“Notre nom propre,” says a French writer, “c’est nous mêmes.” The name of a man instantly recalls him to recollection, with his physical and moral qualities, and the remarkable events, if any, in his career. The few syllables forming it “suffice to reopen the fountain of a bereaved mother’s tears; to cover with blushes the face of the maiden who believes her secret about to be revealed; to agitate the heart of the lover; to light up in the eyes of an enemy the fire of rage, and to awaken in the breast of one separated by distance from his friend the liveliest emotions of hope or regret.” What would history or biography be without proper names; or what stimulus would men have, inciting them to the performance of great and noble deeds, if they could not live a second life in their names? Among most nations the imposition of names has been esteemed of such moment, that it has been attended with religious rites. The Jews accompanied it with circumcision; the Greeks and Romans with religious ceremonies and sacrifices; the Persians, after a religious service, chose at a venture from names written on slips of paper, and laid upon the Koran; while many Christians sanctify the rite by baptism.
It is a well established fact that all proper names were originally significant, though in the lapse of years the meaning of many of them has been obscured or obliterated. Thus, the oldest known name, Adam, meant “red,” indicating that his body was fashioned from the red earth; while Moses signified “drawn from the water.” So the fore-names of the Saxons were significant,—as Alfred, “all peace”; Biddulph, “the slayer of wolves”; Edmund, “truth-mouth,” or “the speaker of truth”; Edward, “truth-keeper”; Goddard, “honored of God.” It is said that Mr. Freeman, the English historian, has grown, in the course of his studies, so in love with the Old-English period, that he has named three of his children Ælfred, Eadward, and Æthelburgh. According to Verstegan, William was a name not given to children, but a title of honor given for noble or worthy deeds. When a German had killed a Roman, the golden helmet of the vanquished soldier was placed upon his head, and the victor was honored with the title Gildhelm, or “golden helmet,”—in French, Guillaume.
In the early ages of the world a single name sufficed for each person. It was generally descriptive of some quality he had, or which his parents hoped he might in future have. In the course of time, to distinguish a man from others bearing the same appellative, a second name became necessary. The earliest approach to the modern system of nomenclature, was the addition of the name of a man’s son to his own name; as Caleb, the son of Jephunneh, or Joshua, the son of Nun,—a practice which survives in our own day in such names as Adamson and Fitzherbert. The Romans, to mark the different gentes and familiæ, and to distinguish individuals of the same race, had three names,—the Prænomen, the Nomen, and the Cognomen. The first denoted the individual; the second was the generic name, or term of clanship; and the third indicated the family. Military commanders, and other persons of the highest eminence, sometimes were honored with a fourth name, or Agnomen; as Coriolanus, Africanus, Germanicus, borrowed from the name of a hostile country, which had been the scene of their exploits. A person was usually addressed only by his prænomen, which, Horace tells us, “delicate ears loved”:
“Gaudent prænomine molles
Auriculæ.”
Archdeacon Hare has well observed that by means of their names political principles, political duties, political affections were impressed on the minds of the Romans from their birth. Every member of a great house had a determinate course marked out for him, the path in which his forefathers had trod; his name admonished him of what he owed to his country. “Rien,” says Desbrosses, “n’a contribué davantage à la grandeur de la république que cette methode de succession nominale, qui, incorporant, pour ainsi dire, à la gloire de l’état, la gloire des noms héréditaires, joignit le patriotisme de race au patriotisme national.”
After the conversion of Europe to Christianity, the old Pagan names were commonly discarded, and Scriptural names, or names derived from church history, took their place. About the close of the tenth century, distinctive appellations, describing physical and moral qualities, habits, professions, etc., were added for the purpose of identification; but as these sobriquets were imposed upon many who bore the same baptismal names, an entire change in the system of names became necessary, and hereditary surnames were adopted. These, it is said, were at first written, “not in a direct line after the Christian name, but above it, between the lines,” and thus were literally supra nomina, or “surnames.”
Our English names, most of which have originated since the Norman Conquest, are borrowed, to some extent, from nearly all the races and languages of the earth. The Hebrew is represented in Ben, which means “son,” and the Syriac in Bar, as in Barron and Bartholomew. The desire to disguise Old Testament names has shortened Abraham into “Braham,” and Moses into “Mosely” or “Moss.” In like manner Solomon becomes “Sloman”; Levi, “Lewis”; and Elias, “Ellis.”
The three most common patronymics of Celtic origin, now used by the English, are O, Mac, and Ap. The Highlanders of Scotland employed the sire-name with Mac, and hence the Macdonalds and Mac Gregors, meaning “the son of Donald” and “the son of Gregor.” The Irish used the prefix of Oy or O, signifying grandson; as, O’Hara, O’Neale. They use the word Mac also; and the two names together are so essential notes of the Irish, that