Some local names still preserve the affix or suffixcorresponding to the French “del,” “de,” “du,” and “de la,” as Atwood, Atwater, and Atwell, once Williamat thewood, orat thewater, orat thewell.Byis found in Bywater, and Bythesea. Sometimes the letter “n” got in for euphony’s sake, as in “Nash,” which is sprung from “atten-ash.” “Thomas atte-n-ash” thus became Thomas Nash. Hence Nolt for atte-n-holt (i.e.wood), or Nalder for “Alder.” Townsend is from Town’s-end. Thus Peter at the Town’s-end becomes Peter Townsend, or Townshend. “Tash” is from “at the Ash”; and Thynne, a name belonging to one of our ennobled families, is said to be from one “John at the Inne.”

(c)Most of these generic names have dropped all suffixes and affixes. Here a hundred surnames present themselves to our eye. Who does not know a Hill or Dale, a Field or Croft? Who has not a friend called Craig or Cliff, or Dean or Hope? Who has not met with a Grange or Moor, or Wood or Shaw? Our “Streets” are as thick as Our “Lanes,” and in the busiest thoroughfares of London you may descry Barnes and Marshes and Parks and Forests and Warrens without end. The village spring has given us our “Wells,” the village road our “Crosses,”and the village common has given us our “Greens.” The following was addressed to a Miss Green on her fortieth birthday:—

“That evergreen thy graces show;Some men say ‘Yes,’ and some say ‘No.’Alas! that one and all agreeThat ever-Green thy name shall be!”

Greener is common, being formed after the fashion of Knowler and Knowlman, and Streeter and Streetman, (videunder “a”). A Mr. Greener being devoted admirer of a Miss Green, wrote as follows:—

“One dearest wish I fondly cherish,My ever-Green so fair, yet lonely:To make thee mine, and thus thou’lt flourishGreener, and Greener only.”

To which she responded,—

“I’m Green indeed; but Greener thou,To think by love declarative,To make me change charmspositiveFor those at bestcomparative.”

Flood and Fell belong to this same class, except when Flood is Welsh, and then, like Floyd, it is the same as Lloyd. A Mr. Isaac Fell is said to have had painted over his shop, in very legible characters, “I. Fell, from Ludgate Hill”; beneath which, one day, a Shakspearian wag wrote, “O what a fall was there, my countrymen!” We have mentioned “Dean” above. In composition it generally appears as “den,” and implies a sheltered and sunken glade closely surrounded with trees. Hence it was a covert for cattle and wild beasts, and many of the nameswe now see bear out the fact. Not merely do we talk of a “den of lions,” but we descry dens of “hogs,” “rams,” “oxen,” “kine,” and even “wolves,” in such surnames as Ogden, Ramsden, Oxenden, Cowden, and Wolvenden. Other compounds of “den” are not so easily discernible. What Heberden may mean I do not know. There is still in the Directory one Heberden, a physician. Probably it was his father, or grandfather, one of three great London doctors in George the Third’s reign, of whom thesixaingot abroad:—

“You should send, if aught should ail ye,For Willis, Heberden, or Baillie:All exceeding skilful men,Baillie, Willis, Heberden:Uncertain which most sure to kill is,Baillie, Heberden, or Willis.”

But Moore or “More,” or “Moor,” represented until late in London by George Moore, whose like we do not expect to see soon again, has been a butt for the shafts of wit for generations. We could fill the remaining pages of this chapter with “torts and retorts” upon this sobriquet. Lorenzo, in theMerchant of Venice, says, “It is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but if she be less than an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for;” to which Launcelot replies irately, “How every fool can play upon the word!” But some of these epigrams are not fools’ work, nevertheless. When Sir Thomas More was Chancellor, his untiring devotion to his office brought a conclusion to all the Chancery cases in litigation. The following got abroad:—

“When More some years had Chancellor been,No more suits did remain;The same shall never more be seen,Till More be there again.”

When Dr. Manners-Sutton succeeded Archbishop Moore, this rhyme appeared:—

“What say you? the Archbishop’s dead?A loss indeed! Oh, on his headMay Heaven its blessings pour;But if with such a heart and mind,In Manners we his equal find,Why should we wish for Moore?”

I might mention other similar attempts at rhymical puns on this name; but let this epitaph from St. Bennet’s Churchyard, Paul’s Wharf, London, suffice:—

“Here lies one More, and no more than he;One More, and no more! how can that be?Why, one More, and no more may well lie here alone,But here lies one More, and that’s more than one!”

To this generic class belongs every name that suggests the familiar objects of the country. Even the trees supply their quota. Who is not aware of Mr. Harper Twelvetrees’ existence, and cannot see that his ancestor having made his abode beside some remarkable group of birch or oak or chestnut trees, has been styled by his neighbours “Peter atte Twelve-trees”? Hence the French “Quatrefages,” and more English “Crabtree,” “Plumtree,” or “Plumptree,” “Rountree” (once written “Rowantree”), “Appletree,” and “Peartree.” All these names still exist, and I find entries to prove they lived at least six hundred years ago. To many of my readers it mayseem somewhat strange that a single shrub should be pressed into the service of nomenclature in this manner. But let him imagine himselfwithout a surname, living in the country, in a lane, with no landmark adjacent but a stile, or an oak, or an ash.How could he escapebeing called by his neighbours John Styles, or Oakes, or Ash? If there were no trees, nor even a stile, how could he avoid being designated as John in the Lane, and finally John Lane? Snooks might be set by “Twelvetrees,” for it is but a corruption of “Sennoks” and that of “Sevenoaks,” a well-known place in Kent.

(d) The next division of local names isspecific—viz. the names of towns or villages, such as Preston, Buxton, Oldham, Lancaster, Chester, York, and indeed all that class so multitudinous of which the old distich already quoted says,—

“Inford, inham, inley, inton,The most of English surnames run.”

Sometimes the “ley” gets corrupted. There can be little doubt, for instance, that Hathaway is but a mispronunciation of Hatherley, and that Ann Hathaway’s progenitor hailed from Gloucestershire. Was ever a more beautiful as well as clever punning rhyme made than that imputed to Shakespear? One verse must suffice:

“Would ye be taught, ye feathered throng,With Love’s sweet notes to grace your song,To pierce the heart with thrilling lay?Listen to mine Ann Hathaway!She hath a way to sing so clear,Phœbus might wondering stop to hear:To melt the sad, make blithe the gay,And Nature charm, Ann hath a way:She hath a way,Ann Hathaway,To breathe delight, Ann hath a way.”

Five Hathaways and three Hathways still commemorate her in the Directory. The termination “field” is corrupted into the form of “full” in several cases; thus Charles Hatfull’s name reads somewhat queerly. Of course he belongs to the Hatfields who figure just above him.

See the tendency to migrateinto, and notfromLondon. The name London is rare, as the Directory shows. A man leaving Buxton for the capital, would be Walter-o’-Buxton; quitting the capital for the Peak of Derbyshire, he would be Walter-o’-London. But the tendency being for a young aspirant after fame and wealth to gothither, and notthence, made the surname London of rare occurrence. Perhaps there has been more than one Whittington who has fancied the bells have bid him stay and try his luck again in that big centre of life and industry, whose title is the most familiar place-name in the world. Curious that the mightiest city of the mightiest empire should be so scantily represented in its own Directory. The cause, as I have shown, is simple of explanation. We may here set “New,” “Newman,” and “Strange.” A new comer would easily get the sobriquet of “Matthew the New-man,” or “William the Strange,” or “Henry the New,” in the fresh community to which he had joined himself. The sobriquet has stuck to his children, and still remains.

(e)Names of foreign towns, the result of earlier or later immigration, come next: such as “Cullen” from Cologne, a name very familiar to English Roman Catholics; “Lyons” from the city devoted to the silk trade; “Bullen” or “Boleyn” from Boulogne; or “Janeway” or “Jannaway” from Genoa.

Many of these foreign town-names came into England through the fact that the towns they represented were celebrated for some particular production. The “Challens” of our Directory all hail from Chalons, once so famous for its blankets that they were called “chalons” for several centuries. The name still lingers in the woollen trade of Yorkshire as “shaloon cloth.” Chaucer speaks both of “chalons” and “cloth of raines.” This was made at Rennes in Brittany, and has furnished the London Directory with its various Rains, Rain, Raine, and Raines. A writer in the “Book of Days” says the following was written upon a lady bearing the name of Rain:—

“Whilst shiv’ring beaux at weather rail,Of frost, and snow, and wind, and hail,And heat, and cold, complain,My steadier mind is always bentOn one sole object of content,—I ever wish for Rain!“Hymen, thy votary’s praise attend,His anxious hope and suit befriend,Let him not ask in vain:His thirsty soul, his parched estate,His glowing breast commiserate—In pity give him Rain!”

“Whilst shiv’ring beaux at weather rail,Of frost, and snow, and wind, and hail,And heat, and cold, complain,My steadier mind is always bentOn one sole object of content,—I ever wish for Rain!

“Hymen, thy votary’s praise attend,His anxious hope and suit befriend,Let him not ask in vain:His thirsty soul, his parched estate,His glowing breast commiserate—In pity give him Rain!”

(f)Names of countiesnaturally follow the last class: as Derbyshire, or Kent, or Lancashire, orCumberland, or Kentish, or Devonish, or Cornish, or Cornwall. A new comer would easily get a sobriquet of this sort after stepping across the border line of two contiguous shires.

(g)Names of countries and nationalitiesmay fitly be set last: as Ireland, Scott, Welsh, Walsh, Wallace, English. These, of course, are marks of migration. If an Englishman went into Scotland he would be Peter the English, or Inglis; orvice versâ, he would be Peter the Scot. Foreign districts are represented by such names as “Britton” from Brittany, “Burgon,” or “Burgoyne,” from Burgundy, “Gaskin” from Gascony, and so on with French, Holland, Fleming, and Aleman or Alman, the old name for Germany. The French form for this latter is “D’Almaine,” or “Lallimand.” Both have found their way to London; thus showing a double immigration, first from Germany to France, and then from France to England. Our Sarasins and, Sarsons (when not metronymics for Sara-son,i.e.Sarah’s son) are interesting relics of crusading times, when the Templar loved to bring back with him a young Saracen boy to act as his page. The name is enrolled as “Sarracen” in many ancient registers. Turk also exists. A “William le Turk” lived in London just four hundred years ago, and four “Turks” may be seen in the Directory to-day. The Rev. Richard Thorpe, incumbent of Christ Church, Camberwell, married Thomas Turk to Jane Russ on October 26th, 1877, during the negotiations for peace at Constantinople. How one wishes that such a hopeful union might be brought about between the nations represented by the names of thispair! It is fair to add, that in this case “Russ” is merely a corruption of “Rous,” or of “Rouse,” red-haired or ruddy-complexioned—a favourite nickname with our forefathers. Our “Rowses” and “Russells” are of similar origin.

One name in the London Directory deserves a paragraph to itself, and also to be classified alone, if one single sobriquet can be said to comprise a class. This remarkable surname is “World.” What a cosmopolitan the ancestor of the bearer of this title must have been! Mr. Bowditch, an American writer on surnames, has recorded an instance in the Western continent, for he says, “Columbus discovered a world, and so have I. Mr. World lives at Orilla.” The sobriquet of course is a corruption, but of what I cannot say.

We might go on like Tennyson’s brook, “for ever,” in this chat over local names,—but enough. We have only left ourselves space to remind the reader what vagrants we all are. Like Dickens’ little street boy (in “Bleak House,” I think it is), there seems ever to be a shadowy policeman at our elbow bidding us to “move on.” The Bible has foretold that this is to be our condition; and our names, at least those of local origin, have impressed on our very foreheads the truth of such a Divine prophecy. ’Tis well it should be so. Earth is not to be our dwelling-place for ever. And though at times we may feel that we should like repose, it is in mercy that God applies the goad, for thus are we reminded that—

“Our rest is in Heaven, our rest is not here.”

The day will assuredly dawn for the Christian whenhe shall be enabled to take off his travel-worn shoes, when he shall enter into the home to which he has been making his way through so many weary stages, and from which there shall be no going forth, even for ever and for ever. May every reader of this chapter be amongst that multitude of “vagabonds in the earth,” to use a Scripture phrase, who shall then “enter His gates with thanksgiving, and His courts with praise.”

Thelargest class of surnames in the London Directory, we showed in our second chapter, after local names, were those of patronymic origin: baptismal surnames we called them. If Richard has a son called Richard, it is easy to suppose that this child would go by the name of Richard Richard’s son, or Richard Dick’s son. A third generation having appeared in the form of a grandson, called Richard, after father or grandfather, it will be readily supposed that, he being also Richard Richard’s son, or Dick’s son, the surname Richardson would now be sufficiently familiarised to become thehereditarycognomen of the descendants of this stock. Thus Richardson and Dickson have sprung into being. Thus every name of this class has originated. Names like Johnson, Jackson, Timpson, Wilson, Harrison, or Stephenson, simply prove that the bearers of these several titlesare descended from some particular John, Tim, Will, Harry, or Stephen, who when he died bequeathed his baptismal name as a piece of property to his immediate descendants—not deliberately, as he would his money and estates, but in the casual and accidental fashion recorded above.

We can understand that at first it would seem strange for agirlto go by a patronymic of this kind. Imagine at this early stage of surname formation some village maid bearing the name of Mary Williamson(i.e., Mary, the son of William)! To us, accustomed to these names, there seems nothing absurd in such a title as Matilda Johnson, or Margaret Davidson. It never occurs to us to take the name to pieces, and see the incongruity of its several elements. That this was a difficulty to our forefathers is evident from the fact that there are many entries like “Joan Willsdaughter,” or “Nan Tomsdaughter,” in the registers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Thus “Isabella Peersdoghter” lived near Durham four hundred years ago—i.e., Isabella, the daughter of Peers,i.e.Peter. In the same way, “Avice Mattwife”—i.e., Avice, the wife of Matt (Matthew)—or “Cecilia Wilkin-wife,” is found at the same period. The reason why surnames ending indaughterare not found now, is that if the girl with such a surname died unmarried, it died with her; if she married, she changed her name. “Son,” as a termination having no difficulties of this kind to contend with, has left us a multitude of names. Had it been otherwise, we should have had surnames like Steven-daughter, Dick-daughter, and Hopkin-daughter, contending fora place in our directories with “Stevenson,” “Dickson,” and “Hopkinson.”

It would seem as if the female sex, therefore, had been hardly treated in this matter of baptismal nomenclature. Indeed, some of my readers might be tempted to ask me whether the gentler half of the community are represented at all in our directories. I am happy to respond in the affirmative. John and Margery might have a son, Robert by name. Now, John is a timid, retiring kind of man; his wife being a bustling, active, assertive woman. John sits in the chimney-corner, Margery does all the marketing, all the talking, possibly all the working also. In a word, she rules the roost. Naturally, the neighbours get into a way of calling the child “RobertMargerison,” rather than “RobertJohnson.” Margerison, Margetson, and Margetts are all in the London Directory. Take another instance: Hodge and Nell get married; Hodge dies, and a posthumous child is born. Only the mother is living. As a matter of course, the little one is styled Antony or SarahNelson, according to its sex. A large number of metronymic surnames must be attributed to an accident of this kind. All our “Ibbs,” “Ibbisons,” “Ibbsons,” “Ibbots,” and “Ibbotsons” are sprung from Isabella, a much more common and familiar name four or five hundred years ago than it is now. Our “Emmetts,” “Emmotts,” “Emmotsons,” “Emms,” and “Empsons” are descendants of some “Emma,” or “Emmot,” as she was then styled. Many people have refused to believe that there are any metronymic surnames, for fear that it wouldseem to imply illegitimate birth. It is always silly to deny facts, and I have shown there is no reason to dread the charge in the great majority of these instances.

Every nation has its own peculiar way of forming the baptismal surname. We have no less than five representing British as distinct from English nomenclature: Anglo-Norman, Anglo-Saxon, Scotch, Irish, and Welsh. Each had his fashion of framing the patronymic, and all, I need not say, abound in the metropolis. The Norman madefitz(French,fils) a prefix, and thus Gilbert, son of Hamon, became Gilbert Fitz-hamon. The Saxon madesona desinence, and thus Ralph, son of Nichol, became Ralph Nicholson. The Welshman putap(i.e.son) in the forefront, like the Norman, and thus Owen ap-Richard became Owen Pritchard, or Griffin ap-Harry Griffin Parry, or Hugh ap-Rice Hugh Price. The inhabitant of “Caledonia stern and wild” also setMacat the beginning rather than the end, so that Andrew, son of Aulay, became Andrew Macaulay. Lastly, our friends of the Emerald Isle prefixedMacorOto the baptismal name, as their form of descent, and thus Patrick, son of Neale, became Patrick MacNeale, or Patrick O’Neale. As the old rhyme has it:

“ByMacandO,You all may knowTrue Irishmen, they say;But if they lackBothOandMac,No Irishmen are they.”

Thus within the boundary lines of our own Britannic realm we have “son,” “fitz,” “ap,” “Mac,” and “O”employed in the formation of one single class of surnames. Sometimes the Welsh “ap” became “ab,” and thus ap-Evan has become “Bevan,” ap-Owen, Bowen, ap-Ethell, Bethell, and ap-Huggins, Buggins. In the same way, ap-Lloyd is found in the London Directory as Bloyd.

There are about five thousand people in London bearing names of which “Robert” is the root and foundation. I wonder if it has ever struck my reader that thenominalexistence of four-fifths of this large population is the result of the life, adventures, and celebrity of that great outlaw Robin Hood. To gather up the links of evidence would fill a volume. I will occupy the remainder of this chapter by a briefresuméof the argument. If I prove my assertion, this will be demonstrating the reality of my title, and show conclusively that the London Directory may be well styled a “romance.”

That Robin Hood was the fictitious name of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, has been proved an idle fable; but although there are serious doubts as to the existence of William Tell, there need be none as to the individuality of Robin Hood. That a noted forester—an outlaw—of this name roved in the neighbourhood of Sherwood during the first four decades of the thirteenth century, is beyond dispute.

“In Locksley town, in merry Nottinghamshire,In merry sweet Locksley town,There bold Robin Hood was born and was bred,Bold Robin of famous renown.”

He and his companions lived by spoil. His popularity was twofold in origin. He was credited witha spirit of liberty chafing against an oppressive and tyrannic rule. He was equally credited, truly or the reverse, with unbounded kindness to the poor. Camden styles him “prædonem mitissimum,” the gentlest of thieves. Sir Walter Scott says of the spoil he heaped up, that he “shook the superflux to the poor,” and, in respect of government, “showed the heavens more just.” Dying about the year 1247, it was not very long before he became an “institution”: every country ballad, every chapbook had its story of Robin Hood, his princely spirit, his skill in archery, his wondrous adventures, and his hair-breadth escapes. The impression that he was of noble birth only added to his popularity.

This of course could not but have its effect upon the nomenclature of the time. It is well known that when Thomas à Beckett was murdered, almost every child born immediately afterwards was, if a boy, christened Thomas. To this tragedy myriads of Thompsons and Tomlinsons owe their surnames. The dictionary and the directory are under equal obligations to Robin Hood. There need be little doubt that Gough’s suggestion that his real name was “Robin o’ the Wood” (i.e.Sherwood) is true. The corruption “Hood” is perfectly natural.

(1.) Look at some of ourplace-names. In 1730 there was a “Robin Hood’s Well,” about three miles north of Doncaster; and Leland, the great itinerary, visited “Robyn Hudd’s Bay,” under which antique dress we recognise the familiar village and coast “Robin Hood’s Bay,” betwixt Whitby and Scarborough.Everybody has seen a Robin Hood’s oak, or a Robin Hood’s bower. At this moment there are hundreds of country inns in the north, called “Robin Hood,” with a picture of the bold archer in dress proper, or intended to be so, to the period in which he is supposed to have lived. His bow and arrow are of course always depicted, and occasionally a deer in the distance.

(2.) Look at the old Englishproverbs; and we may premise that if a man has created a proverb he has made himself immortal. “Good even, Robin Hood,” quoted by Skelton, poet-laureate to Henry VIII., implied “civility extorted by fear.” Fuller quotes, “Many men talk of Robin Hood that neere shott in his bow.” “To over-shoot Robin Hood,” is another proverbial saying. This is quoted by Sir Philip Sidney. “Tales of Robin Hood are good for fools,” is quoted by Camden. The most familiar, however, was “to sell Robin Hood’s pennyworths.” Fuller refers to this as of things half sold, half given; the great robber parting lightly with what he came by lightly. “Robin’s choice,” this or nothing, would seem almost to have suggested “Hobson’s choice,” for Hobson is a patronymic of Robert, Hob being the old familiar pet name for the same.

(3.) To Robin Hood, again, we doubtless owe the familiarity of several names applied to thespirit world. Our forefathers were very superstitious, especially the country peasantry. A belief in “brownies,” “dobbies,” “pixies,” and elves kindly or mischievous, still largely prevails in places removed from the busy towns. Superstitions of this kind die where menare herded together. It is only in dusky woodlands ghostly sights appear, or in the silences of the rural churchyard or forest avenue that voices are heard whose utterance is not from human throat! Certainly Robin Hood must stand sponsor for much of the dread that nurses infused into naughty children’s breasts. The pet names or nurses’ names of Robert were “Robin,” “Hob,” and “Dob.” Theignis fatuus, to this day an object of apprehension, was associated early with the bold freebooter:—

“Some call himRobin Goodfellow,Hob-goblin, or mad Crisp.And some againe doe terme him oft,By name of Will the Wispe.”

So says an old ballad.RobinGoodfellow andHob-goblin, it will be seen, represent the same name. Another title for the same was “Hob-lanthorn” (i.e.Robin’s lanthorn). Dr. Halliwell gives the term “Hob-thrush,” adding that it is always used in association with Robin Goodfellow. In the “Two Lancashire Lovers” (1640) it is said, “If he be no hob-thrush, nor no Robin Goodfellow, I could finde with all my heart to sip up a sillybub with him.” Here, then, are four names, “Robin Goodfellow,” “Hob-goblin,” “Hob-lanthorn,” “Hob-thrush;” all used to give personation to that curious light which occasionally may be seen in marshy and woody districts. How natural that these should be associated with that mysterious denizen of the forest, whose name was in everybody’s mouth, and who came and went, who showed himself here, there, and everywhere, and yet could never be caught!

“From elves,hobs, and fairies,Defend us, good Heaven,”

say Beaumont and Fletcher in one of their plays. And every reader of Shakespear will remember how in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” the Fairy addresses Puck as—

“That shrewd and knavish spriteCalled Robin Goodfellow:”

while by-and-by she adds:—

“Those that Hob-goblin call you, and sweet Puck,You do their worst, and they shall have good luck.”

In the extreme north of England the pet name for Robert was Dob, or “Dobbin.” Curiously enough, to this day the term for Hob-goblin is there “Dobby.”[63]I ask the reader, if this can be an accident? Could it have been possible that five distinct names should be given to theignis fatuus, or to such woodland elves as were supposed to reveal themselves under his frolicsome light, all having Robert as their chief component, had not the thousand and one stories about Robin Hood and his merry men and their nightly escapades been spread over the land by the ballad-mongers of the time that immediately followed his death?

(4.) Once more: look at ourgeneral nomenclatureof men, birds, beasts, and shrubs. So common had “Hob” become in the northern and midland districts (for every man you might meet ’twixt York and Leicester was sure to be “Hob”), that it became a cant term for a country yokel. Thomas Fuller in his “Lives” speaks of “country-hobs” where we should speak of “country-men.” Thus, too, Coriolanus is made to say—

“Why in this wool-less toge should I stand here,To beg of Hob and Dick?”

Thejack-assis just as often called “dobbin” in the north, and an ewe-lamb ahob-lamb. The tame ruddock has become the “robinredbreast”; a chicken, aroblet(robelot,i.e., little robin); bindweed goes by the title of “Robin-run in the hedge”; the common club moss is “Robin Hood’s hatband”; while every child is familiar with “ragged robin,” and “herb-robert.”

Surely this is enough to testify to the popularity of Robert! The fact is, that Robin Hood gave a start to his name similar in its effects to that of a snowball. He has grasped all he has touched. He has left his memory upon everything. He has stamped his march upon things animate and inanimate. So long as we have a language and a dictionary, a nomenclature, and a directory, we shall daily be reading and looking upon words and names which, however meaningless on the surface, are teeming with recollections of the bold outlaw, whose thrilling adventures, whose kindly bounties, whose supposed devotion to liberty, made him the idol ofhis own time, and an object of interest to his countrymen so long as England shall endure.

And now we may ask, what has Robin Hood done for English nomenclature, so far as surnames are concerned? Well, in the first place, he made “Robert” the favourite name at the font for a century at least. We even find Robin Hood itself appearing as a surname. A tradesman bearing the sobriquet of Thomas Robyn-Hod, lived at Winchelsea in 1388. At the very time that Robert was thus popular, baptismal surnames were being established. As a consequence, Robert was no sooner a Christian name than it became a candidate for the place of a surname. Remembering the different pet names in familiar use, it will not be so astonishing that I should be able to collect no fewer than forty-six separately-spelled surnames, all descended from this one single appellation! while London alone could gather into Hyde Park as many as five thousand souls whose individuality is recognised by their associates through the medium of this famous title.

(a)Roberthas given us Robert, Roberts, Robart, Robarts, Robertson, Roberson, and Roberton.

(b)Robinhas bequeathed Robin, Robins, Robbins, Roblin, Robinson, and Robison.

(c)Robhas left us Robb, Robbs, Robbie, Robson Robkins, Ropkins, and Ropes.

(d)Dobhas handed down to us Dobb, Dobbs, Dobbie, Dobson, Dobbins, Dobbing, Dobinson, and Dobison.

(e)Hobhas transmitted Hobb, Hobbs, Hobbes, Hobbiss, Hobson, Hobbins, Hoblyn, Hopkins, Hopkinson, Hopps, and Hopson.

(f) Besides these there were once such familiar French diminutives as Robinet, Dobinet, Robelôt, and Robertôt. These did not come directly from France or Normandy. They were forms adopted by the country people from the habit, common then as now, of copying the fashions of the more noble families. Elizabeth Robinett will be found in the London Directory. Hers is the only instance that I can find still existing. The rest were all surnames in the fourteenth century.[66]

(g) The Welsh, seizing upon the name, turned ap-Robert and ap-Robyn into Probert and Probyn, respectively.

Can I add anything to prove the popularity of Robin Hood? It is possible that we could not have spoken of Hobbism, or of a Hobbist, for the founder of that system of philosophy might have borne some other name. It is possible that there might have been no “Hobson’s choice,” for that worthy liveryman at Cambridge might, under some other sobriquet, have compelled the young collegian to take the next horse on the list, or none. Certainly our old friendPunchwould have been unable to poke fun at Cockneydom under at least one name of the famous company of “Brown, Jones, Smith, andRobinson.” It is possible, too, that “before you could say Jack Robinson” would never have become an English commonplace. How the phrase originated I cannotsay, but it is a very old one, if the couplet quoted from an old play by Dr. Halliwell be genuine:—

“A warke it ys as easie to be doone,As tys to saye ‘Jacke Robyson.’”

Thepresent and following chapter I purpose devoting to the further consideration of the subject of baptismal names. There are distinct epochs in the history of names, as in the history of everything else. One great crisis in our national nomenclature was the Norman Conquest. With the exception of Alfred, Arthur, Edwin, Edward, Ethel, and say a dozen other agnomens which were preserved through various accidents, all English names of the pre-Norman period disappeared before the end of the twelfth century. They were literally submerged beneath the advancing tide of Norman titles and usages. All the great popular sobriquets so familiar to us to-day, such as William, Henry, Ralph, Richard, Gerald, Robert, and even Scripture and Saint’s-day names like John, Ellis (Elias), Stephen, and Matthew, belong to the later epoch.

But an equally grave crisis in English nomenclature was the publication of an English Bible, and the Reformation of Religion that followed. From that day all our common and familiar Bible names came into use. Till then the only Scripture names in vogue were those set down in the Calendar of the Saints, or such names as were employed in the “Mysteries,” or “Plays” taken from Scripture stories, performed at festivals for the amusement and instruction of the peasantry and tradespeople. From the day of the Reformation theout-of-the-waysobriquets of the Bible came into favour. As these increased, what we may call the pagan names decreased. The popularity of Harry, Dick, Robert, and Walter began to fade. Some, like Hamond, Avice, Drew, Payn, and Warin, altogether disappeared, while Guy, Baldwin, and Edward held but a most precarious existence.

Here then are two epochs—the Norman, and the Puritan. Let us confine ourselves in this chapter to the first.

“Pagan” and “Christian” were both favourite baptismal names in the Norman epoch. The former was registered as “Payn” or “Paine.” Chaucer says,—

“The constable and Dame Hermigold, his wife,Were payens, and that country everywhere.”

All our “Pagans,” “Payns,” “Paines,” and “Pinsons” are from this old-fashioned sobriquet. A century ago, the Hon. Thomas Erskine having been seized with a serious illness, and kindly tended at Lady Payne’s house in London, wrote,—

“’Tis true I am ill; but I need not complain,For he never knew pleasure who never knew Payne.”

Christianhas never been popular in England, but Christopher has; and besides the long “Christophers” and “Christopherson,” has left us Kitts and Kitson.

Another name, a Scripture name too, is now all but wholly disused—that of Samson. I daresay many of my readers have thought that our many Sampsons are all but entirely descended from Sam-son,i.e., the son of Samuel. I have no hesitation in claiming a full half for the son of Manoah, the Danite. The old registers teem with entries like “Samson de Battisford” or “Sampson Dernebrough.” Shallow says (2Hen. IV.), “And the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer behind Gray’s Inn.”

“I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,To mow ’em down before me,”

says the porter’s assistant inHenry VIII. The fact is, the story of Samson was a favourite one with our forefathers, and often performed at the miracle-plays. There are nearly fifty Sampsons and Samsons in the London Directory, some of them being of purely Jewish descent. “Elegant Extracts,” a favourite storehouse of good, bad, and indifferent (very) poetry for the youth of our country in the last century, has the following, anent this name:—

“Jack, eating rotten cheese, did say,‘Like Samson, I my thousands slay.’‘I vow,’ quoth Roger, ‘so you do,And with the self-same weapon too.’”

Speaking of Roger, we may note that he is fast going out of fashion. There was a day when “Hodge” was as familiar as Hob, Dicon, or Harry. A single glance at our Directory will prove this, for to him we owe all our Hodges, Hodgsons, Hodgkins, Hodgkinsons, Hodsons, Hotchkiss’s, etc. Just as Hob, from Robert, became Dob in North England, so Hodge, from Roger, became Dodge. From Dodge we get our Dodgshons, and Dodgesons. Just as, also, Hodgson became Hodson, so Dodgson has become Dodson. The Welsh turned Ap-Roger into Prodger. All this proves a popularity for Roger utterly beyond its present modest pretensions.

A great deal of nonsense has been written upon one of the noblest family names in England—Howard. It is constantly said, and as constantly reiterated, that the sobriquet is one of occupation, being nothing more nor less than Hog-ward, or hog-herd, corresponding to Swinnart from swine-herd, Coward from cow-herd, Shepherd from sheep-herd, Calvert from calve-herd, and Stoddart and Stottard from stot-herd (i.e., stot, bullock). All these latter are without doubt what they seem to be, for old registers give them in their more manifest dress. But Howard is only another form of Harvard, or Hereward, or Heoruvard. Thus we find such an early entry as John Fitz-howard (that is, John, the son of Howard), clearly a baptismal surname. When Byron wished to hurl an invective at the head of his relative, the Earl of Carlisle, he quoted Pope,—

“What can ennoble knaves, orfools, or cowards?Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.”

The italics are Byron’s, and every one knows the family name of the Lords of Carlisle. As a quotation, it was apt; as applicable to the Earl, it was the opposite; but Byron in a rage meant Byron ungovernable either by courtesy or truth. However, my point is, that the ancestral house of the Howards are not descended from a hog-herd,—though it would be no disgrace if they were, for a shepherd once became a king and a poet,—but from one of those grand personal names which existed in England before the Norman Conquest was dreamt of. “Hereward, the Saxon” has been made familiar within the last few years by Charles Kingsley. This is but the same name in an earlier dress. It might have been considered a happy thought, if the author had dedicated his book to one of the Howards, and stereotyped their identity.

In my work on “English Surnames” I have given a somewhat exhaustive list of the various appellations formed from English baptismal names. So I will merely hint at a few and pass on. Walter, as Wat, gave us Watkins, Watts, Watson, and Watkinson. The old familiar form for Walter was Water, which explains Shakespear’s play upon the name inHenry VI.:—

“My name is Walter Whitmore.How now! why start’st thou? What, doth death affright?Suffolk. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.A cunning man did calculate my birth,And told me that bywaterI should die.”

“My name is Walter Whitmore.How now! why start’st thou? What, doth death affright?

Suffolk. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.A cunning man did calculate my birth,And told me that bywaterI should die.”

Our Waters and Watersons are thus explained.Antonyhas bequeathed us Tonkin, Tonson, and Tounson;Philip, Phipps, Phillips, and Philpotts (i.e.Philipot, that is, little Philip, a pet name). A curious form of Philpot may be seen in the Directory in the shape of Fillpot. This reminds us that many a play has been made on the name. It was not so very long ago that Punch facetiously remarked upon the fact that the newly elected Bishop of Worcester was Philpott, the then Bishop of Exeter being the celebrated Philpotts,—

“‘A good appointment? No, it’s not,’Said old beer-drinking Peter Watts;‘At Worcester one but hears “Philpott,”At generous Exeter “Philpotts.”’”

A large number of patronymics are to be seen in the surnames that come under the division “N” in the Directory. In the old song “Joan to the Maypole” it is said,—

“Nan, Noll, Kate, Moll,Brave lasses, have lads to attend ’em:Hodge, Nick, Tom, Dick,Brave country dancers, who can amend ’em?”

“Nan” stands for Anna or Hannah, Noll for Olive or Oliver, in this case Olive, a girl’s name. In fact, every name that began with a vowel was turned into a pet form beginning with “N.” Edward became Ned, and Emma Nem. Thus in St. Peter’s, Cornhill, the register says,—

“Sept. 20, 1577. Fryday, buryed, Nem Carye, daughter of Harry Carye.”

Humphrey became Nump, and Abel, Nāb. InBen Jonson’s “Alchemist,” the tobacco man Abel addresses Face,—

“Yes, sir; I have another thing I would impart,”

to which Face replies,—

“Out with it, Nāb.”

Again, Isabella became Nib. The result of this is, that such surnames as Nibbs, Nabbs, and Nemms or Neams, are common. Even Nance, which figures twice in the Postal Directory, is just as likely to be the old “Nans,” from Anna, as from the town of Nantes. The owner can take his choice, however, and probably will prefer the local origin.

Talking of girls’ names, we may notice how many surnames owe their origin to Matilda, Emma, Isabella, and Petronilla. There are pages of Tillotsons, Tillots, Tilletts, Tilts, and Tills, all from the old pet form Till. Emma, too, is commemorated in little companies of Emms, Emps, Emsons, Empsons, Emmotts, Emmetts, and Emmotsons; while Isabella is not far behind with the retinue of Ibbs, Nibbs, Ibbotts, Ibbetts, and Ibbotsons. Petronilla, the feminine form of Peter, was always known as Parnel, and is thus found in St. Peter’s, Cornhill:—

“1586, Aprill 17. Sonday, christening of Parnell, daughter of William Averell, merchaunt tailor.”

Hence our many Parnells and Parnalls. Mary has left us Mollison and Marriott (i.e.little Mary), but was never popular in England during the days of surname formation. Maria was practically unknown till the seventeenth century. As Charles Lamb says,—

“Mariaasks a statelier pace,—‘Ave, Maria, full of grace!’Romish rites before me rise,Image worship, sacrifice,And well-meant but mistaken pieties.”

It is a proof that even in days long anterior to the Reformation the English peasantry had an inrooted objection to a foreign religious yoke, in the shape of Popery, that such names as Peter and Mary should be so scantily represented. ’Tis true that Peter has left his mark upon the Directory. There are shoals of Peters, Petersons, Perkins, Pearces, Piers, Pierces, and Pearsons, but their origin belongs to an earlier day. Certain it is, that at least a century before the reign of Mary, the name was growing into disrepute with the English people, and no doubt the obnoxious tax of Peter’s-pence was at the root of it.

Guywas turned in Norman nurseries into Guiot (i.e., little Guy); this in English was transformed into Wyatt. How popular this name was four hundred years ago, is proved by the fact that there are nearly sixty Wyatts set down in the London Directory alone. William, Walter, Warin, and Wyatt all testify to the change of French G into English W. In the French Directories they will still be found as Guillaume, Gualter, Guarin, and Guiot. And as Guillaume became William, so Guillemot (little William) became Williamot, and then Wilmot. The French, however, unlike the English, were very fond of addingtwodiminutives to the name. Thus, Guillot (little Will) became Guillotin (little wee Will). This reminds us of Dr. Guillotin, who invented that terribleinstrument which played such a horrible part in the French Revolution. In the same way, Hugh (always spelt “Hew” in mediæval records) became English Hewet (little Hugh), and French Hugot. But our neighbours, inserting another diminutive, turned it into Hugenot (little wee Hugh). This at once explains a matter of much contention. There has been much strife as to the origin of the word Huguenot. Had our friends only been aware of the fondness of the French some centuries ago fordouble diminutives, they would have seen at once that the sect sprang from someindividualbearing that name, the origin of which is perfectly simple. It may be of interest to add, that we in England have never useddouble diminutives. In France it was the rule rather than the exception, as their Directories fully prove. Introduced by the Normans, we have both “in” and “ot” or “et,” as in “Colin” and “Hewet,” from Nicholas and Hugh; but we never conjoin them to one name. A Frenchman four hundred years ago would have turned them into “Col-in-et,” “Col-ot-in,” “Hugu-in-ot,” or “Hug-ot-in.” ’Tis true, we in England called children “Rob-in-et,” as I have shown in a previous chapter; but it was a mere passing fancy. I was wrong, however, in stating that the surname “Robinet” is practically obsolete, for Mr. Hutton, the Rector of Stilton, writes to inform me that in a village adjacent there are several families of this name.

Thomas owed its great popularity to Thomas à Becket, who for a time at least was a popular idol. Few baptismal names have laid their impress onthe London Directory as this has done. Rows of Thomas’s appear, many hailing from the Welsh border. These are flanked by columns of Thompsons with a “p,” and Thomsons without a “p.” Dancing attendance on these more important members of the Thomas family, are scattered up and down a few Thomassets, and Thomsetts, memorials of the old pet name “Thomaset” (i.e.little Thomas). But Thomas seemed to imagine that the “h” in his side ought to be got rid of, so he appears in shoals as Tompkins, with a “p” again, and again as Tomkins without a “p.” Poor relations do not like to make their connection too prominent, for fear of giving offence, so in the background, but close enough to be ready to make good their claim, appear several Toms, Thoms, Tomes, and Tombs. This last looks very funereal indeed, and would seem to be a local name taken from one who has had his dwelling amid the tombs, but “b” was often put at the end in that way. Thus Timbs is from Tims, that is, Timothy. A string of Tomlins and Tomlinsons completes the list. Many will remember the rhyme about Thomas the footman, whom his lady married:—

“Dear lady, think it no reproach,It showed a generous mind,To take poor Thomas in the coach,Who rodebefore behind.“Dear lady, think it no reproach,It show’d you loved the more,To take poor Thomas in the coach,Who rodebehind before.’”

“Dear lady, think it no reproach,It showed a generous mind,To take poor Thomas in the coach,Who rodebefore behind.

“Dear lady, think it no reproach,It show’d you loved the more,To take poor Thomas in the coach,Who rodebehind before.’”

There are a fair number of Guns, Gunns, andGunsons, in our Directory. There is a slang phrase about being the “son of a gun.” This was a common occurrence in old days when such entries as “Richard filius Gunne” were frequently made. The fact is, “Gun” was a baptismal name, and the surnames mentioned above are but sprung from it. It is not many years since Mr. Gunson preached the assize sermon at Cambridge before Mr. Baron Alderson and Mr. Justice Patteson. The following rhyme got abroad:—

“A Baron, a Justice, a Preacher,—sons three:The Preacher, the son of a Gun is he;The Baron, he is the son of a tree;Whose son is the Justice I can’t well see,But read himPaterson, and all will agreeThat the son of his father the Justice must be.”

Alderson is but a form of Aldrichson, Aldrich being once a common baptismal name; while Patterson, Paterson, Pattison, and Patteson, are all commemorative of Patrick, who, strange to say, was scarcely remembered at the font at all in Ireland at a time when he was very popular in England.

Every country has a sobriquet which stands as a kind of baptismal name for the nation, as distinct from the individual. England is represented by John, or John Bull; Scotland by Alexander, as Sawney or Sandy; Ireland by Patrick, as Pat; and Wales by David, in the dress of Taffy. Let us trace their origin very briefly, and see their effect upon our nomenclature. In 1385 the Guild of St. George, at Norwich, contained 376 names; of these 128 were John! This extraordinary proportion was the directresult of the Crusades. From the Jordan, in which Christ had been baptized, every crusader brought home in his bottle water for baptismal purposes. He could not christen his child by the name of Jesus, the Baptized—this would be blasphemy; but he could give it the name of the baptizer, John. Remember, too, that John the Baptist was “Elias.” Hence Baptist, John, Ellis, and Jordan, became the favourite baptismal names for several generations. Our Jordans, Jordansons, Jordsons, Judds, Judsons, and Judkins are all memorials of this, for Judd did not become the pet name of George till the seventeenth century. In early days it was the nickname of Jordan. The other day I saw a register of a child christened “River,” his surname being Jordan. Thus both names have the same origin. This kind of thing is common. I know registers where may be seen three “River Jordans.” “Windsor Castle” occurs in a Derbyshire church record. But John took the lead.

One of the most curious freaks in the history of nomenclature is that which made Jack the nickname for “John.” The French for James was Jaques (Jacobus). This being the then favourite name in France, got popularized in England, with this difference, that the common folk took it and made it the pet name of their own favourite name “John.” Thus our Jacks, Jacksons, Jacklins, are all reminiscences of John rather than James. It is so still. No one ever dreams of styling a boy called James, Jack. To this day, John and Jack are synonymous. The Flemings brought in “Hans” (i.e. Johannes). These have originated our Hankins, Hankinsons, Hancocks,Handcocks, Hanks, and Hands. Further distinction was obtained by nicknaming some boys as “Little-John,” “Proper-John” (i.e., handsome: in country parts, they still say of a young man, “He’s a proper young fellow”). The French introduced Gros-Jean (Big-John) and Bon-Jean (Good-John), and the latter got corrupted into Bunyan. To John we owe our Johnsons, Jones, Jennings, Jenkinsons, Jenkins, and Jenks. No doubt, when Mr. Jenkins wrote “Ginx’s Baby,” he was aware that both author and hero bore the same name, for “Ginx” is simply “Jinks” or “Jenks” caricatured.

Miss Yonge thinks that Margaret Atheling introduced Alexander into Scotland from the Hungarian Court. Her third son was Alexander, and under him and the other two Alexanders Scotia was prosperous. Hence its great popularity. Sawney and Sandy are the pet forms, and the surnames Alister, McAlister in the Highlands, and Sanders or Saunders in the Lowlands, will for ever prevent the name being forgotten.

Patrick, the patron saint of Irishmen, whose festival is kept wherever Irishmen may be, has, strange to say, left scarcely a single surname. There is “Kil-patrick,” and “Gos-patrick”—i.e., servant of Patrick (Gos = gossoon,i.e.garçon), but no real patronymic. How is this? One single reason will suffice. At the time of surname formation “Patrick” was scarcely ever used at the font. “Teague” was the popular name till the end of the seventeenth century. Under 150 years ago, Englishmen spoke of an Irishman, not as “Pat,” but as “Teague.” I could prove this equally from registers and ballads.

“Taffy,” of course, was and is the Welsh national name, and owes his origin to St. David, who lived in the sixth century, and through his sanctity caused his bishop’s see to be changed from Menevia into St. David’s. Davy, Davis, and Davies are therefore common enough in the Principality. From our childhood we have heard that—

“Taffy was a Welshman,Taffy was a thief;”

but we trust, for the credit of our friends across the Severn, that this refers to a particular Taffy, and not to the national Taffy. Black sheep are to be found in every flock. That Taffy can be a hero, Happy Dodd and his compatriots can prove; and never was the Albert Medal more richly deserved or more bravely won, than on the morning that witnessed the rescue of the imprisoned miners in the Welsh coal-pit. All honour to Taffy!

Isaidin my last chapter that I should devote the present one to a relation of the causes that led to a complete revolution in our English baptismal nomenclature in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. During this comparatively brief period, most of the popular mediæval names lapsed, not merely from favour, but into total oblivion. ’Tis true, this does not properly appertain to the subject of surnames, because, having now become an established system, it was impossible for the Reformation to affect them to any appreciable extent. That is, the Reformation could revolutionize our baptismal names, but not our surnames. Had the Reformation occurred three or even two centuries earlier, the London Directory of 1877 would have presented a totally different appearance to that whichit does. Instead of half a thousand Harrisons and Harrises, we should have had, may be, a hundred “Calebsons,” and “Abnersons,” and “Joshuasons,” and “Jaelsons.” Why? Because surnames were undergoing their hereditary formation then.

Nevertheless, our subject is quite apropos to the Directory, for Christian names abound there as well as surnames. If the pages of that great tome do not show that our surnames were visibly affected by an open Bible, a Reformation of Religion, and a Puritan Commonwealth, it is not so with the baptismal names. Every page bears strong evidence of a wondrous and stirring revolution.

Let us first clear the ground. In what relation did the Bible stand to English nomenclature in pre-Reformation days? The Scripture names in use during that period were fourfold in origin.

(a)Names so prominent in Scripturethat none could be ignorant of them, such as Adam and Eve. All our Atkins, Atkinsons, Adams, Adamsons, Adkins, Adkinsons, and Addisons come from Adam; all our Eves, Evisons, Evetts, Evitts, Evotts, and Evesons, from Eve. An old will, dated 1391, speaks of the same individual as Eve and Evot (i.e.little Eve). Adam and Eve, four hundred years ago, were two of our commonest personal names.

(b)Names of Bible heroes, whose story was wont to be dramatized on religious festivals, and thus made familiar to the peasantry. The offering of Isaac, and Daniel in the den of lions, were two favourite plays. Thus, Isaac as Higg or Hick, and Daniel as Dan, were popular everywhere. Thus we got as surnames,Higgins (i.e.little Isaac), Higginson, Hicks, Hickson, Higgott and Higgs, from the one, and Daniels, Danson, Dankins, Dannett (i.e.little Daniel), and Dann from the other. Higgonet,—a double diminutive (treated of in our last chapter),—became Hignett; and even non-smokers must have seen the virtues of Hignett’s “mixture” glowingly described in the daily advertisements! Imagine Higgins or Hignett as derived from Isaac! Nevertheless, such is the undoubted fact.

(c)Ecclesiastic names, or names taken from the calendar of the saints, such as Bartholomew, Nicholas, or Peter. The reader would be indeed amazed if I were to furnish him with a list of all the surnames founded upon these three once familiar names. Bate, Bartle, and Bartelot were the pet forms of Bartholomew, whence our Bates, Battys, Batsons, Bartles, and Bartletts. St. Nicholas gave us Nicholls and Nicholson, Nix, Nicks, Nixon, and Nickson. Cole (whence our Coles) was the most favoured pet form, however, of Nicholas; and this, with the popular Norman-French diminutives “in” and “et” appended, made Colin and Colet. Hence our many Collins, Collinsons, Colsons, Colletts and Colets, not to mention the double diminutive Colinet. As for Peter, I have already reminded the reader of the pages of names that the London Directory contains, all originated by that agnomen upon which Rome has founded her most pretentious and arrogant claims. When we reflect that previous to the incoming of the Normans there were no Scripture names in use in England, saving in the case of a few ecclesiastics,who had adopted them at ordination, we can in some little degree realize the great revolution our national nomenclature had undergone in respect of the three classes I have here summarised.

(d)Festival names, such as Christmas or Pascal. The other day I was passing through a street in Kensington, and saw “Pentecost” over a door. It is a curious surname, and yet not uncommon. The reader perhaps wonders how such a term got into our Directory. Its origin is perfectly simple. Like John, or Thomas, it was but a baptismal name, and having become so used, it inevitably came to the honours of a surname. How? says a reader. This way,—John, the son of Pentecost, five hundred years ago, becomes John Pentecost, and the thing is done. Pentecost is no exceptional instance. The London Directory contains many a Christmas, or Midwinter, or Paschal, or Pask, or Nowell, or Noel. All these mediæval terms for religious seasons were used as baptismal names, (being given to children born on these festivals,) and then became surnames. The Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel got his surname in such a manner. Noel was quite a familiar term in England and France for Christmas Day; and a child born on that eventful morn would naturally receive as his font-name that which gave title to the day, especially when we consider that Noel is nothing more than “Natalis,” the “natal day.” As time passed on, and the meaning of Noel became obscure, the Christmas waits pronounced it “Now well! Now well;” as they sang their midnight carol. It was a pretty and significant mistake. Surely, as Noelcomes round, many a believer can catch the strain of angelic “glad tidings” of a Saviour born, and say, “Now well, indeed, for me and all mankind.” “Nowell” is the commonest form of the surname. In France, all children born on Easter Day were christened “Pascal.” This, becoming a surname, was handed down to Blaise Pascal, one of the most brilliant and most pious men that that great country has ever produced. In the north of England Easter was always known as “Pace,” or “Pask.” These of course are common surnames. “To go a pace-egging” is still a familiar phrase in Lancashire and Yorkshire; and the prettily ornamented eggs are still sold in the shops as Easter comes round. By a happy conceit, they are often called “Peace-eggs”; and certainly “Pace” has proved “Peace” to myriads of souls. The Registrar-General, in one of his reports, came across a Christmas Day—i.e., the child’s surname being “Day,” the parents had it christened “Christmas.” “Pentecost,” for a child born on Whit-Sunday, was once extremely popular.[86]

But these quaint customs have come to an end. To baptize an infant by the name of “Pentecost” or “Paschal” would now be considered a piece of eccentricity, not to say irreverence. The Reformed Church of England has sufficiently emphasized these festivals in her Services, without laying too great stress upon them. The superstitions and follies that gave over-prominence to such seasons in mediæval days ceased with an open English Bible and a purerand simpler Christianity. The danger now is a rush to the other end of the tether. I believe there are thousands of living Nonconformists who regret that they have allowed such services as would have commemorated the events of Easter Day, Good Friday, and Ascension Day to fall into desuetude. The neglect of Ascension Day, even among Churchmen, is, I think, much to be deplored.

But if the Reformation threw one class of names into the cold shadow of neglect and oblivion, it took care to fill up the gap with an assortment of its own selection. We may set down the interval between 1580 and 1720 as the most curious era in the history of personal names, whether of this or any other country. The more I have studied our English baptismal registers of the seventeenth century,—and I may say, without boasting, few have studied them more frequently than I,—the more profoundly am I convinced that no other revolution of a religious or social character in the annals of nations can present claims to eccentricity equal to that which, beginning with the Reformation, found its climax in the Puritan Commonwealth. Alas! I can only touch upon the subject here, but I could easily fill a book with instances gleaned by myself in a not very long life. Friends interested in the same pursuit, I must add, have also helped me; not to mentionNotes and Queries, that storehouse of treasures to antiquaries of every bent.

The first signs of serious change betrayed themselves at the beginning of Elizabeth’s reign. The English Bible rested in English hands. But itwas a new book. Names familiar enough in 1877, but probably heard of for the first time in 1577, were drawn forth from their concealment, and made to subserve the new impulse of the nation. It was then that the minister at the font had to begin registering such names as “Abacucke Harman,” “Sydrach Sympson,” “Phenenna Salmon,” “Gamaliel Capell,” “Archelaus Gifford,” “Melchizedek Payne,” “Dyna Bocher,” or “Zebulon Clerke.” It was as if the Bible were a new country full of verdant tracks, and as they passed through each plucked the flower that pleased him most. By the time King James came to the throne, “Phineas,” “Philemon,” “Uriah,” “Aquila,” “Priscilla,” and “Hilkiah” had become the rage. Before he died, Harry had fallen into neglect, Ralph and Guy were utterly despised, and names like Hamlet, or Hamnet (Shakespear’s son was Hamnet), or Avice, or Douce, or Warin, or Drew, or Fulke, had gone down like sodden logs in a stagnant pool. Whether they will ever come into use again is very doubtful. Only national caprice can do it; but that, we know, can do anything. That Avice, so pretty and simple as it is, should have disappeared, I cannot but think a national loss.

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