Hence we get Home for Holme (Chapter XII), Ferris for Ferrers, a French local name, Batt for Bartholomew, Gatty for Gertrude, Dallison for d'Alençon. The loss of -r- after a vowel is also exemplified by Foster for Forster, Pannell and Pennell for Parnell (sometimes), Gath for Garth (Chapter XIII), and Mash for Marsh. To the loss of n before s we owe such names as Pattison, Paterson, etc., son of Paton, the dim. of Patrick, and Robison for Robinson, and also a whole group of names like Jenks and Jinks for Jenkins (John), Wilkes for Wilkins, Gilkes, Danks, Perks, Hawkes, Jukes for Judkins (Chapter VI), etc. Here I should also include Biggs, which is not always connected with Bigg, for we seldom find adjectival nicknames with -s. It seems to represent Biggins, from obsolete biggin, a building (Chapter XIII).
The French nasal n often disappeared before r. Thus denrée, lit. a pennyworth, appears in Anglo-French as darree. Similarly Henry became Harry, except in Scotland, and the English Kings of that name were always called Harry by their subjects. It is to this pronunciation that we owe the popularity of Harris and Harrison, and the frequency of Welsh Parry, ap, Harry, as compared with Penry. A compromise between Henry and Harry is seen in Hanrott, from the French dim. Henriot.
The initial h-, which we regard with such veneration, is treated quite arbitrarily in surnames. We find a well-known medieval poet called indifferently Occleve and Hoccleve. Harnett is the same as Arnett, for Arnold, Ewens and Heavens are both from Ewan, and Heaven is an imitative form of Evan. In Hoskins, from the medieval Osekin, a dim. of some Anglo-Saxon name such as Oswald (Chapter VII), the aspirate has definitely prevailed. The Devonshire name Hexter is for Exeter, Arbuckle is a corruption of Harbottle, in Northumberland. The Old French name Ancel appears as both Ansell and Hansell, and Earnshaw exists side by side with Hearnshaw (Chapter XII).
The loss of h is especially common when it is the initial letter of a suffix, e.g. Barnum for Barnham, Haslam, (hazel), Blenkinsop for Blenkin's hope (see hope, Chapter XII), Newall for Newhall, Windle for Wind Hill, Tickell for Tick Hill, in Yorkshire, etc. But Barnum and Haslam may also represent the Anglo-Saxon dative plural of the words barn and hazel. A man who minded sheep was once called a Shepard, or Sheppard, as he still is, though we spell it shepherd. The letter w disappears in the same way; thus Greenish is for Greenwich, Horridge for Horwich, Aspinall for Aspinwall, Millard for Millward, the mill-keeper, Boxall for Boxwell, Caudle for Cauldwell (cold); and the Anglo-Saxon names in -win are often confused with those in -ing, e.g. Gooding, Goodwin; Golding, Goldwin; Gunning, Gunwin, etc. In this way Harding has prevailed over the once equally common Hardwin.
Finally, we have to consider what may be called baby phonetics, the sound-changes which seem rather to transgress general phonetic laws. Young children habitually confuse dentals and palatals, thus a child may be heard to say that he has "dot a told." This tendency is, however, not confined to children. My own name, which is a very uncommon one, is a stumbling-block to most people, and when I give it in a shop the scribe has generally got as far as Wheat- before he can be stopped.
We find both Estill and Askell for the medieval Asketil, and Thurtle alternating with Thurkle, originally Thurketil (Chapter VII). Bertenshave is found for Birkenshaw, birch wood, Bartley, sometimes from Bartholomew, is more often for Berkeley, and both Lord Bacon and Horace Walpole wrote Twitnam for Twickenham. Jeffcock, dim. of Geoffrey, becomes Jeffcott, while Glascock is for the local Glascott. Here the palatal takes the place of the dental, as in Brangwin for Anglo-Sax. Brandwine. Middleman is a dialect form of Michaelmas (Chapter IX). We have the same change in tiddlebat for stickleback, a word which exemplifies another point in baby phonetics, viz. the loss of initial s-, as in the classic instance tummy. To this loss of s- we owe Pick for Spick (Chapter XXIII), Pink for Spink, a dialect word for the chaffinch, and, I think, Tout for Stout. The name Stacey is found as Tacey in old Notts registers. On the other hand, an inorganic s- is sometimes prefixed, as in Sturgess for the older Turgis. For the loss of s- we may compare Shakespeare's parmaceti (1 Henry IV. i. 3), and for its addition the adjective spruce, from Pruce, i.e. Prussia.
We also find the infantile confusion between th and f e.g. in Selfe, which appears to represent a personal name Seleth, probably from Anglo-Sax, saelth, bliss. Perhaps also in Fripp for Thripp, a variant of Thrupp, for Thorp. Bickerstaffe is the name of a place in Lancashire, of which the older form appears in Bickersteth, and the local name Throgmorton is spelt by Camden Frogmorton, just as Pepys invariably writes Queenhive for Queenhythe.
Such are some of the commoner phenomena to be noticed in connection with the spelling and sound of our names. The student must always bear in mind that our surnames date from a period when nearly the whole population was uneducated. Their modern forms depend on all sorts of circumstances, such as local dialect, time of adoption, successive fashions in pronunciation and the taste and fancy of the speller. They form part of our language, that is, of a living and ever-changing organism. Some of us are old enough to remember the confusion between initial v and w which prompted the judge's question to Mr. Weller. The vulgar i for a, as in "tike the kike," has been evolved within comparatively recent times, as well as the loss of final -g, "shootin and huntin," in sporting circles. In the word warmint—
"What were you brought up to be?"
"A warmint, dear boy"