“To brawle with you about her cocke,
For well I heard Tyb say,
The cocke was roasted in your house,
To breakfast yesterday.”
Tyb was Gammer Gurton’s “mayde.” In the same play the cat is “Gib.” The maid says of Gammer while stitching with her needle,—
“Gyb, our cat, in the milke-pan,
She spied over head and ears.”
The Kitcat Club took its name from one Christopher Cat, who kept an eating-house in London, where the club members met. The pet name of Christopher was Kit (whence our Kitts, and Kitsons, and the island of St. Kitts, i.e. St. Christopher): a conjunction of the Christian and surname formed the term. I may here add that Bishop Ken represents the Norman word for the dog, an old form being Eborard le Ken, or Thomas le Chene. We still employ the term Kennel, which is from the same root.
This interchange of civilities has not been so largely cultivated between mankind and the finny tribe—at least, not in England. Boys talk, ’tis true, of a Jack-sharp, and fishermen of a Jack-pike or a John Dory; but there we end our distribution of nominal courtesies. But the denizens of our streams and becks and estuaries, whether in fresh water or salt, have turned the tables on us with a vengeance. No doubt, as the penalty of possessing certain peculiarities in gait, or habit, or complexion, many of our forefathers got nicknamed Grayling, Tench, Pike, Herring, Pilchard, or Sturgeon. Whale would be a nickname for a man of huge bulk. Thomas Spratt was Bishop of Rochester in 1688. We are all familiar with Chubb, on account of his patent locks. A Mr. Codde married a Miss Salt, and their first child bore the name of Salt Codde. [144a] This is not more remarkable than “Preserved Fish,” which figured for some years in the New York Directory, and may be there now for what I know to the contrary. A Mrs. Salmon is said to have presented her husband with three children at one birth, and to commemorate such an auspicious event, he had them christened by the names of Pickled, Potted, and Fresh. I do not vouch for the truth of this story! [144b] I may observe here that it is somewhat remarkable that quaint Isaac Walton, the great master, rather than “disciple of the rod,” wrote the life of the “judicious Hooker.” Most anglers are disposed to think that Walton himself was the most “judicious hook-er” that England has ever seen. At least, his success with the fish-basket was so great, and his meditations while occupied with his favourite pastime were so wise, that cynical Samuel Johnson could not say of his fishing rod, that there was a worm at one end and a fool at the other.
Talking about fish, what an odd thing it seems that there should be 181 Fishers and Fischers in the London Directory, only eight Rivers to fish in, and only sixteen Fish to catch! Nor is this all: they have only three Rodds amongst them, thirty Lines or Lynes, thirty Hooks and Hookes, six Worms, nine Grubbs, and not a single “Fly.” Nor do I see what they can want with three Basketts; surely one would be enough for but sixteen Fish. Speaking, too, of Fish and Worms, we must not forget the old epitaph on Mr. Fish:—
“Worm’s bait for fish,
But here’s a sudden change,
Fish’s bait for worms,—
Is not that passing strange?”
The reptile and insect world is not without traces of representation in the London Directory. There is no Alligator or Crocodile there, ’tis true; but there might have been, had the following story occurred a few generations earlier than it did. Not very long ago, in a northern town, there was a town councillor who delighted in the use of sesquipedalian English. He would never employ a short word if he could lay hands on a long one. He was rather of a positive turn, too. One day a fellow officer made a certain statement before the Council. Up jumps our friend, and cries out, “That allegation is false, and—and the allegator knows it.” He has been styled “Alligator” ever since. Fly, Wasp, Bee, Gnat, and Bugg once existed, but only Bee and Bugg remain. Black-adder was formerly common, and still lingers in the Metropolitan Directory as Blackadar. Bugg, however, can claim a local origin, for there can be little or no doubt that it is but one of the endless forms of Borough, found as Brough, Bury, Burgh, Burge, and Burke. Nevertheless Thomas Hood did not seem to like it:—
“A name—if the party had a voice—
What mortal would be a Bugg by choice,
As a Hogg, a Grubb, or a Chubb rejoice,
Or any such nauseous blazon?
Not to mention many a vulgar name,
That would make a doorplate blush for shame,
If doorplates were not so brazen.”
“John Frog” occurs in the Hundred Rolls, but he jumped out of our Directories several centuries ago: and, possibly because his company did not please him, has never jumped in again. Tadpole, ’tis true, exists: but as Tadpoles in our Directories never manifest any further stage of development, the Frogs have never received any increase from them!