Nooks and Corners / being the companion volume to 'From Kitchen to Garret'

by J. E. Panton

To begin with: the old story of the bad fairy told us in our childhood, who invariably was forgotten, and as invariably turned up without an invitation at the christening of the prince or princess, is not as improbable as it appeared to be on the first reading. The bad fairy may be an infuriated relative to whom we have forgotten to write; it may be family pride outraged by the name chosen for the infant; or it may take the form of having asked the wrong instead of the right individual to stand for the child; but all too often it is there, and the heedless conduct that raised the evil fairy from her sleep may bring about consequences that are as unpleasant as they are certainly unexpected and generally undeserved, for I have often observed that the deepest insults are those we are most unconscious of giving, and that the evil habit of ‘taking offence’ is often increased by conduct that was as innocent in design as it was certainly disastrous in the effect.

And now let us pause for a moment and speak on the subject of taking offence, a matter that has given rise to endless family divisions and caused more broken friendships and quarrels than anything else in the world. To begin with: it is a sign of a common, jealous, vain nature to take offence; it shows that the offended person is so endued with a sense of her own importance that she is always on the look-out for an affront, that she has such a low idea of human nature that she is suspicious of everything that happens, and is always expecting some slur is being cast on her, some dreadful plot against her dignity is being hatched; and she is so vain that she thinks everything that happens is especially levied at her, though generally she was as far from the thoughts of the offending person as she well could be.

A family possessing such a touchy member is indeed much to be pitied; one can see nothing or very little of any acquaintance possessed of such a disposition, and indeed no one would wish to see such a one more than one can help; but a member of the family must be considered in some way; therefore such an individual is all too often the bad fairy, who, having once received or fancied she received an insult, never forgets it, harps on it always, and ends by doing immeasurable harm in more ways than one by her disagreeable and untutored tongue. And notice I say she and her. I don’t consider we can learn much from men, but we can certainly learn larger-mindedness from them; for very seldom do we find a man taking offence in the childish and touchy fashion far too many women are so fond of doing.

As a rule we are all too busy to soften the aspirations of such an individual, and so we drift apart without any distinct quarrel, gradually seeing less and less of each other, until we do not meet at all; but it is generally well, if we possibly can, to go straight to anyone like this and find out the cause of offence, at the same time refraining from doing so unless we care very much about it, because, ten chances to one, the person who takes offence once will always be doing so, and it is not worth one’s while, as a rule, to conciliate those who will find a subject for offence in everything one says and does, unless one is always flattering them, an easily offended person having the most ravenous appetite for flattery possible to conceive. Therefore, when a christening has to be thought about, we should first consider if there be any Scylla to avoid, any Charybdis past which we must navigate the boat, and, above all, must we endeavour to be quite independent about the most important subject of all—viz. how to name the child.

I do not go quite as far as does a friend of mine, who considers the names he gives his children act on their nature, and that they insensibly form their characters to in some measure sympathise with their baptismal names. Thus, for example, it would be as impossible for John to be naughty as for Jack to be anything save a pickle, for Edith to be anything save calm and religious, while Trixy must be a flirt and set all her lovers by the ears. But still I do think a great deal depends upon the name, especially if the surname happens to be rather uncommon or pretty, and that the judicious selection of well-sounding names does wonders. But here we must steer between plain John Brown, who could never be anyone, try as hard as he might, and the Reginald de Montmorency Brown, which is the laughing-stock of the neighbours, and which is a grief to the unfortunate holder thereof through life, unless the possession of such a name forces him to become as ridiculous as it is itself; then, of course, he is quite happy, and we need not pity him at all.

Another thing I do most earnestly deprecate is the perpetuating of family names, unless the name happens to be a pretty one and is chosen for itself. In the first place, family names are generally hideous, and in the second we cannot name the child after all the members of both families; to give precedence to the father’s family names will offend the mother’s family, and generally the unfortunate infant is not only saddled with a hideous name, but finds itself a bone of contention almost before it has any bones at all; while, if we boldly select the names which seem to us euphonious and to harmonise with the surname, we shall offend no one, and shall show we have an individuality that must be respected by the members of both families alike.

Then, too, if families are large and have endless branches, great confusion is caused by each separate Paterfamilias having one of these names among his flock. Cousins very often stay in the same house, and come to visit each other, and if there are ten Miss Elizabeth Smiths and these happen to be staying together, how are their letters to be distinguished? The possession of similar initials in families has made mischief enough; the possession of similar names can make twice as much again.

In naming a boy we must think whether he can be made miserable at school by having either a grand or girlish name, which the young fiends, his schoolfellows, can turn into something to his disadvantage, and, if possible, the younger sons should always have some good surname before the family name; this will enable them to keep distinct. For example, if the eldest son is called Charles Robinson (not that I should call any boy such a frightful name), his next brother can be called John Smith Robinson (supposing his mother’s name to have been Smith), while the third could be William Brown Robinson, thus marking the distinct families at once, and allowing the sons of the holders of these names to have the double name, and perhaps the aristocratic hyphen, satirised by Corney Grain, which is so dear to the heart of the ordinary suburban resident, while it is not a bad plan to give the girls their surname as well as a pretty Christian-name at baptism. This would allow people to trace pedigrees easily were it a universal custom, and would be of great assistance in writing the family history we ought one and all of us to possess, for it is astonishing how much we are helped in our attempt to bring up our children if we have any knowledge of our forbears, and can trace in any way the habits and occupations of those from whom we have sprung.

Having settled on the child’s name and registered it before we tell our relations and friends, the impossibility of making a change saving endless painful and unprofitable discussions, the next thing is to decide on the god-parents. As a rule this is a mere form, but of course it should not be so. A god-parent necessarily sends a more or less handsome present at the time of the christening, comes to the ceremony if he or she can, and then forgets all about the child. But this, I repeat, should never be. The god-parents should keep up a friendly intercourse with their god-children; they should know where they are, what they are doing; they should most undoubtedly be present at the confirmation ceremony, and they should always at Christmas either write to their god-children, send one of those useful and pretty cards, which I trust will never go out of fashion, or else give some little gift that does not cost much, while it makes the link between them very real, and gives some meaning to a position that at present would often be more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

Of course it is easy enough to manage this in one’s own rank of life, and we ought to have as many god-children as we can honestly interest ourselves in; but we should never undertake the office unless we mean to perform the duties; and we ought occasionally to ‘stand for’ some of our poorer neighbours’ children. As a rule they are delighted to have us, and it gives us a hold over them we could not otherwise acquire; while a boy or a girl has always a sense of obligation to behave better and do better in life if he or she has a god-parent in a higher station than his or her own, to whom they can come for advice and help by right, and from whom they receive at Christmas, at confirmation, or at any important step in life, some trifling token. Therefore I do not think god-parents can think too much of their duties, or neglect to stand for all they can manage to look after; it is something to do—something that can also do endless good, if we undertake the duties properly.