"Algernon Cadwaladr Smyth."
"Oh! your name is Smith, is it?"
"No, sir; my name is Cadwaladr Smyth."
"You spell your name S-m-i-t-h, don't you?"
"No, sir; S-m-y-t-h," he answers, almost indignantly.
Dear boy! he is as proud of the y of his name as a Howard is of his ancestors—although I am not quite sure the Howards ought to be very proud of their name, seeing that it is but a corruption of Hog-ward.
I always thought it was somewhat hard on a boy to have to go through life labeled Cadwaladr; but, as I have remarked elsewhere, in England there is nothing to prevent parents from dubbing their offsprings Bayard, Bertrand du Guesclin—or, for that matter, Nebuchadnezzar.
[ [2] ] "The Old Curiosity Shop."