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ENGLISH SURNAMES.

LONDON: PRINTED BY

SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE

AND PARLIAMENT STREET

ENGLISH SURNAMES:

THEIR

SOURCES AND SIGNIFICATIONS.

BY

CHARLES WAREING BARDSLEY, M.A.

SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED

London:

CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.

1875.

TO

MY FATHER.

PREFACE
TO
THE SECOND EDITION.

I accept the early demand for a new edition of my book, not so much as proof of the value of my individual work, as of the increased interest which is being taken in this too much neglected subject. In deference to the wholesome advice of many reviewers, both in the London and Provincial press, especially that of the ‘Times’ and the ‘Athenæum,’ I have re-arranged the whole of the chapters on ‘Patronymics’ and ‘Nicknames,’ subdividing the same under convenient heads. By so doing the names which bear any particular relationship to one another will be found more closely allied than they were under their former more general treatment.

My book has met with much criticism, partly favourable, partly adverse, from different quarters. To my reviewers in general I offer my best thanks for their comments. The ‘Saturday Review’—and I say it the more readily as they will see that I have not been insensible to the value of their criticism—has not, I think, sufficiently understood the nature of my work. I am well aware that praise is due to them for having for some length of time strenuously advocated the claim of our language to be English through all its varying stages. I do not see that in the general character of my book I have lost sight of this fact. An ‘English Directory’ is not an ‘English Dictionary.’ The influences that have been at work on our language are not the same as those upon our nomenclature. Every social casualty had an effect upon our names which it could not have upon our words. The names found in Domesday Book, casting aside the new importation, were, in the great majority of cases, obsolete by the end of the twelfth century, and of those which have survived and descended to us as surnames, well-nigh all are devoid of diminutive or patronymic desinences—a clear proof that they were utterly out of fashion as personal names during the era of surname formation. The Norman invasion was not a conquest of our language, but it was of our nomenclature. The ‘Saturday Review’ may still demand that we shall view all as English, and obliterate the distinctive terms of Saxon and Norman, but in doing so let us not forget facts. The language which preceded the Norman Conquest is still the vehicle of ordinary converse. The nomenclature of that period went down like Pharaoh’s chariot, and like Pharaoh’s chariot, which for all I know lies where it did, was never recovered.

A review in the ‘Guardian’ demands a brief notice on account of the mischief it may do. The end kept in view by the reviewer is as transparent as his inability to reach it. Surely the day is past for any further attempt to make out that we have no metronymic surnames. The writer is evidently unaware of the fact that the use of ‘ie’ and ‘y,’ as in ‘Teddy’ or ‘Johnnie,’ in the nineteenth century, does not prevail to as great an extent as that of ‘ot’ and ‘et’ from the twelfth to the fifteenth. As ‘Philip’ became ‘Philipot,’ now ‘Philpott’; as ‘William,’ ‘Williamot,’ now ‘Wilmott’; as ‘Hew’ (or Hugh), ‘Hewet’ and ‘Hewetson’; as ‘Ellis’ (or Elias), ‘Elliot’ and ‘Elliotson’; so ‘Till’ (Matilda) became ‘Tillot’ and ‘Tillotson’; ‘Emme’ (Emma), ‘Emmott,’ ‘Emmett,’ and ‘Emmotson’; ‘Ibbe’ (Isabella), ‘Ibbott,’ ‘Ibbett,’ and ‘Ibbotson’; ‘Mary,’ ‘Mariot’ and ‘Marriott’; and ‘Siss’ (Cecilia), ‘Sissot’ and ‘Sissotson.’ ‘Emmot,’ the writer says, is a form of ‘Amyas,’ I suppose because he saw ‘Amyot’ in Miss Yonge’s glossary. According to him, therefore, Emmot is a masculine name. How comes it to pass, then, that Emmot is always Latinised as Emmota, or that in our old marriage licences ‘Richard de Akerode’ gets a dispensation to marry ‘Emmotte de Greenwood’ (Test. Ebor. iii. 317), or ‘Roger Prestwick’ to marry ‘Emmote Crossley’ (ditto, 338)? How is it we meet with such entries as ‘Cissota West,’ (Index) or ‘Syssot that was wife of Patrick’ (69)? How is it again that Mariot is registered as ‘Mariota in le Lane,’ or ‘John fil. Mariotæ,’ and Ibbot or Ibbet as ‘Ibbota fil. Adæ,’ or ‘Robert fil. Ibotæ,’ (Index)? The fact is, we have a large class of metronymics many of which doubtless arose from posthumous birth, or from adoption, or the more important character of the mother in the eyes of the neighbours than the father, others too from illegitimacy.

Amongst other errors for which I have been called to account, the oddest is that of attributing to Miss Muloch the authorship of Miss Yonge’s most useful and laborious work on Christian names. I do not know to which lady I owe the deepest apology—whether to Miss Yonge for robbing her literary crown of one of its brightest jewels, or to Miss Muloch for appearing to insinuate that hers was incomplete. This and several other mistakes of less moment I have rectified in the present edition.

I have to thank the authoress of ‘Mistress Margery,’ etc., for the names in the index marked QQ., RR. 1, RR. 2, and RR. 3. Such entries from the registry of St. James’s, Piccadilly (QQ.), as ‘Repentance Tompson’ (1688), ‘Loving Bell’ (1693), ‘Nazareth Rudde’ (1695), ‘Obedience Clerk’ (1697), or ‘Unity Thornton’ (1703), may be set beside the instances recorded on pp. [102]–[104]. To these I would take this opportunity of adding ‘Comfort Starre,’ ‘Hopestill Foster,’ ‘Love Brewster,’ ‘Fear Brewster,’ ‘Patience Brewster,’ ‘Remembrance Tibbott,’ ‘Remember Allerton,’ ‘Desire Minter,’ ‘Original Lewis,’ and ‘Thankes Sheppard,’ all being names of emigrants from England in the 17th century. (Vide Hotten’s ‘Original Lists of Persons of Quality.’)

February 1875.

PREFACE
TO
THE FIRST EDITION.

As prefaces are very little read, I will make this as brief as possible. It is strange how little has been written upon the sources and significations of our English surnames. Of books of Peerage, of Baronetage, and of Landed Gentry, thanks to Sir Bernard Burke, Mr. Walford, and others, we are not without a sufficiency; but of books purporting to treat of the ordinary surnames that greet our eye as we scan our shop-fronts, or look down a list of contributions, or glance over the ‘hatches, matches, and despatches’ of our newspapers—of these there are but few. Indeed, putting aside Mr. Lower’s able and laborious researches, we may say none. Tracts, pamphlets, short treatises, articles in magazines, have at various times appeared, but they have been necessarily confined and limited in their treatment of the subject.[^[1]] And yet what can be more natural than that we should desire to know something relating to the origin of our surname, when it arose, who first got it, and how? Of the feebleness of my own attempt to solve all this I am conscious that I need not to be reminded. Still, I think the ordinary reader will find in a perusal of this book some slight increase of information, and if not this, that he has whiled away, not unpleasantly, some of his less busy hours.

During the last seven years I have devoted the whole of my spare time to the preparation of a ‘Dictionary of English Surnames.’ But about two years ago it struck me that perhaps a smaller work dealing with the subject in a less formal and more familiar style might not be unacceptable to many, as a kind of rudimentary treatise. In the course of my labours I have come under obligations to several writers and several Societies. To long-departed men, whose works do follow after them, I must give a passing allusion. Camden was the first to draw attention to this subject, and though he wrote little, and that little not of the most correct kind, still he has afforded the groundwork for all future students. Verstegan, who came next with his ‘Restitution of Decayed Intelligence,’ wrote quaintly, amusingly and incorrectly; and, with respect to surnames, his definitions rather teach what they do not than what they do mean. Passing over several archæological papers, and with a wide gap in regard to time, we come to Mr. Lower’s studies. He was the first to give a real compendium of English nomenclature. Of his earlier efforts I will say nothing, for the ‘Patronymica Britannica’ is that upon which his fame must rest. The fault of that work is that the author has confined his researches all but entirely to the Hundred Rolls. These Rolls are undoubtedly the best for such reference; but there are many others, as my index will show, which not merely contain a large mass of examples not to be met with there, but which, by varieties of spelling in the case of such names as they share in common with the other, afford comparisons the use of which would have made him certain where he has only guessed, and would have enabled him also to avoid many false conclusions. This I would say with all respect, as one who has benefited very considerably by Mr. Lower’s labours. Others I must thank more briefly, though none the less heartily. To Mr. Halliwell I am under deep obligation, for to his ‘Dictionary of Archaisms’ I have gone freely by way of quotation. To Mr. Way’s notes to his valuable edition of the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ I am also indebted for much interesting information regarding mediæval life and its surroundings. Miss Yonge’s ‘History of Christian Names’ contains a large store of help to students of this kind of lore, and of this I have availed myself in several instances. In conclusion, I have to acknowledge much valuable aid received from the publications of the Surtees Society, the Early English Text Society, the Camden Society, and the Chetham Society. It is in the rooms belonging to the latter that I have had the opportunity of consulting most of the records and archives, a list of which prefaces my index, as well as other books of a more incidentally helpful character, and I cannot allow this opportunity to pass without tendering my hearty thanks to Thomas Jones, Esq., B.A., F.S.A., for his courtesy in permitting me access to all parts of the library, and to Mr. Richard Hanby, the under-librarian, for his constant attention and readiness to supply me with whatever books I required.

Manchester:

December 1873.

PREFACE
TO THE
INDEX OF INSTANCES.

There are several matters which I deem it advisable to mention to the reader before he turns his attention to the Index of Instances (pp. [514]–[612]).

I. I have not, in the various chapters that form the body of this book, in all cases drawn particular attention when any name happens to belong to several distinct classes. In the Index, however, I have tried to remedy this by furnishing instances under the several heads to which they have been assigned in the text.

II. While ordinarily adhering to my plan of giving but two examples, I have set down three in some instances that seemed more interesting, and in exceptional cases even four. To the majority of the appended surnames more illustrations of course could have been added had it been expedient or necessary. There are several names, however, which, though evidently of familiar occurrence in early days, as they are now, are yet, so far as my own researches go, without any record. For instance, I cannot find any Arkwright or Runchiman previous to the sixteenth century. The origin is perfectly clear, but the registry is wanting. Of several others, again, I can light upon but one entry. Still, in a matter like this one must be thankful for small mercies, and it was with no small amount of rejoicing that in such a simple record as that of ‘John Sykelsmith’ I found the progenitor, or one of the progenitors, of our many ‘Sucksmiths,’ ‘Sixsmiths,’ ‘Shuxsmiths,’ etc.

III. There has been a difficulty with regard to Christian names also, which I have not attempted to overcome because it was impossible to do so. With the Normans every baptismal name, masculine or feminine as it might originally be, was the common property of the sexes. Thus by simply appending the feminine desinence, ‘Druett’ became ‘Druetta’ (v. Drewett), ‘Williamet’ became ‘Williametta’ (v. Williamot), ‘Aylbred’ became ‘Aylbreda’ (v. Allbright), ‘Raulin’ became ‘Raulina’ (v. Rawlings), and ‘Goscelin’ became ‘Goscelina’ (v. Gosling). Any of these surnames, Drewett, Willmott, Allbright, Rawlings, or Gosling, therefore, may be of feminine origin—nay, if the reader has studied my chapter on ‘Patronymic Surnames’ with any care, he will see that this is fully as probable as the opposite view. Leaving thus undecided what cannot be solved, I have placed both masculine and feminine forms under the one surname to which one or other has given rise.

IV. There has been another difficulty also in respect of Christian names. These, as has been shown in the chapter thereupon, were turned into pet forms, and these shortened forms commonly came to be the foundation of the surname. In all the more formal registers, however, these surnames were never so set down. ‘Hugh Thomasson,’ ‘William Thompson,’ and ‘Henry Tomson’ might come to have their names enrolled, and up to the beginning of the sixteenth century at least they would be set down alike as ‘Hugh fil. Thomas,’ ‘William fil. Thomas,’ and ‘Henry fil. Thomas.’ Thus, again, ‘Ralph Higginson’ or ‘John Higgins’ would be ‘Radulphus’ or ‘Johannes fil. Isaac.’ This has prevented me from giving so many instances of these curter forms of the patronymic class as I should have liked. When they are given, the reader will observe that they come from less punctilious and more irregular sources, such as for instance the Surtees’ Society’s collection of Mediæval Yorkshire Wills and Inventories. Where I have given such an instance as ‘Elekyn’ (v. Elkins) by itself, it must be understood that this is the Christian name, and that the owner when his or her name was registered did not boast a surname at all.

V. By way of interesting the reader I have occasionally given the Latin form of entry. Thus ‘Adam the Goldsmith’ is set down as ‘Adam Aurifaber’ (v. Aurifaber), ‘Henry the Butcher’ as ‘Henry Carnifex’ (v. Carnifex), and ‘Hugh the Tailor’ as ‘Hugh Cissor’ (v. Cissor). Latin, indeed, seems to have been the vehicle of ordinary indenture. Thus under ‘Littlejohn’ the reader will find extracted from the Hundred Rolls ‘Ricardus fil. Parvi-Johannis,’ and under ‘Linota,’ ‘Linota Vidua,’ i.e. ‘Linota the Widow.’ In the recording of local names, Norman-French and Saxon seem to have fought for the first place, and even in our most formal registers they had the precedence over Latin. Thus if the latter can boast the entry of ‘Isolda Beauchamp’ as ‘Isolda de Bello Campo’ (v. Beauchamp), still, if we come to such generic names as Briggs or Brook, we find the entry is all but invariably either ‘Henry Atte-brigg’ or ‘Roger del Brigge’ (v. Briggs), or ‘Alice de la Broke or ‘Ada ate Brok’ (v. Brook). As respects nicknames or names of occupation, the Norman-French tongue had them to itself. ‘Roger le Buck,’ ‘Philip le Criour,’ ‘Thomas le Cuchold,’ ‘Osbert le Curteys,’ or ‘Thomas le Cupper’—such is their continuous form of entry. Such a Saxon enrolment as ‘Robert the Brochere’ (v. Broker) is of the rarest occurrence—so rare, indeed, as to make one feel it was an undoubted freak on the part of the registrar, whoever he might be.

VI. In some few cases I have set down surnames which are not treated of in the text. I have done this either because the name seemed worthy of this casual notice, or because, though not itself mentioned, it happened to corroborate some statement I have made regarding a particular name belonging to the same class.

In conclusion, I will not say there is no mistake in the Index—that would be a bold thing to state; I will not say that I may not have given an instance that does not rightly belong to the surname under which it is set; but I can asseverate that I have honestly attempted to be correct, and I believe a careful examination will find but the most occasional error, if any at all, of this class.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

ENGLISH SURNAMES.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.

To review the sources of a people’s nomenclature is to review that people’s history. When we remember that there is nothing without a name, and that every name that is named, whether it be of a man, or man’s work, or man’s heritage of earth, came not by chance, or accident so called, but was given out of some nation’s spoken language to denote some characteristic that language expressed, we can readily imagine how important is the drift of each—what a record must each contain. We cannot but see that could we only grasp their true meaning, could we but take away the doubtful crust in which they are oftentimes imbedded, then should we be speaking out of the very mouth of history itself. For names are enduring—generations come and go; and passing on with each, they become all but everlasting. Nomenclature, in fact, is a well in which, as the fresh water is flowing perennially through, there is left a sediment that clings to the bottom. This silty deposit may accumulate—nay, it may threaten to choke it up, still the well is there. It but requires to be exhumed, and we shall behold it in all its simple proportions once more. And thus it is with names. They betoken life and matter that is ever coming and going, ever undergoing change and decay. But through it all they abide. The accretions of passing years may fasten upon them—the varied accidents of lapsing time may attach to them—they may become all but undistinguishable, but only let us get rid of that which cleaves to them, and we lay bare in all its naked simplicity the character and the lineaments of a long gone era. Look for instance at our place-names. Apart from their various corruptions they are as they were first entitled. So far as the nomenclature of our country itself is concerned, England is at this present day as rude, as untutored, and as heathen as at the moment those Norwegian and Germanic hordes grounded their keels upon our shores, for all our place-names, saving where the Celt still lingers, are their bequest, and bear upon them the impress of their life and its surroundings. These are they which tell us such strange truths—how far they had made progress as yet in the arts of life, what were the habits they practised, what was the religion they believed in. And as with place-names, so with our own. As records of past history they are equally truthful, equally suggestive. One important difference, however, there is—Place-names, as I have just hinted, once given are all but imperishable. Mountains, valleys, and streams still, as a rule, retain the names first given them. Personal names, those simple individual names which we find in use throughout all pre-Norman history, were but for the life of him to whom they were attached. They died with him, nor passed on saving accidentally. Nor were those second designations, those which we call surnames as being ‘superadded to Christian names,’ at first of any lasting character. It was not till the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, or even fourteenth centuries that they became hereditary—that is, in any true sense stationary.

Before, however, we enter into the history of these, and with regard to England that is the purpose of this book, it will be well to take a brief survey of the actual state of human nomenclature in preceding times. Surnames, we must remember, were the simple result of necessity when population, hitherto isolated and small, became so increased as to necessitate further particularity than the merely personal one could supply. One name, therefore, was all that was needed in early times, and one name, as a general rule, is all that we find. The Bible is, of course, our first record of these—‘Adam,’ ‘Eve,’ ‘Joseph,’ ‘Barak,’ ‘David,’ ‘Isaiah,’ all were simple, single, and expressive titles, given in most cases from some circumstances attending their creation or birth. When the Israelites were crowded together in the wilderness they were at once involved in difficulties of identification. We cannot imagine to ourselves how such a population as that of Manchester or Birmingham could possibly get on with but single appellations. Of course I do not put this by way of real comparison, for with the Jewish clan or family system this difficulty must have been materially overcome. Still it is no wonder that in the later books of Moses we should find them falling back upon this patronymic as a means of identifying the individual. Thus such expressions as ‘Joshua the son of Nun,’ or ‘Caleb the son of Jephunah,’ or ‘Jair the son of Manasseh,’ are not unfrequently to be met with. Later on, this necessity was caused by a further circumstance. Certain of these single names became popular over others. ‘John,’ ‘Simon,’ and ‘Judas’ were such. A further distinction, therefore, was necessary. This gave rise to sobriquets of a more diverse character. We find the patronymic still in use, as in ‘Simon Barjonas,’ that is, ‘Simon the son of Jonas;’ but in addition to this, we have also the local element introduced, as in ‘Simon of Cyrene,’ and the descriptive in ‘Simon the Zealot.’ Thus, again, we have ‘Judas Iscariot,’ whatever that may mean, for commentators are divided upon the subject; ‘Judas Barsabas,’ and ‘Judas of Galilee.’ In the meantime the heathen but polished nations of Greece and Rome had been adopting similar means, though the latter was decidedly the first in method. Among the former, such double names as ‘Dionysius the Tyrant,’ ‘Diogenes the Cynic,’ ‘Socrates the son of Sophronicus,’ or ‘Hecatæus of Miletus,’ show the same custom, and the same need. To the Roman, however, belongs, as I have said, the earliest system of nomenclature, a system, perhaps, more careful and precise than any which has followed after. The purely Roman citizen had a threefold name. The first denoted the ‘prænomen,’ and answered to our personal, or baptismal, name. The second was what we may term the clan-name; and the third, the cognomen, corresponded with our present surname. Thus we have such treble appellations as ‘Marcus Tullius Cicero,’ or ‘Aulus Licinius Archeas.’ If a manumitted slave had the citizenship conferred upon him, his single name became his cognomen, and the others preceded it, one generally being the name of him who was the emancipator. Thus was it of ‘Licinius’ in the last-mentioned instance. With the overthrow of the Western Empire, however, this system was lost, and the barbarians who settled upon its ruins brought back the simple appellative once more. Arminius, their chief hero, was content with that simple title. Alaric, the brave King of the Goths, is only so known. Caractacus and Vortigern, to come nearer home, represented but the same custom.

But we are not without traces of those descriptive epithets which had obtained among the earlier communities of the East. The Venerable Bede, speaking of two missionaries, both of whom bore the name of ‘Hewald,’ says, ‘pro diversâ capellorum specie unus Niger Hewald, alter Albus diceretur;’ that is, in modern parlance, the colour of their hair being different, they came to be called ‘Hewald Black,’ and ‘Hewald White.’ Another Saxon, distinguished for his somewhat huge proportions, and bearing the name of ‘Ethelred,’ was known as ‘Mucel,’ or ‘Great,’ a word still lingering in the Scottish mickle. We may class him, therefore, with our ‘le Grands,’ as we find them inscribed in the Norman rolls, the progenitors of our ‘Grants,’ and ‘Grands,’ or our ‘Biggs,’ as Saxon as himself. Thus again, our later ‘Fairfaxes,’ ‘Lightfoots,’ ‘Heavisides,’ and ‘Slows,’ are but hereditary nicknames like to the earlier ‘Harfagres,’ ‘Harefoots,’ ‘Ironsides,’ and ‘Unreadys,’ which died out, so far as their immediate possessors went, with the ‘Harolds,’ and ‘Edmunds,’ and ‘Ethelreds,’ upon whom they were severally foisted. They were but expressions of popular feeling to individual persons by means of which that individuality was increased, and, as with every other instance I have mentioned hitherto, passed away with the lives of their owners. No descendant succeeded to the title. The son, in due course of time, got a sobriquet of his own, by which he was familiarly known, but that, too, was but personal and temporary. It was no more hereditary than had been his father’s before him, and even so far as himself was concerned might be again changed according to the humour or caprice of his neighbours and acquaintances. And this went on for several more centuries, only as population increased these sobriquets became but more and more common.

In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, however, a change took place. By a silent and unpremeditated movement over the whole of the more populated and civilized European societies, nomenclature began to assume a solid lasting basis. It was the result, in fact, of an insensibly growing necessity. Population was on the increase, commerce was spreading, and society was fast becoming corporate. With all this arose difficulties of individualization. It was impossible, without some further distinction, to maintain a current identity. Hence what had been but an occasional and irregular custom became a fixed and general practice—the distinguishing sobriquet, not, as I say, of premeditation, but by a silent compact, became part and parcel of a man’s property, and passed on with his other possessions to his direct descendants. This sobriquet had come to be of various kinds. It might be the designation of the property owned, as in the case of the Norman barons and their feudatory settlements, or it might be some local peculiarity that marked the abode. It might be the designation of the craft the owner followed. It might be the title of the rank or office he held. It might be a patronymic—a name acquired from the personal or Christian name of his father or mother. It might be some characteristic, mental or physical, complimentary or the reverse. Any of these it might be, it mattered not which; but when once it became attached to the possessor and gave him a fixed identity, it clung to him for his life, and eventually passed on to his offspring. Then it was that at length local and personal names came somewhat upon the same level; and as the former, some centuries before, had stereotyped the life of our various Celtic and Slavonic and Teutonic settlements, so now these latter fossilized the character of the era in which they arose; and here we have them, with all the antiquity of their birth upon them, breathing of times and customs and fashions and things that are now wholly passed from our eyes, or are so completely changed as to bear but the faintest resemblance to that which they have been. To analyse some of these names, for all were impossible, is the purpose of the following chapters. I trust that ere I have finished my task, I shall have been able to throw some little light, at least, on the life and habits of our early English forefathers.

The reader will have observed that I have just incidentally alluded to five different classes of names. For the sake of further distinction I will place them formally and under more concise headings:—

1. Baptismal or personal names.

2. Local surnames.

3. Official surnames.

4. Occupative surnames.

5. Sobriquet surnames, or Nicknames.

I need scarcely add that under one of these five divisions will every surname in all the countries of Europe be found.

CHAPTER I.
PATRONYMIC SURNAMES.

It is impossible to say how important an influence have merely personal names exercised upon our nomenclature. The most familiar surnames we can meet with, saving that of ‘Smith,’ are to be found in this list. For frequency we have no names to be compared with ‘Jones,’ or ‘Williamson,’ or ‘Thompson,’ or ‘Richardson.’ How they came into being is easily manifest. Nothing could be more natural than that children should often pass current in the community in which they lived as the sons of ‘Thomas,’ or ‘William,’ or ‘Richard,’ or ‘John;’ and that these several relationships should be found in our directories as distinct sobriquets only shows that there was a particular generation in these families in which this title became permanent, and passed on to future descendants as an hereditary surname.[^[2]] The interest that attaches to these patronymics is great—for it is by them we can best discover what names were in vogue at this period, and what not, and of those which were, by their relative frequency, in a measure, what were the most popular. Certainly the change is most extraordinary when we compare the past with the present. Some, once so popular that they scarce gave identity to the bearer, are now all but obsolete, while numerous appellations at present generally current were then utterly unknown. There are surnames familiar to our ears whose root as a Christian name is now passed out of knowledge; while, on the other hand, many a Christian name now daily upon our lips has no surname formed from it to tell of any lengthened existence. The fact is, that while our surnames, putting immigration aside, have been long at a standstill, we have ever been and are still adding to our stock of baptismal names.[^[3]] Each new national crisis, each fresh achievement of our arms, each new princely bride imported from abroad—these events are being commemorated daily at the font. This is but the continuance of a custom, and one very natural, which has ever existed. Turn where we will in English history during the last eight hundred years, and we shall find the popular sympathies seeking an outlet in baptism. Did a prince of the blood royal meet with a hapless and cruel fate? His memory was at once embalmed in the names of the children born immediately afterwards, saving when a mother’s superstitious fears came in to prevent it. Did some national hero arise who upheld and asserted the people’s rights against a grinding and hateful tyranny? His name is speedily to be found inscribed on every hearth. The reverse is of equal significance. It is by the fact of a name, which must have been of familiar import, finding few to represent it, we can trace a people’s dislikes and a nation’s prejudices. A name once in favour, as a rule, however, kept its place. The cause to which it owed its rise had long passed into the shade of forgotten things, but the name, if it had but attained a certain hold, seems easily to have kept it, till indeed such a convulsion occurred as revolutionised men and things and their names together.

There have been two such revolutionary crises in English nomenclature, the Conquest and the Reformation, the second culminating in the Puritan Commonwealth. Other crises have stamped themselves in indelible lines upon our registers, but the indenture, if as strongly impressed, was far less general, and in the main merely enlarged rather than changed our stock of national names. Thus was it with the Crusades. A few of the names it introduced have been popular ever since. Many, at first received favourably, died out, if not with, at least soon after, the subsidence of the spirit to which they owed their rise. Some of these came from the Eastern Church, of whose existence at all the Crusader seems to have suddenly reminded us. Some were Biblical, associated in Bible narrative with the very soil the Templars trod. Some, again, were borrowed from Continental comrades in arms, names which had caught the fancy of those who introduced them, or were connected with friendly rivalries and pledged friendships. This era, being concurrent with the establishment of surnames, has left its mark upon our nomenclature; but it was no revolution.

The period in which these names began to assume an hereditary character varies so greatly that it is impossible to make any definite statement. As a familiar custom I should say it arose in the twelfth century. But there are places, both in Lancashire and Yorkshire, where, as in Wales, men are wont to be styled to this very day by a complete string of patronymics. To hear a man called ‘Bill’s o’Jack’s,’ ‘o’Dick’s,’ ‘o’Harry’s,’ ‘o’Tom’s,’ is by no means a rare incident. A hit at this formerly common Welsh practice is given in ‘Sir John Oldcastle,’ a play printed in 1600, in which ran the following conversation:—

‘Judge: What bail? What sureties?

‘Davy: Her cozen ap Rice, ap Evan, ap Morice, ap Morgan, ap Llewellyn, ap Madoc, ap Meredith, ap Griffin, ap Davis, ap Owen, ap Shinkin Jones.

‘Judge: Two of the most efficient are enow.

‘Sheriff: And ’t please your lordship, these are all but one.’

This ‘ap,’ the Welsh equivalent of our English ‘son,’ when it has come before a name beginning with a vowel, has in many instances become incorporated with it. Thus ‘Ap-Hugh’ has given us ‘Pugh,’ ‘Ap-Rice,’ just mentioned, ‘Price,’ or as ‘Reece,’ ‘Preece;’ ‘Ap-Owen,’ ‘Bowen;’ ‘Ap-Evan,’ ‘Bevan;’ ‘Ap-Robert,’ ‘Probert;’ ‘Ap-Roger,’ ‘Prodger;’ ‘Ap-Richard,’ ‘Pritchard;’ ‘Ap-Humphrey,’ ‘Pumphrey;’ ‘Ap-Ithell,’ ‘Bethell;’[^[4]] or ‘Ap-Howell,’ ‘Powell.’[^[5]] ‘Prosser’ has generally been thought a corruption of ‘proser,’ one who was garrulously inclined; but this is a mistake, it is simply ‘Ap-Rosser.’ The Norman patronymic was formed similarly as the Welsh, by a prefix, that of ‘fitz,’ the modern French ‘fils.’ Surnames of this class were at first common. Thus we find such names as ‘Fitz-Gibbon,’ ‘Fitz-Gerald,’ ‘Fitz-Patrick,’ ‘Fitz-Waryn,’ ‘Fitz-Rauf,’ ‘Fitz-Payn,’ ‘Fitz-Richard,’ or ‘Fitz-Neele.’ But though this obtained for awhile among some of the nobler families of our country, it has made in general no sensible impression upon our surnames. The Saxon added ‘son,’ as a desinence, as ‘Williamson,’ that is, ‘William’s son,’ or ‘Bolderson,’ that is, ‘Baldwin’s son,’ or merely the genitive suffix, as ‘Williams,’ or ‘Richards.’ This class has been wonderfully enlarged by the custom then in vogue, as now, of reducing every baptismal name to some curt and familiar monosyllable. It agreed with the rough-and-ready humour of the Anglo-Norman character so to do. How common this was we may see from Gower’s description of the insurrection of Wat Tyler:

‘Watte’ vocat, cui ‘Thoma’ venit, neque ‘Symme’ retardat,

‘Bat’-que ‘Gibbe’ simul, ‘Hykke’ venire jubent:

‘Colle’ furit, quem ‘Bobbe’ juvat nocumenta parantes,

Cum quibus, ad damnum ‘Wille’ coire volat—

‘Grigge’ rapit, dum ‘Davie’ strepit, comes est quibus ‘Hobbe,’

‘Larkin’ et in medio non minor esse putat:

‘Hudde’ ferit, quem ‘Judde’ terit, dum ‘Tibbe’ juvatur

‘Jacke’ domosque viros vellit, en ense necat—

Or let the author of ‘Piers Plowman’ speak. ‘Glutton’ having been seduced to the alehouse door, we are told—

Then goeth ‘Glutton’ in and grete other after,

‘Cesse’ the souteresse sat on the bench:

‘Watte’ the warner and his wife bothe:

‘Tymme’ the tynkere and twayne of his ’prentices.

‘Hikke’ the hackney man and ‘Hugh’ the nedlere,

‘Clarice’ of Cokkeslane, and the clerke of the churche;

‘Dawe’ the dykere, and a dozen othere.

In these two quotations we see at once the clue to the extraordinary number of patronymics our directories contain of these short and curtailed forms. Thus ‘Dawe,’ from ‘David,’ gives us ‘Dawson,’ or ‘Dawes;’ ‘Hikke’ from ‘Isaac,’ ‘Hickson,’ or ‘Hicks;’ ‘Watte,’ from ‘Walter,’ ‘Watson,’ or ‘Watts.’ Nor was this all. A large addition was made to this category by the introduction of a further element. This arose from the nursery practice of giving pet names. Much as this is done now, it would seem to have been still more common then. In either period the method has been the same—that of turning the name into a diminutive. Our very word ‘pet’ itself is but the diminutive ‘petite,’ or ‘little one.’ The fashion adopted, however, was different. We are fond of using ‘ie,’ or ‘ley.’ Thus with us ‘John’ becomes ‘Johnnie,’ ‘Edward,’ ‘Teddie,’ ‘Charles,’ ‘Charley.’ In early days the four diminutives in use were those of ‘kin,’ ‘cock,’ and the terminations ‘ot’ or ‘et,’ and ‘on’ or ‘en,’ the two latter being of Norman-French origin.

1. Kin.—This Saxon term, corresponding with the German ‘chen,’ and the French ‘on’ or ‘en,’ referred to above, and introduced, most probably, so far as the immediate practice was concerned, by the Flemings, we still preserve in such words as ‘manikin,’ ‘pipkin,’ ‘lambkin,’ or ‘doitkin.’ This is very familiar as a nominal adjunct. Thus, in an old poem, entitled ‘A Litul soth Sermun,’ we find the following:—

Nor those prude yongemen

That loveth ‘Malekyn,’

And those prude maydenes

That loveth ‘Janekyn;’

At chirche and at chepynge

When they togadere come

They runneth togaderes

And speaketh of derne love.

————

Masses and matins

Ne kepeth they nouht,

For ‘Wilekyn’ and ‘Watekyn’

Be in their thouht—

Hence we have derived such surnames as ‘Simpkins’ and ‘Simpkinson,’ ‘Thompkins’ and ‘Tomkinson.’

2. Cock.—Our nursery literature still secures in its ‘cock-robins,’ ‘cock-boats,’ and ‘cock-horses,’ the immortality of this second termination. It forms an important element in such names as ‘Simcox,’ ‘Jeffcock,’ ‘Wilcock,’ or ‘Wilcox,’ and ‘Laycock’ (Lawrence).

3. Ot or et.—These terminations were introduced by the Normans, and certainly have made an impregnable position for themselves in our English nomenclature. In our dictionaries they are found in such diminutives as ‘pocket’ (little poke), ‘ballot,’ ‘chariot,’ ‘target,’ ‘latchet,’ ‘lancet;’ in our directories in such names as ‘Emmett,’ or ‘Emmot’ (Emma), ‘Tillotson’ (Matilda), ‘Elliot’ (Elias), ‘Marriot’ (Mary), ‘Willmot’ (Willamot), and ‘Hewet,’ or ‘Hewetson’ (Hugh).[^[6]]

4. On or en.—These terminations became very popular with the French, and their directories teem with the evidences they display of former favour. They are all but unknown to our English dictionary, but many traces of their presence may be found in our nomenclature. Thus ‘Robert’ became ‘Robin,’ ‘Nicol’ ‘Colin,’ ‘Pierre’ ‘Perrin,’ ‘Richard’ ‘Diccon,’ ‘Mary’ ‘Marion,’ ‘Alice’ ‘Alison,’ ‘Beatrice’ ‘Beton,’ ‘Hugh’ ‘Huon,’ or ‘Huguon’; and hence such surnames as ‘Colinson,’ ‘Perrin,’ ‘Dicconson,’ ‘Allison’ (in some cases), ‘Betonson,’ ‘Huggins,’ and ‘Hugginson.’[^[7]]

I have already said that the Norman invasion revolutionised our system of personal names. Certainly it is in this the antagonism between Norman and Saxon is especially manifest. Occasionally, in looking over the records of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, we may light upon a ‘Godwin,’ or ‘Guthlac,’ or ‘Goddard,’ but they are of the most exceptional occurrence. Were the local part of these entries foreign, explanation would be unneeded. But while the personal element is foreign, the local denotes settlement from the up-country. Look at the London population of this period from such records as we possess. There is scarcely a hamlet, however small, that does not contribute to swell the sum of the metropolitan mass, and while ‘London’ itself is of comparatively great rarity in our nomenclature, an insignificant village like, say Debenham, in Suffolk, will have its score of representatives—so great was the flow, so small the ebb. It is this large accession from the interior which is the stronghold of Saxon nomenclature. It is this removal from one village to another, and from one town to another, which has originated that distich quoted by old Vestigan—

In ‘ford,’ in ‘ham,’ in ‘ley,’ in ‘ton,’

The most of English surnames run.

And yet, strange as it may seem, it is very doubtful whether for a lengthened period, at least, the owners of these names were of Saxon origin. The position of the Saxon peasantry forbade that they should be in any but a small degree accessory to this increase. The very villenage they lived under, the very manner in which they were attached to the glebe, rendered any such roving tendencies as these impossible. These country adventurers, then, whose names I have instanced, were of no Saxon stock, but the sons of the humbler dependants of those Normans who had obtained landed settlements, or of Norman traders who had travelled up the country, fixing their habitation wheresoever the wants of an increasing people seemed to give them an opportunity of gaining a livelihood. The children of such, driven out of these smaller communities by the fact that there was no further opening for them, poor as the villeins amongst whom they dwelt, but different in that they were free, would naturally resort to the metropolis and other large centres of industry. Not a few, however, would belong to the free Saxons, who, much against their will, no doubt, but for the sake of gain, would pass in the community to which they had joined themselves by the name belonging to the more powerful and mercantile party. In the same way, too, some not small proportion of these names would belong to those Saxon serfs who, having escaped their bondage, would, on reaching the towns, change their names to elude detection. These, of course, would be got from the Norman category. But be all this as it may, the fact remains that throughout all the records and rolls of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, we find, with but the rarest exceptions, all our personal names to be Norman. The Saxon seems to have become well-nigh extinct. There might have been a war of extermination against them. In an unbroken succession we meet with such names as ‘John’ and ‘Richard,’ ‘Robert’ and ‘Henry,’ ‘Thomas’ and ‘Ralph,’ ‘Geoffrey’ and ‘Jordan,’ ‘Stephen’ and ‘Martin,’ ‘Joscelyn’ and ‘Almaric,’ ‘Benedict’ and ‘Laurence,’ ‘Reginald’ and ‘Gilbert,’ ‘Roger’ and ‘Walter,’ ‘Eustace’ and ‘Baldwin,’ ‘Francis’ and ‘Maurice,’ ‘Theobald’ and ‘Cecil,’—no ‘Edward,’ no ‘Edmund,’ no ‘Harold’ even, saving in very isolated cases. It is the same with female names. While ‘Isabel’ and ‘Matilda,’ ‘Mirabilla’ and ‘Avelina,’ ‘Amabilla’ and ‘Idonia,’ ‘Sibilla’ and ‘Ida,’ ‘Letitia’ and ‘Agnes,’ ‘Petronilla’ or ‘Parnel’ and ‘Lucy,’ ‘Alicia’ and ‘Avice,’ ‘Alianora,’ or ‘Anora’ and ‘Dowsabell,’ ‘Clarice’ and ‘Muriel,’ ‘Agatha’ and ‘Rosamund,’ ‘Felicia’ and ‘Adelina,’ ‘Julia’ and ‘Blanche,’ ‘Isolda’ and ‘Amelia’ or ‘Emilia,’ ‘Beatrix’ and ‘Euphemia,’ ‘Annabel’ and ‘Theophania,’ ‘Constance’ and ‘Joanna’ abound; ‘Etheldreda,’ or ‘Edith,’ or ‘Ermentrude,’ all of the rarest occurrence, are the only names which may breathe to us of purely Saxon times. In the case of several, however, a special effort was made later on, when the policy of allaying the jealous feelings of the popular class was resorted to. For a considerable time the royal and chief baronial families had in their pride sought names for their children from the Norman category merely. After the lapse of a century, however, finding the Saxon spirit still chafed and uneasy under a foreign thrall, several names of a popular character were introduced into the royal nursery. Thus was it with ‘Edward’ and ‘Edmund.’ The former of these appellations was represented by Edward I., the latter by his brother Edmund, Earl of Lancaster. Previously to this, too, an attempt had been made to restore the British ‘Arthur’ in that nephew of Cœur de Lion who so miserably perished by his uncle’s means, and thereby gave Lackland a securer hold upon the English throne, if not upon the affections of the country. The sad and gloomy mystery which surrounded the disappearance of this boy-prince seems to have inspired mothers with a superstitious awe of the name, for we do not find, as in the case of ‘Edward’ or ‘Edmund,’ its royal restoration having the effect of making it general.[^[8]] On the contrary, as an effort in its favour, it seems to have signally failed. Of all our early historic names I find fewest relics of this.

The difficulty of subdividing our first chapter is great, but for the sake of convenience we have decided to preserve the following order:—

1. Names that preceded and survived the Conquest.

2. Names introduced or confirmed by the Normans.

3. Names from the Calendar of the Saints.

4. Names from Festivals and Holy-days.

5. Patronymics formed from occupations and officerships.

6. Metronymics.

7. Names from Holy Scripture.

I.—Names that preceded and survived the Conquest.

The peculiar feature of the great majority of such names as were in vogue previous to the Norman Conquest, and which to a certain extent maintained a hold, is that (saving in two or three instances) they did not attach to themselves either filial or pet desinences. If they have come down to us as surnames, they are found in their simple unaltered dress. Thus, taking Afred as an example, we see in our directories ‘Alfred’ or ‘Alured’ or ‘Allured’ to be the only patronymics that have been handed down to us. Latinized as Aluredus it figures in Domesday. The Hundred Rolls, later on, register an Alured Ape, and the surname appears in the Parliamentary Writs in the case of William Alured. It is hard to separate our ‘Aldreds’ from our ‘Allureds.’ The usually entered forms are ‘Richard Alred,’ ‘Hugh Aldred,’ or ‘Aldred fil. Roger.’ Besides ‘Aldred’ there is ‘Alderson,’ which may be but ‘Aldredson.’ Aylwin is met by such entries as Richard Alwine, or Thomas Ailwyne: ‘Adelard,’ as ‘Adlard’ or ‘Alard,’ and ‘Agilward’ as ‘Aylward,’ are of more frequent occurrence; while Aldrech, once merely a personal name, is now, like many of the above, found only surnominally.

The Teutonic mythology is closely interwoven in several of these names. The primary root ‘god’ or ‘good,’ which stood in all Teuton languages as the title of divinity, was familiarised as the chief component in not a few of our still existing surnames. ‘Godwin,’ the name which the stout old earl of Danish blood has given to our Goodwin Sands, seems to have been well established when the great Survey was made. The French ‘Godin’ seems scarcely to have crossed the Channel, but ‘Godwin’ and ‘Goodwin’ have well filled up the gap. ‘Hugh fil. Godewin,’ or ‘Godwin de Dovre,’ represent our registers. Our ‘Godbolds’ are found in the dress of ‘Godbolde,’ our ‘Goodiers’ and ‘Goodyears’ as ‘Goder’ or ‘Godyer,’ and our ‘Goddards’ as ‘Godard.’ The Hundred Rolls give us a ‘John fil. Godard.’ The Alpine mountain reminds us of its connection with ‘Gotthard,’ and Miss Yonge states that it is still in use as a Christian name in Germany. ‘Gottschalk,’ a common surname in the same country, was well known as a personal name in England in the forms of ‘Godescalde,’[^[9]] ‘Godescall,’ or ‘Godeschalke,’ such entries as ‘Godefry fil. Godescallus,’ or ‘Godeskalcus Armorer,’ or ‘John Godescalde,’ being not unfrequent. The latter name suggests to us our ‘Godsalls’ and ‘Godshalls’ as the present English surnominal forms. ‘Gottschalk’ in our directories may always be looked upon as a more recent importation from Germany. Goderic was perhaps the commonest of this class—its usual dress in our registers being ‘Gooderick,’ ‘Goderiche,’ ‘Godrick,’ and ‘Godric.’ An early Saxon abbot was exalted into the ranks of the saints as ‘St. Goderic,’ and this would have its influence in the selection of baptismal names at that period. ‘Guthlac,’ not without descendants, too, though less easily recognisable in our ‘Goodlakes’ and ‘Goodlucks,’ and ‘Geoffrey,’ or ‘Godfrey,’ whom I shall have occasion to mention again, belong to the same category.[^[10]] The last of this class I may mention is the old ‘Godeberd,’ or ‘Godbert.’ As simple ‘Godeberd’ it is found in such a name as ‘Roger Godeberd,’ met with in the London Tower records. Somewhat more corrupted we come across a ‘John Gotebedde’ in the Hundred Rolls of the thirteenth century; and much about the same time a ‘Robert Gotobedd’ lived in Winchelsea. In this latter form, I need scarcely say, it has now a somewhat flourishing existence in our midst. Some will be reminded of the lines:—

Mr. Barker’s as mute as a fish in the sea,

Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,

Mr. Gotobed sits up till half-after three,

Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.

Still, despite its long antiquity, when I recall the pretty Godbert from which it arose, I would, were I one of them, go to bed as such some night for the last time, nor get up again till I could dress, if not my person, at least my personality in its real and more antique habiliment.

‘Os,’ as a root-word implicative of deity, has made for itself a firm place in our ‘Osbalds,’ ‘Osberts,’ ‘Oswins,’ ‘Oswalds,’ ‘Osbornes,’ and ‘Osmunds’ or ‘Osmonds.’ Instances of all these may be seen in our older registries. We quickly light upon entries such as ‘Osbert le Ferrur,’ ‘Osborne le Hawkere,’ ‘Oswin Ogle,’ ‘Nicholas Osemund,’ or ‘John Oswald.’ Nor must ‘Thor,’ the ‘Jupiter tonans’ of the Norsemen, be left out, for putting aside local names, and the day of the week that still memorialises him, we have yet several surnames that speak of his influence. ‘Thurstan’ and ‘Thurlow’ seem both of kin. ‘Thorald,’ however, has made the greatest mark, and next ‘Thurkell.’ Thorald may be seen in ‘Torald Chamberlain’ (A), Ralph fil. Thorald (A), or Torald Benig (A); while Thurkell or Thurkill is found first in the fuller form in such entries as ‘Richard Thyrketyll,’ or ‘Robert Thirkettle,’ and then in the contracted in ‘Thurkeld le Seneschal,’ or ‘Robert Thurkel.’

We have just referred to Thurkettle. ‘Kettle’ was very closely connected with the mythology of Northern Europe, and is still a great name in Norway and in Iceland. The sacrificial cauldron of the gods must certainly have been vividly present to the imagination of our forefathers. The list of names compounded with ‘Kettle’ is large even in England. The simple ‘Kettle’ was very common. In Domesday it is ‘Chetill,’ in the Hundred Rolls ‘Ketel’ or ‘Cetyl’ or ‘Cattle.’ Such entries as ‘Ketel le Mercer,’ or ‘Chetel Frieday,’ or ‘Cattle Bagge,’ are met with up to the fifteenth century, and as surnames ‘Kettle,’ ‘Chettle’ and ‘Cattle’ or ‘Cattell’ have a well-established place in the nineteenth. Of the compound forms we have already noticed ‘Thurkettle’ or ‘Thurkell.’ ‘Anketil le Mercir’ (A), ‘Roger Arketel’ (A), ‘William Asketill’ (Q), and ‘Robert fil. Anskitiel’ (W. 12) are all but changes rung on Oskettle. The abbots of England, in 941, 992, and 1052, were ‘Turketyl,’ ‘Osketyl,’ and ‘Wulfketyl’ respectively. The last seems to be the same as ‘Ulchetel’ found in Domesday.[^[11]] In the same Survey we light upon a ‘Steinchetel,’ and ‘Grinketel’ is also found in a Yorkshire record of the same period.[^[12]] Orm, the representative of pagan worship in respect of the serpent, has left its memorial in such entries as ‘Alice fil. Orme,’ or ‘Ormus Archbragge.’ The descendants of these are our ‘Ormes’ and ‘Ormesons.’ More local names abide in ‘Ormsby,’ ‘Ormskirk,’ ‘Ormerod,’ and ‘Ormes Head.’

A series of names, some of them connected with the heroic and legendary lore of Northern Europe, were formed from the root ‘sig’—conquest. Many of these maintained a position as personal names long after the Norman invasion, and now exist in our directories as surnames. Nevertheless, as with the others hitherto mentioned, they are all but invariably found in their simple and uncompounded form. Our ‘Sewards,’ ‘Seawards,’ and ‘Sawards’ represent the chief of these. It is found in England in the seventh century, and was a great Danish name. Entries like ‘Syward Godwin’ or ‘Siward Oldcorn’ are found as late as the beginning of the fourteenth century. Next we may mention our ‘Segars,’ ‘Sagars,’ ‘Sahers,’ ‘Sayers,’ and ‘Saers,’ undoubted descendants of such men as ‘Saher de Quincy,’ the famous old Earl of Winchester. The registrations of this as a personal name are very frequent. Such entries as ‘John fil. Saer,’ ‘Saher Clerk,’ ‘Saher le King,’ or ‘Eudo fil. Sygar,’ are common. Nor has ‘Sigbiorn’ been allowed to become obsolete, as our ‘Sibornes’ and ‘Seabornes’ can testify. I cannot discover any instance of ‘Sibbald’ as a personal name after the Domesday Survey, but as a relic of ‘Sigbald’ it is still living in a surnominal form. Though apparently occupative, our registers clearly proclaim that ‘Seman’ or ‘Seaman’ must be set here. As a personal name it is found in such designations as ‘Seman de Champagne,’ or ‘Seaman de Baylif,’ or ‘Seaman Carpenter.’ With the mention of ‘Sebright’ as a corruption of ‘Sigbert’ or ‘Sebert,’ I pass on; but this is sufficient to show that a name whose root-meaning implied heroism was popular with our forefathers.

The popular notion that ‘Howard’ is nothing but ‘Hogward’ is not borne out by facts. We find no trace whatever of its gradual reduction into such a corrupt form. As we shall have occasion to show hereafter, it is our ‘Hoggarts’ who thus maintain the honours of our swine-tending ancestors. There can be little doubt, indeed, that ‘Howard’ is but another form of ‘Harvard’ or ‘Hereward.’ That it had early become so pronounced and spelt we can prove by an entry occurring in the Test. Ebor. (Surt. Soc.) where one ‘John Fitz-howard’ is registered. Our ‘Hermans’ and ‘Harmans’ represent ‘Herman,’ a name which, though in early use in England, we owe chiefly to immigration in later days. Such entries as ‘Herman de Francia’ or ‘Herman de Alemannia’ are occasionally met with. The fuller patronymic attached itself to this name; hence such entries as ‘Walter Hermanson,’ and ‘John Urmynson,’ ‘Harmer,’ and ‘Hermer,’ seem to be somewhat of kin to the last. The personal form is found in ‘Robert fil. Hermer,’ and the surname in ‘Hopkins Harmar.’ Besides ‘Hardwin,’ ‘Hadwin’ is also met with as a relic of the same, while ‘Harding’ has remained unaltered from the day when registrars entered such names as ‘Robert fil. Harding’ and ‘Maurice fil. Harding;’ but this, as ‘Fitz-harding’ reminds us, must be looked upon as of Norman introduction. Nor must ‘Swain’ be forgotten. We find in the Survey the wife of ‘Edward filius Suani,’ figuring among the tenants-in-chief of Essex. This is of course but our present ‘Swainson’ or ‘Swanson;’ and when we add all the ‘Swains,’ ‘Swayns,’ and ‘Swaynes’ of our directories we shall find that this name has a tolerably assured position in the nineteenth century. ‘Swain’ implied strength, specially the strength of youth; and as Samson’s strength became utter weakness through his affection, so I suppose it has fared with ‘Swain.’ The country shepherd piping to his mistress, the lovesick bachelor, has monopolised the title. As a personal name it occurs in such registrations as ‘Sweyn Colle,’ ‘Swanus le Riche,’ or ‘Adam fil. Swain.’

II.—Names introduced or confirmed by the Normans.

Of names specially introduced at the Conquest, or that received an impulse by that event, we may mention ‘Serl’ and ‘Harvey.’ ‘Serl,’ found in such names as ‘Serle Morice’ or ‘Serle Gotokirke,’ or ‘John fil. Serlo,’ still abides in our ‘Searles’ and ‘Serles,’ ‘Serrells’ and ‘Serlsons.’ ‘William Serleson’ occurs in an old Yorkshire register, and ‘Richard Serelson’ in the Parliamentary Writs. The Norman diminutive also appears in Matilda Sirlot (A) and Mabel Sirlot (A).[^[13]] ‘Harvey,’ or ‘Herve,’ was more common than many may imagine, and a fair number of entries such as ‘Herveus le Gos’ or ‘William fil. Hervei,’ may be seen in all our large rolls. The Malvern poet in his ‘Piers Plowman’ employs the name:—

And thanne cam Coveitise,

Can I hym naght descryve,

So hungrily and holwe

Sire Hervy hym loked.

‘Arnold,’ now almost unknown in England as a baptismal name, made a deep impression on our nomenclature, as it did on that of Central Europe. ‘Earn’ for the eagle is a word not yet obsolete in the North of England, and this reminds us of the origin of the name. This kinship is more easily traceable in our registries where the usual forms are ‘Ernaldus Carnifix,’ or ‘Peter Ernald.’ Besides ‘Arnold,’ ‘Arnison,’ and the diminutive ‘Arnott’ or ‘Arnet’[^[14]] still live among us. ‘Alberic,’ or ‘Albrec,’ as we find it occasionally written, soon found its way into our rolls as ‘Aubrey,’ although, as Ælfric, Miss Yonge shows it to have existed in our country centuries earlier.[^[15]] ‘Albred,’ probably but another form of the lately revived ‘Albert,’ is now found as ‘Allbright’ and the German ‘Albrecht.’

‘Emery,’ though now utterly forgotten as a personal name, may be said to live on only in our surnames. It was once no unimportant sobriquet. ‘Americ,’ ‘Almeric,’ ‘Almaric,’ ‘Emeric,’ and ‘Eimeric,’ seem to have been its original spellings in England, and thus, at least, it is more likely to remind us that it is the same name to which, in the Italian form of Amerigo, we now owe the title of that vast expanse of western territory which is so indissolubly connected with English industry and English interests. Curter forms than these were found in ‘Aylmar,’ ‘Ailmar,’ ‘Almar,’ and ‘Aymer,’ and ‘Amar.’ The surnames it has bequeathed to us are not few. It has had the free run of the vowels in our ‘Amorys,’ ‘Emerys,’ and ‘Imarys,’ and in a more patronymic form we may still oftentimes meet with it in our ‘Emersons,’ ‘Embersons,’[^[16]] and ‘Imesons.’ ‘Ingram’ represents the old ‘Ingelram,’ ‘Engleram,’ ‘Iggelram,’ or ‘Ingeram,’ for all these forms may be met with; and ‘Ebrardus,’ later on registered as ‘Eborard,’ still abides hale and hearty in our ‘Everards’ and ‘Everys.’ The latter, however, can scarcely be said to be quite extinct as a baptismal name. ‘Waleran,’ an English form of the foreign ‘Valerian,’ is found in such an entry as ‘Walerand Berchamstead,’ or ‘Waldrand Clark,’ or ‘Walran Oldman.’ We see at once the origin of our ‘Walronds’ and ‘Walrands.’ The name of ‘Brice’ begins to find itself located in England at this time. Hailing from Denmark, it may have come in with the earlier raids from that shore, or later on in the more peaceful channels of trade. The Hundred Rolls furnish us with ‘Brice fil. William’ and ‘Brice le Parsun,’ while the Placita de Quo Warranto gives us a ‘Brice le Daneys,’ who himself proclaims the nationality of the name. The Norman diminutive is met with in ‘Briccot de Brainton’ (M M). ‘Brice’ and ‘Bryson’ (when not a corruption of ‘Bride-son’) are the present representatives of this now forgotten name.[^[17]] All the above names I have placed together, because, while introduced or receiving an impetus by the incoming of the Normans and their followers, they have, nevertheless, made little impression on our general nomenclature. The fact that, with but one or two exceptions, the usual pet addenda, ‘kin,’ ‘cock,’ and ‘ot,’ or ‘et,’ are absolutely wanting, or even the patronymic ‘son,’ shows decisively that they cannot be numbered among what we must call the popular names of the period. Introduced here and there in the community at large, they struggled on for bare existence, and have descended to us as surnames in their simple and unaltered form.

We now turn to a batch of personal names of a different character, names which, with a few exceptions, are still familiar to us at baptismal celebrations, and which have changed themselves into so many varying forms, that the surnames issuing from them are well-nigh legion. Most of these are the direct result of the Conquest. They are either the sobriquets borne by William, his family, and his leading followers, or by those whom connections of blood, alliance, and interest afterwards brought into the country. Many others received their solid settlement in England through the large immigration of foreign artisans from Normandy, from Picardy, Anjou, Flanders, and other provinces. The Flemish influence has been very strong.

I will first mention Drew, Warin, Paine, Ivo, and Hamon, because, although they must be included among the most familiar names of their time, they are now practically disused at the font. ‘Drew,’ or ‘Drogo,’ occurs several times in Domesday. An illegitimate son of Charlemagne was so styled, and, doubtless, it owed its familiarity to the adherents of the Conqueror. Later on, at any rate, it was firmly established, as such names as Drew Drewery, Druco Bretun, or William fil. Drogo testify. That ‘Drewett’ is derived from the Norman diminutive can be proved from the Hundred Rolls, wherein the same man is described in the twofold form of ‘Drogo Malerbe’ and ‘Druett Malerbe.’ The feminine ‘Druetta de Pratello’ is also found in the same records. ‘Drew’ and ‘Drewett’ are both in our directories.[^[18]] Few names were more common from the eleventh to the fourteenth century than ‘Warin,’ or ‘Guarin,’ or ‘Guerin’—the latter the form at present generally found in France. It is the sobriquet that is incorporated in our ancient ‘Mannerings,’ or ‘Mainwarings,’ a family that came from the ‘mesnil,’ or ‘manor,’ of ‘Warin,’ in a day when that was a familiar Christian name in Norman households. A few generations later on we find securely settled among ourselves such names as ‘Warin Chapman,’ or ‘Warinus Gerold,’ or ‘Guarinus Banastre,’ in the baptismal, and ‘Warinus Fitz-Warin,’ or ‘John Warison,’ in the patronymic form, holding a steady place in our mediæval rolls. Two of the characters in ‘Piers Plowman,’ as those who have read it will remember, bear this as their personal sobriquet:—

One Waryn Wisdom

And Witty his fere

Followed him faste.

And again—

Then wente Wisdom

And Sire Waryn the Witty

And warnede wrong.

‘Robert Warinot,’ in the Hundred Rolls, and ‘William Warinot’ in the Placita de Quo Warranto, reveal the origin of our ‘Warnetts;’ while our ‘Wareings,’ ‘Warings,’ ‘Warisons,’ ‘Wasons,’ and ‘Fitz-Warins’—often written ‘Fitz-Warren’—not to mention the majority of our ‘Warrens,’[^[19]] are other of the descendants of this famous old name that still survive. A favourite name in these days was ‘Payn,’ or ‘Pagan.’ The softer form is given us in the ‘Man of Lawes Tale’—

The Constable, and Dame Hermegild his wife,

Were payenes, and that country everywhere.

We all know the history of the word; how that, while the Gospel had made advance in the cities, but not yet penetrated into the country, the dwellers in the latter became looked upon with a something of contempt as idolaters, so that, so far as this word was concerned, ‘countryman’ and ‘false-worshipper’ became synonymous terms. In fact, ‘pagan’ embraced the two meanings that ‘peasant’ and ‘pagan’ now convey, though the root of both is the same. The Normans, it would appear, must have so styled some of themselves who had refused baptism after that their chieftain, Rollo, had become a convert; and hence, when William came over, the name was introduced into England by several of his followers. In Domesday Book we find among his tenants-in-chief the names of ‘Ralph Paganel’ and ‘Edmund fil. Pagani.’ The name became more popular as time went on, and it is no exaggeration to say that at one period—viz., the close of the Norman dynasty—it had threatened to become one of the most familiar appellatives in England. This will account for the frequency with which we meet such entries in the past as ‘Robert fil. Pain,’ ‘Pain del Ash,’ ‘Pagan de la Hale,’ ‘Roger fil. Pagan,’ ‘Payen le Dubbour,’ or ‘Elis le Fitz-Payn,’ and such surnames in the present as ‘Pagan,’ ‘Payne,’ ‘Payn,’ ‘Paine,’ ‘Pain,’ and ‘Pynson.’ The diminutive also was not wanting, as ‘John Paynett’ (Z) or ‘Emma Paynot’ (W 2) could have testified. Thus, while in our dictionaries ‘pagan’ still represents a state of heathenism, in our directories it has long ago been converted to the uses of Christianity, and become at the baptismal font a Christian name. ‘Ivar,’ or ‘Iver,’ still familiarised to Scotchmen in ‘Mac-Iver,’ came to the Normans from the northern lands whence they were sprung, and with them into England. It was not its first appearance here, as St. Ives of Huntingdonshire could have testified in the seventh century. Still its popular character was due to the Norman. Such names as ‘Yvo de Taillbois’ (1211), mentioned in Bishop Pudsey’s ‘Survey of the Durham See,’ ‘Ivo le Mercer,’ ‘Walter fil. Ive,’ ‘William Iveson,’ ‘Iveta Millisent,’ or ‘John fil. Ivette,’ serve to show us how familiar was this appellation with both sexes.[^[20]] Nor are its descendants inclined to let its memory die. We have the simple ‘Ive’ and ‘Ives;’ we have the more patronymic ‘Iverson,’ ‘Ivison,’ ‘Iveson,’ and ‘Ison,’ and the pet ‘Ivetts’ and ‘Ivatts,’ the latter possibly feminine in origin.

‘Hamo,’ or ‘Hamon,’ requires a paragraph for itself. It is firmly imbedded in our existing nomenclature, and has played an important part in its time. Its forms were many, and though obsolete as baptismal names, all have survived as surnames. Of these may be mentioned our ‘Hamons,’ ‘Haymons,’ ‘Aymons,’ and ‘Fitz-Aymons.’ Formed like ‘Rawlyn,’ ‘Thomlin,’ and ‘Cattlin,’ it bequeathed us ‘Hamlyn,’ a relic of such folk as ‘Hamelyn de Trap’ or ‘Osbert Hamelyn.’ Another change rung on the name is traceable in such entries as ‘Hamund le Mestre,’ ‘Hamond Cobeler,’ or ‘John Fitz-Hamond,’ the source of our ‘Hammonds’ and ‘Hamonds;’ while in ‘Alice Hamundson’ or ‘William Hamneson’ we see the lineage of our many ‘Hampsons.’ But these are the least important. The Norman-French diminutive, ‘Hamonet,’ speedily corrupted into ‘Hamnet’ and ‘Hammet,’ became one of our favourite baptismal names, and towards the reign of Elizabeth one of the commonest. A ‘Hamnet de Dokinfield’ is found so early as 1270 at Manchester (Didsbury Ch. Cheth. Soc.). Shakespeare’s son was baptized ‘Hamnet,’ and was so called after ‘Hamnet Sadler,’ a friend of the poet’s—a baker at Stratford. This man is styled ‘Hamlet’ also, reminding us of another pet form of the name. We have already mentioned ‘Richard,’ ‘Christian,’ ‘Hugh,’ and ‘Hobbe,’ as severally giving birth to the diminutives, ‘Rickelot,’ ‘Crestelot,’ ‘Huelot,’ and ‘Hobelot.’ In the same way, ‘Hamon’ became ‘Hamelot,’ or ‘Hamelet,’ hence such entries as ‘Richard, son of Hamelot’ (AA 2), and ‘Hamelot de la Burste’ (Cal. and Inv. of Treasury). Out of fifteen ‘Hamnets’ set down in ‘Wills and Inventories’ (Cheth. Soc.), six are recorded as ‘Hamlet,’ one being set down in both forms as ‘Hamnet Massey’ and ‘Hamlet Massey’ (cf. i. 148, ii. 201). If the reader will look through the index of Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ he will find that ‘Hamlet’ in that county had taken the entire place of ‘Hamnet.’ Amid a large number of the former I cannot find one of the latter. It would be a curious question how far Shakespeare was biassed by the fact of having a ‘Hamlet’ in his nursery into changing ‘Hambleth’ (the original title of the story) to the form he has now immortalized. An open Bible, and, further on, a Puritan spirit have left their influence on no name more markedly than ‘Hamon.’ As one after another new Bible character was commemorated at the font, ‘Hamon’ got crushed out. Its last refuge has been found in our directories, for so long as our ‘Hamlets,’ ‘Hamnets,’ ‘Hammets,’ ‘Hammonds,’ and ‘Hampsons’ exist, it cannot be utterly forgotten.

‘Guy,’ or ‘Guyon,’ dates from the ‘Round Table,’ but it was reserved for the Norman to make his name so familiar to English lips. The best proof of this is that the surnames which it has left to us are all but entirely formed from the Norman-French diminutive ‘Guyot,’ which in England became, of course, ‘Wyot.’ Hence such entries as ‘Wyot fil. Helias,’ or ‘Wyott Carpenter,’ or ‘Wyot Balistarius.’ The descendants of these, I need scarcely say, are our ‘Wyatts.’ But the Norman initial was not entirely lost. ‘Aleyn Gyot’ is found in the ‘Rolls of Parliament;’ and ‘Guyot’ and ‘Guyatt’ testify to its existence in the nineteenth century.[^[21]] ‘Ralph,’ or ‘Radulf,’ of whom there were thirty-eight in Domesday, has survived in a number of forms. Our ‘Raffs’ and ‘Raffsons’ can carry back their descent to days when ‘Raffe Barton’ or ‘Peter Raffson’ thus signed themselves. The favourite pet forms were ‘Rawlin’ and ‘Randle;’ hence such entries as ‘Raulyn de la Fermerie,’ ‘Raulina de Briston,’ or ‘Randle de la Mill.’ To these it is we owe our ‘Rawlins,’ ‘Rawlings,’ ‘Rawlinsons,’ ‘Rollins,’ ‘Rollinsons,’ ‘Randles’ and ‘Randalls.’ Other and more ordinary corruptions are found in ‘Rawes,’ ‘Rawson,’ ‘Rawkins,’ ‘Rapkins,’ and ‘Rapson.’ The reader may easily see from this that ‘Ralph,’ from occupying a place in the foremost rank of early favourites, is content now to stand in the very rear.

There are a number of names still in use, although not so popular as they once were, which were brought in directly by the Normans, and which were closely connected with the real or imaginary stories of which Charlemagne was the central figure. Italy, France, and Spain possess a larger stock than we do of this class, but those which did reach our shores made for themselves a secure position. ‘Charles,’ by some strange accident, did not obtain a place in England, nor is it to be found in our registers, saving in the most isolated instances, till Charles the First, by his misfortunes, made it one of the commonest in the land. In France, as Sir Walter Scott, in ‘Quentin Durward,’ reminds us, the pet form was ‘Charlot’ and ‘Charlat.’ This, as a surname, soon found its way to England, where it has existed for many centuries. The feminine ‘Charlotte,’ since the death of the beloved Princess of that name, has become almost a household word. Putting aside ‘Charles,’ then, the Paladins have bequeathed us ‘Roland,’ ‘Oliver,’ ‘Robert,’ ‘Richard,’ ‘Roger,’ ‘Reginald,’ ‘Reynard,’ and ‘Miles.’ We see at once in these names the parentage of some of our most familiar surnames. ‘Oliver’ was, perhaps, the least popular so far as numbers were concerned, and might have died out entirely had not the Protector Cromwell brought it again into notoriety. ‘Oliver,’ ‘Olver,’ ‘Ollier,’ and ‘Oliverson’ are the present forms, and these are met by such entries as ‘Jordan Olyver,’ or ‘Philip fil. Oliver.’ ‘Roland,’ or ‘Orlando,’ was the nephew of the great Charles, who fell in his peerless might at Roncesvalles. Of him and Oliver, Walter Scott, translating the Norman chronicle, says—

Taillefer, who sang both well and loud,

Came mounted on a courser proud,

Before the Duke the minstrel sprung,

And loud of Charles and Roland sung,

Of Oliver and champions mo,

Who died at fatal Roncevaux.

‘Roland’ was a favourite name among the higher nobility for centuries, and with our ‘Rolands,’ ‘Rowlands,’ ‘Rowlsons,’ and ‘Rowlandsons,’ bids fair to maintain its hold upon our surnames, if not the baptismal list. Old forms are found in such entries as ‘Roland le Lene,’ ‘Rouland Bloet,’ ‘William Rollandson,’ or ‘Robert Rowelyngsonne’! We must not forget, too, that our ‘Rowletts’ and ‘Rowlets’ represent the French diminutive.[^[22]] ‘Robert’ is an instance of a name which has held its place against all counter influences from the moment which first brought it into public favour. It is early made conspicuous in the eldest son of the Bastard King who, through his miserable fate, became such an object of common pity that, though of the hated stock, his sobriquet became acceptable among the Saxons themselves. From that time its fortunes were made, even had not the bold archer of Sherwood Forest risen to the fore, and caused ‘Hob’ to be the title of every other young peasant you might meet ’twixt London and York. A curious instance of the popularity of the latter is found in the fact that a tradesman living in 1388 in Winchelsea is recorded under the name of ‘Thomas Robynhod.’ The diminutives ‘Robynet’[^[23]] and ‘Robertot’ are obsolete, but of other forms that still thrive among us are ‘Roberts,’ ‘Robarts,’ ‘Robertson,’ ‘Robins,’ ‘Robinson,’ ‘Robison,’ and ‘Robson.’ From its shortened ‘Dob’ are ‘Dobbs,’ ‘Dobson,’ ‘Dobbins,’ ‘Dobinson,’ and ‘Dobison.’[^[24]] From its equally familiar ‘Hob’ are ‘Hobbs,’ ‘Hobson,’ ‘Hobbins,’ ‘Hopkins,’ and ‘Hopkinson.’ From the Welsh, too, we get, as contractions of ‘Ap-robert’ and ‘Ap-robin,’ ‘Probert’ and ‘Probyn.’ Thus ‘Robert’ is not left without remembrance. Richard was scarcely less popular than Robert. Though already firmly established, for Richard was in the Norman ducal genealogy before William came over the water, still it was reserved for the Angevine monarch, as he had made it the terror of the Paynim, so to make it the pride of the English heart. Richard I. is an instance of a man’s many despicable qualities being forgotten in the dazzling brilliance of daring deeds. He was an ungrateful son, an unkind brother, a faithless husband; but he was the idol of his time, and to him a large mass of English people of to-day owe their nominal existence. From the name proper we get ‘Richards’ and ‘Richardson,’ ‘Ricks’ and ‘Rix,’ ‘Rickson’ and ‘Rixon,’ or ‘Ritson,’ ‘Rickards,’ and ‘Ricketts.’[^[25]] From the curter ‘Dick’ or ‘Diccon,’[^[26]] we derive ‘Dicks’ or ‘Dix,’ ‘Dickson’ or ‘Dixon,’ ‘Dickens’ or ‘Diccons,’ and ‘Dickenson’ or ‘Dicconson.’ From ‘Hitchin,’ once nearly as familiar as ‘Dick,’ we get ‘Hitchins,’ ‘Hitchinson,’ ‘Hitchcock,’ and ‘Hitchcox.’ Like many another name, the number of ‘Richards’ now is out of all proportion less than these surnames would ascribe to it some centuries ago. The reason of this we shall speak more particularly about by-and-by. Roger, well known in France and Italy, found much favour in England. From it we derive our ‘Rogers,’ ‘Rodgers,’ and ‘Rogersons.’ From Hodge, its nickname, we acquired ‘Hodge,’ ‘Hodges,’ ‘Hodgkins,’ ‘Hotchkins,’ ‘Hoskins,’ ‘Hodgkinson,’ ‘Hodgson,’ and ‘Hodson,’ and through the Welsh ‘Prodger.’ The diminutive ‘Rogercock’ is found once, but it was ungainly, and I doubt not met with little favour. Reginald, as Rinaldo, immortalized by the Italian poet, appeared in Domesday as ‘Ragenald’ and ‘Rainald.’ Our ‘Reynolds,’ represent the surname. ‘Renaud’ or ‘Renard,’ can never be forgotten while there is a single fox left to display its cunning. The story seems to have been founded on the character of some real personage, but his iniquities did not frighten parents from the use of the name. ‘Renaud Balistarius’ or ‘Adam fil. Reinaud’ are common entries, and ‘Reynardsons’ and ‘Rennisons’ still exist. Our ‘Rankins,’ too, would seem to have originated from this sobriquet since ‘Gilbert Reynkin’ and ‘Richard Reynkyn’ are found in two separate rolls. Miles came into England as ‘Milo,’ that being the form found in Domesday. It was already popular with the Normans, and, like all other personal names from the same source, we find it speedily recorded in a diminutive shape, as ‘Millot’ and ‘Millet.’ ‘Roger Millot’ occurs in the Hundred Rolls, and ‘Thomas Mylett’ in a Yorkshire register of an early date. The patronymics were ‘Mills,’ ‘Miles,’ ‘Millson,’ and ‘Mileson,’[^[27]] all of which still exist.

The great race for popularity since Domesday record has ever been that between ‘William’ and ‘John.’ In the age immediately following the Conquest ‘William’ decidedly held the supremacy. This is naturally accounted for by its royal associations. There was, indeed, a ‘John’ in the same line of descent as the Bastard from Richard I. of Normandy, but the name seems to have been forgotten, or passed by unheeded, till it was revived again five generations later in ‘John Lackland.’ ‘William’ enjoyed better auspices. It was the name of the founder of the new monarchy. It was the name of his immediate successor. Whatever the character of these two kings, such a conjunction could not but have its weight upon the especially Norman element in the kingdom. We find in Domesday that while there are 68 ‘Williams,’ 48 ‘Roberts,’ and 28 ‘Walters,’ there are only 10 ‘Johns.’ A century later than this, ‘William’ must still have claimed precedence among the nobility at least, as is proved by a statement of Robert Montensis. He says, that at a festival held in the court of Henry II., in 1173, Sir William St. John and Sir William Fitz-Hamon, especial officers, had commanded that none but those of the name of ‘William’ should dine in the Great Chamber with them, and were, therefore, accompanied by one hundred and twenty ‘Williams,’ all knights. By the time of Edward I. this disproportion had become less marked. In a list of names connected with the county of Wiltshire in that reign, we find, out of a total of 588 decipherable names (for the record is somewhat damaged), 92 ‘Williams’ to 88 ‘Johns,’ while ‘Richard’ is credited with 55; ‘Robert,’ 48; ‘Roger,’ 23; and ‘Geoffrey,’ ‘Ralph,’ and ‘Peter,’ each 16 names. This denotes clearly that a considerable change had taken place in the popular estimation of these two appellations. Within a century after this, however, ‘John’ had evidently gained the supremacy. In 1347, we find that out of 133 Common Councilmen for London town first convened, 35 were ‘Johns,’ the next highest being 17 under the head of ‘William,’ 15 under ‘Thomas,’ which now, for obvious reasons we will mention hereafter, had suddenly sprung into notoriety; 10 under ‘Richard,’ 9 under ‘Henry,’ 8 under ‘Robert,’ and so on; ending with one each for ‘Laurence,’ ‘Reynald,’ ‘Andrew,’ ‘Alan,’ ‘Giles,’ ‘Gilbert,’ and ‘Peter.’ A still greater disproportion is found forty years later; for in 1385, the Guild of St. George, at Norwich, out of a total of 376 names, possessed 128 ‘Johns’ to 47 ‘Williams’ and 41 ‘Thomases.’[^[28]] From this period, despite the hatred that was felt for Lackland, ‘John’ kept the precedence it had won, and to this circumstance the nation owes the sobriquet it now generally receives, that of ‘John Bull.’ Long ago, however, under the offensive title of ‘Jean Gotdam,’ we had become known as a people given to strange and unpleasant oaths. It is interesting to trace the way in which ‘William’ has again recovered itself in later days. Throughout the Middle Ages it occupied a sturdy second place, fearless of any rival beyond the one that had supplanted it. Its dark hour was the Puritan Commonwealth. As a Pagan name it was rejected with horror and disdain. From the day of the Protestant settlement and William’s accession, however, it again looked up from the cold shade into which it had fallen, and now once more stands easily, as eight centuries ago, at the head of our baptismal registers. ‘John,’ on the other hand, though it had the advantage of being in no way hateful to the Puritan conscience, has, from one reason or another, gone down in the world, and now has again resumed its early place as second.

The surnames that have descended to us from ‘William’ and ‘John’ are well-nigh numberless—far too many for enumeration here. To begin with the former, however, we find that the simple ‘Williams’ and ‘Williamson’ occupy whole pages of our directories. Besides these, we have from the curter ‘Will,’ ‘Wills,’ ‘Willis,’ and ‘Wilson;’ from the diminutive ‘Guillemot’ or ‘Gwillot,’ as it is often spelt in olden records. ‘Gillot,’ ‘Gillott,’ and ‘Gillett;’ or from ‘Williamot,’[^[29]] the more English form of the same, ‘Willmot,’ ‘Wilmot,’ ‘Willot,’ ‘Willet,’ and ‘Willert.’ In conjunction with the pet addenda, we get ‘Wilks,’ ‘Wilkins,’ and ‘Wilkinson,’ and ‘Wilcox,’ ‘Wilcocson,’ and ‘Wilcockson.’ Lastly, we have representatives of the more corrupt forms in such names as ‘Weeks,’ ‘Wickens,’ ‘Wickenson,’ and ‘Bill’ and ‘Bilson.’ Mr. Lower, who does not quote any authority for the statement, alleges that there was an old provincial nickname for ‘William’—viz., ‘Till;’ whence ‘Tilson,’ ‘Tillot,’ ‘Tillotson,’ and ‘Tilly.’ That these are sprung from ‘Till’ is evident, but there can be no reasonable doubt that this is but the still existing curtailment of ‘Matilda,’ which, as the most familiar female name of that day, would originate many a family so entitled. ‘Tyllott Thompson’ is a name occurring in York in 1414. Thus it is to the Conqueror’s wife, and not himself, these latter owe their rise. It is not the first time a wife’s property has thus been rudely wrenched from her for her husband’s benefit. The surnames from ‘John’ are as multifarious as is possible in the case of a monosyllable, ingenuity in the contraction thereof being thus manifestly limited. As ‘John’ simple it is very rare; but this has been well atoned for by ‘Jones,’ which, adding ‘John’ again as a prænomen, would be (as has been well said by the Registrar-General) in Wales a perpetual incognito, and being proclaimed at the cross of a market town would indicate no one in particular. Certainly ‘John Jones,’ in the Principality, is but a living contradiction to the purposes for which names and surnames came into existence. Besides this, however, we have ‘Johnson’ and ‘Jonson,’ ‘Johncock’ and ‘Jenkins,’ ‘Jennings’ and ‘Jenkinson,’ ‘Jackson’ and ‘Jacox,’ and ‘Jenks;’ which latter, however, now bids fair, under the patronage of ‘Ginx’s Baby,’ to be found for the future in a new and more quaint dress than it has hitherto worn. Besides several of the above, it is to the Welsh, also, we owe our ‘Ivens,’ ‘Evans,’ and ‘Bevans’ (i.e. Ap-Evan), which are but sprung from the same name. The Flemings, too, have not suffered their form of it to die out for lack of support; for it is with the settlement of ‘Hans,’[^[30]] a mere abbreviation of ‘Johannes,’ we are to date the rise of our familiar ‘Hansons,’ ‘Hankins,’ ‘Hankinsons,’ and ‘Hancocks,’ or ‘Handcocks.’ Nor is this all. ‘John’ enjoyed the peculiar prerogative of being able to attach to itself adjectives of a flattering, or at least harmless nature, and issuing forth and becoming accepted by the world therewith. Thus—though we shall have to notice it again—from the praiseworthy effort to distinguish the many ‘Johns’ each community possessed, we have still in our midst such names as ‘Prujean’ and ‘Grosjean,’ ‘Micklejohn’ and ‘Littlejohn,’ ‘Properjohn’ and ‘Brownjohn,’ and last, but not least, the estimable ‘Bonjohn.’ Do we need to go on to prove ‘Jack’s’ popularity, or rather universality?[^[31]] Every stranger was ‘Jack’ till he was found to be somebody else; so that ‘every man Jack of them’ has been a kind of general lay-baptism for ages. Every young supernumerary, whose position and age gave the licence, was in the eye of his superiors simply ‘Jack.’ As one instrument after another, however, was brought into use, by which manual service was rendered unnecessary and ‘Jack’ unneeded, instead of superannuating him he was quietly thrust into the new and inanimate office, and what with ‘boot-jacks’ and ‘black-jacks,’ ‘jack-towels’ and ‘smoke-jacks,’ ‘jacks’ for this and ‘jacks’ for that, no wonder people have begun to speak unkindly of him as ‘Jack-of-all-trades and master of none.’ Still, with this uncomplimentary tone, there was a smack of praise. A notion, at any rate, got abroad that ‘Jack’ must be a knowing, clever, sharp-witted sort of fellow, one who has his eyes open. So we got into the way of associating him with the more lively of the birds, beasts, and fishes; such, for instance, as the ‘jack-daw,’ the ‘jack-an-apes,’ and the ‘jack-pike.’ But ‘familiarity,’ as our copybooks long ago informed us, ‘breeds contempt;’ and so was it with ‘Jack’—he became a mark for ridicule. Even in Chaucer’s day ‘jack-fool’ or ‘jack-pudding’ was the synonym for a buffoon, and ‘jackass’ for a dolt; and here it but nationalises the ‘zany,’ a corruption of the Italian ‘Giovanni,’ or ‘merry-John,’ corresponding to our ‘merry-Andrew.’ ‘Jack of Dover’ also existed at the same period as a cant term for a clever knave, and that it still lived in the seventeenth century is clear from Taylor’s rhyme, where he says:—

Nor Jacke of Dover, that grand jury Jacke,

Nor Jack-sauce, the worst knave amongst the pack,

But of the Jacke of Jackes, great Jack-a-Lent,

To write his worthy acts is my intent.[^[32]]

Altogether, we may claim for ‘John’ a prominent, if not distinguished, position in the annals of English nomenclature. Nor must we forget ‘Joan,’ until Tudor days the general form of the present ‘Jane.’ Then ‘some of the better and nicer sort,’ as Camden saith, ‘misliking the former, turned it into “Jane”;’ and in testimony of this he adds that ‘Jane’ is never found in older records. This is strictly true. There can be little doubt that when the fair queen of Henry VIII. gave distinction to the name it became a courtly fashion to give it a different form from that borne by the multitude, and thus ‘Jane’ arose. Thus ‘Joan’ was left, as Miss Yonge says, ‘to the cottage and the kitchen;’ and there, indeed, it lingered on for a long period.[^[33]] Of many another could Shakespeare have sung:—

Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who.

To-whit, to-who, a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Previously to this, anyway, both queens and princesses had been content with ‘Joan.’ I doubt not, with regard to several of the surnames above-mentioned, ‘John’ must, if the truth be told, share the honours of origination with ‘Joan;’ nor do I think ‘Jennison’ peculiar to the latter. What with ‘John’ and ‘Jean’ for the masculine, and ‘Joan’ and ‘Jenny’ for the feminine, I do not see how the two could possibly escape confusion. ‘Jones’ and ‘Joanes,’ and ‘Jane’ and ‘Jayne,’ to say nothing of ‘Jennings,’ seem as like hereditary from the one as the other.[^[34]] Two feminines from ‘Jack,’ viz. ‘Jacquetta’ and ‘Jacqueline,’ were not unknown in England; ‘Jacquetta Knokyn’ (AA 3), ‘Jackett Toser’ (Z). The latter was the more common, and bequeathed us a surname ‘Jacklin,’ which still exists. It is found on an old bell:—

This bell was broke and cast againe, as plainly doth appeare,

John Draper made me in 1618, wich tyme churchwardens were,

Edward Dixson for the one, who stood close to his tacklin,

And he that was his partner there was Alexander Jacklin.

(Book of Days, i. 303.)

The peasant’s leather jerkin, corresponding to the more lordly coat of mail, was a jack whence the diminutive jacket. The more warlike dress gave rise to the name of ‘Jackman,’ of which more anon.

The Angevine dynasty gave a new impulse to some already popular names, and may be said in reality to have introduced, although not altogether unknown, several new ones. The two which owe the security of their establishment to it are ‘Geoffrey’ and ‘Fulke.’ The grandfather, the father, a brother, and a son of Henry II. were ‘Geoffrey;’ and still earlier than this, ‘Geoffrey Grisegonelle,’ ‘Geoffrey Martel,’ and ‘Geoffrey Barbu’ had each in turn set their mark upon the same. Apart from these influences, too, the stories brought home by the Crusaders of the prowess of Godfrey, the conqueror of Jerusalem, must have had their wonted effect in a day of such martial renown. Such surnames as ‘Jeffs,’ ‘Jeffries,’ ‘Jefferson,’ ‘Jeffcock,’ ‘Jeffkins,’ ‘Jephson,’ and ‘Jepson’ still record the share it had obtained in English esteem. ‘Fulke,’ or ‘Fulque,’ though there had been six so early as Domesday Book, when it came backed as it was by the fact of having given title to five Angevine rulers, got an inevitable place. Few Christian names were so common as this in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But it was an ungainly one, difficult to pronounce, and difficult to form into a patronymic. Thus, ‘Faxson’ and ‘Fawson’ are the only longer forms I can find as at present existing, while the variously spelt ‘Fulkes,’ ‘Foulkes,’ ‘Fakes,’ ‘Faux,’ ‘Fawkes,’ ‘Faulks,’ ‘Fowkes,’ ‘Folkes,’ ‘Foakes,’ and doubtless sometimes ‘Fox,’ serve to show how hard it was to hand it down in its original integrity. The entries in our mediæval registers are equally varied. We light upon such people as ‘Fowlke Grevill,’ ‘Fowke Crompton,’ ‘Fulk Paifrer,’ ‘Fulke le Taverner,’ ‘Foke Odell,’ ‘Faukes le Buteller,’ ‘Nel Faukes,’ and ‘John Faux.’ As an English historic name it has given us two miscreants; the hateful favourite of John, outlawed by Henry III., and the still more sanguinary villain of James I.’s day, in whose dishonour we still pile up the blazing logs in the gloomy nights of November. Henry, again, or more properly speaking Harry, owes much to the Plantagenets, for but three are to be found in Domesday. With its long line of monarchs, albeit it represented a curious mixture of good, bad, and indifferent qualities, that dynasty could not but stamp itself decisively on our registers. Thus, we have still plenty of ‘Henrys,’ ‘Harrises,’ ‘Harrisons,’ ‘Hallets,’ ‘Halkets,’ ‘Hawkinses,’ and ‘Hawkinsons;’ to say nothing of the Welsh ‘Parrys’ and ‘Penrys.’[^[35]] (‘Thomas Ap-Harry,’ D. ‘Hugh Ap-harrye,’ Z.) The Norman diminutive was early used, as such folk as ‘Alicia Henriot,’ ‘Robert Henriot,’ ‘Heriot Heringflet,’ ‘Thomas Haryette,’ or ‘William Haryott’ could have borne witness. ‘Harriot,’ or ‘Harriet,’ has been revived in recent days as a feminine baptismal name. ‘Hawkin,’ or ‘Halkin,’[^[36]] however, was perhaps the most popular form. Langland represents Conscience as saying:—

Thi beste cote, Haukyn,

Hath manye moles and spottes,

It moste ben y-wasshe.

Baldwin had already appeared at the Conquest, for an aunt of William’s had married Baldwin, Earl of Flanders, and he himself was espoused to Matilda, daughter of the fifth ‘Baldwin’ of that earldom. No doubt the Flemings brought in fresh accessions, and when we add to this the fact of its being by no means an unpopular Angevine name, we can readily see why ‘Balderson,’ ‘Bolderson,’ ‘Balcock,’ ‘Bodkin,’ and the simple ‘Baldwin,’ have maintained a quiet but steady position in the English lists ever since. Thus, the Plantagenets are not without memorials, even in the nineteenth century.

III.—Names from the Calendar of the Saints.

It is to Norman influence we owe the firm establishment of several names, which had already got securely settled on the Continent on account of the odour of sanctity that had gathered about them. The Reformation threw into the shade of oblivion the memories of many holy men and women who in their day and generation exercised a powerful influence on our general nomenclature. Many of my readers will be unaware that there were three St. Geralds and three St. Gerards held in high repute previous to the eleventh century. The higher Norman families seem to have been attached to both, though ‘Gerard’ has made the deepest impression. ‘Gerald’ and ‘Fitz-Gerald’ are the commonest descendants of the first. As respects ‘Gerard,’ such names as ‘Garret Widdrington,’ or ‘Jarrarde Hall,’ or ‘Jarat Nycholson,’ found among our Yorkshire entries, serve to show how far the spirit of verbal corruption can advance; and our many ‘Garrets,’ ‘Jarrets,’ ‘Jarratts,’ and ‘Jerards,’ as surnames, will probably testify the same to all ages.[^[37]] As there were twenty-eight ‘Walters’ in Domesday Survey, we cannot attribute the popularity of that name to St. Walter, abbot of Fontenelle in the middle of the twelfth century. But, as Miss Yonge shows, it had been spread over Aquitaine in the earlier part of the tenth century, through the celebrity of a saintly Walter who resided in that dukedom about the year 990. Few sobriquets enjoyed such a share of attention as this. In one of its nicknames, that of ‘Water,’[^[38]] we are reminded of Suffolk’s death in Shakespeare’s Henry VI., where the murderer says—

My name is Walter Whitmore.

How now! why start’st thou? What, doth death affright!

Suffolk. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.

A cunning man did calculate my birth,

And told me that by water I should die.

University men will remember a play of another kind upon its other form of ‘Wat,’ in the poems of C. S. C., whose power of rhyming, at least, I have never seen surpassed, even by Ingoldsby himself. He thus begins one of his happiest efforts—

Ere the morn the east has crimsoned,

When the stars are twinkling there,

(As they did in Watts’s Hymns, and

Made him wonder what they were.)

This, too, it will be seen, as well as ‘Water,’ still abides with us in its own or an extended guise, for our ‘Watts’ and ‘Waters,’ ‘Watsons’ and ‘Watersons,’ ‘Watkins’ and ‘Watkinsons,’ would muster strongly if in conclave assembled. Our ‘Waltrots,’ though not so numerous, are but the ancient ‘Walterot.’ As a Christian name Walter stands low now-a-days. ‘Tonkin,’ ‘Tonson,’ and ‘Townson’ (found in such an entry as ‘Jane Tounson’) remind us of ‘Anthony,’[^[39]] a name previous to the Reformation popular as that possessed by the great ascetic of the fourth century. A curious phrase got connected with St. Anthony, that of ‘tantony-pig.’ It is said that monks attached to monasteries dedicated to this saint had the privilege of allowing their swine to feed in the streets. These habitually following those who were wont to offer greens to them, gave rise to the expression, ‘To follow like a Tantony-pig.’ Thus, in ‘The good wyfe wold a pylgremage,’ it is said—

When I am out of the towne,

Look that thou be wyse,

And run thou not from hous to hous,

Like a nantyny grice.

The connection between St. Anthony and swine, which gave the good monks this benefit, seems, in spite of many wild guesses, to have arisen from the mere fact of his dwelling so long in the woodlands. As Barnabe Googe has it—

The bristled hogges doth Antonie

Preserve and cherish well,

Who in his lifetime always did

In woodes and forestes dwell.[^[40]]

It must have been this connexion which made ‘Tony’ the common sobriquet for a simpleton or a country clown. It lived in this sense till Dryden’s day, and certainly had become such so early as the thirteenth century, if we may judge by the occurrence of such names as ‘Ida le Tony,’ or ‘Roger le Tony,’ found in the Rolls of that period.[^[41]] If, however, St. Anthony was thus doomed to be an example, how great may be the drawbacks to saintly distinction: ‘St. Cuthbert,’ who, in the odour of sanctity, dwelt at Lindisfarne, may even be more pitied, for, owing to the familiarity of his name in every rustic household of Northumbria and Durham, he became as ‘Cuddie,’ a sobriquet for the donkey, and is thus known and associated to the present moment. Our ‘Cuthberts,’ ‘Cuthbertsons,’ and ‘Cutbeards,’ however, need trouble themselves little, I imagine, on the question of their connection with the animal to whom we usually ascribe the honours in regard to obstinacy and stubbornness. Our ‘Cuddies,’ perhaps, are not quite so free from suspicion. Our ‘Cobbets’ undoubtedly spring from ‘Cuthbert.’ A ‘Nicholas Cowbeytson’ occurs in a Yorkshire register of the fourteenth century (Fabric Rolls of York Minster: Sur. Soc.). From ‘Cowbeyt’ to ‘Cobbet’ is a natural—I might say an inevitable—change. This name, however, owes nothing to the Normans. Not so ‘Giles.’ Everyone knows the story of St. Giles, how he dwelt as an anchorite in the forest near Nismes, and was discovered by the King because the hind, which daily gave him milk, pushed in the chase, fled to his feet. The name is entered in our rolls alike as ‘Giles,’ ‘Gile,’ and ‘Egedius’ (Gile Deacon. A. Jordan fil. Egidius, A). St. Lawrence, put on a gridiron over a slow fire in the third century, made his name popular in Spain. An archbishop of Canterbury, raised to a saintship in the seventh century, made the same familiar in England. Besides ‘Lawson,’ we have ‘Larkins’ and ‘Larson.’ In the lines already quoted relative to Wat Tyler’s insurrection, it is said—

Larkin et in medio, non minor esse putat.

The French diminutive occurs also. An ‘Andrew Larrett’ is mentioned by Nicholls in his history of Leicestershire, and the surname may still be seen in our directories. ‘Lambert’ received a large accession in England through the Flemings, who thus preserved a memorial of the patron of Liege, St. Lambert, who was martyred early in the eighth century. Succumbing to the fashion so prevalent among the Flemings, it is generally found as ‘Lambkin,’ such entries as ‘Lambekyn fil. Eli’ or ‘Lambekin Taborer’ being common. The present surnominal forms are ‘Lambert,’ ‘Lampson,’[^[42]] ‘Lambkin,’ and ‘Lampkin.’ Thus our ‘Lambkins’ cannot boast of the Moses-like disposition of their ancestor on philological grounds. With the mention of three other saints we conclude this list. The legend of St. Christopher had its due effect on the popular taste, and it is early found in the various guises of ‘Cristophre,’ ‘Cristofer,’ and ‘Christofer.’ ‘Christophers’ and ‘Christopherson’ represent the surnames of the fuller form. To the pet form we owe our ‘Kitts’ and ‘Kitsons.’ St. Christopher’s Isle in the West Indies is now familiarly St. Kitts. It was of the indignity offered to Christopher Marlowe’s genius in calling him so generally by this brief sobriquet that Heywood spoke when he said—

Marlowe, renowned for his rare art and wit,

Could ne’er attain beyond the name of Kit.[^[43]]

The same writer has it also in one of his epigrams—

Nothing is lighter than a feather, Kytte,

Yes, Climme: what light thing is that? thy light wytte.

We have already mentioned one abbot of Fontenelle who influenced our nomenclature. Another who exerted a similar power was ‘St. Gilbert,’ a contemporary and friend of the Conqueror. A few generations afterwards brought the English St. Gilbert to the fore, and then the name began to grow common, so common that as ‘Gib’ it became the favourite sobriquet of the feline species.[^[44]] In several of our earliest writers it is found in familiar use, and in the Bard of Avon’s day it was not forgotten. Falstaff complains of being as melancholy as a ‘gib-cat’—that is, an old worn-out cat. Hamlet also says—

For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise,

Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,

Such dear concernings hide? (iii. 4.)

‘To play the gib’ was a proverbial phrase for light and wanton behaviour.[^[45]] Thus ‘Gilbert’ has been forced into a somewhat unpleasant notoriety in feline nomenclature. But he was popular enough, too, among the human kind. In that part of the ‘Townley Mysteries’ which represents the Nativity, one of the shepherds is supposed to hail one of his friends, who is passing by. He addresses him thus:—

How, Gyb, good morne, wheder goys thou?

The surnames formed from Gilbert, too, prove his popularity. Beside ‘Gilbert’ himself, we have ‘Gibbs,’ ‘Gibbins,’ ‘Gibbons,’ ‘Gibson,’[^[46]] ‘Gibbonson,’ and ‘Gipps,’ to say nothing of that famous citizen of credit and renown, ‘John Gilpin,’ who has immortalized at least his setting of this good old-fashioned name.

Having referred to Gilbert and Gib the cat, we must needs notice ‘Theobald’ and ‘Tib.’ ‘St. Theobald,’ if he has not himself given much prominence to the title, nevertheless represents a name whose susceptibility to change was something amazing. The common form with the French was ‘Thibault’ or ‘Thibaud,’ and this is represented in England in such entries as ‘Tebald de Engleschevile,’ ‘Richard Tebaud,’ or ‘Roger Tebbott.’ A still curter form was ‘Tibbe’ or ‘Tebbe;’ hence such registrations as ‘Tebbe Molendinarius’ or ‘Tebb fil. William.’ In this dress it is found in the Latin lines commemorative of Tyler’s insurrection:—

Hudde ferit, quem Judde terit, dum Tibbe juvatur,

Jacke domosque viros vellit, en ense necat.

Among other surnames that speak for its faded popularity are ‘Tibbes,’ ‘Tebbes,’ and ‘Tubbs,’ ‘Theobald’ and ‘Tibbald,’ ‘Tibble’ and ‘Tipple,’ ‘Tipkins’ and ‘Tippins,’ and ‘Tipson,’ and our endlessly varied ‘Tibbats,’ ‘Tibbets,’ ‘Tibbits,’ ‘Tebbatts,’ ‘Tebbotts,’ and ‘Tebbutts.’ Indeed, the name has simply run riot among the vowels. ‘Hugh’ I have kept till the last, because of its important position as an early name. It was crowded with holy associations. There was a ‘St. Hugh,’ Abbot of Cluny, in 1109. There was a ‘St. Hugh,’ Bishop of Grenoble, in 1132. There was ‘St. Hugh,’ Bishop of Lincoln, in 1200, and above all there was the celebrated infant martyr, ‘St. Hugh,’ of Lincoln, said to have been crucified by the Jews of that city in 1250. This event happened just at the best time for affecting our surnames. Their hereditary tendency was becoming marked. Thus it is that ‘Hugh,’ or ‘Hew,’[^[47]] as it was generally spelt, has made such an indenture upon our nomenclature. The pet forms are all Norman-French, the most popular being ‘Huet,’ ‘Hugon,’ and ‘Huelot,’ the last formed like ‘Hamelot,’ and ‘Hobelot.’ The second of these was further corrupted by the English into ‘Hutchin’ and ‘Huggin.’[^[48]] Hence our rolls teem with such registrations as ‘Hewe Hare,’ ‘Huet de Badone,’ ‘William fil. Hugonis,’ ‘Houlot de Manchester,’ ‘Walter Hughelot,’ ‘John Hewisson,’ ‘Simon Howissone,’ ‘Roger fil. Hulot,’ or ‘Alan Huchyns.’ Among the surnames still common in our directories may be numbered ‘Huggins,’ ‘Hutchins,’ ‘Hutchinson,’ ‘Hugginson,’ ‘Howlett,’ ‘Hullett,’ ‘Hewlett,’ ‘Huet,’ ‘Hewet,’ ‘Hewetson,’ ‘Howett,’ ‘Howson,’ ‘Hughes,’ and ‘Hewson.’ All these various forms bespeak a familiarity which is now of course utterly wanting, so far as our Christian nomenclature is concerned. Indeed, after all I have said, I still feel that it is impossible to give the reader an adequate conception of the popularity of this name four hundred years ago. It is one more conspicuous instance marking the change which the Reformation and an English Bible effected upon our nomenclature.

IV.—Names chosen from Festivals and Holydays.

We may here refer to a group of appellatives which are derived from the names of certain days and seasons. I dare not say that all I shall mention are absolutely sprung from one and the same custom. Some, I doubt not, were bestowed upon their owners from various accidental circumstances of homely and individual interest. Neighbours would readily affix a nickname of this class upon one who had by some creditable or mean action made a particular season remarkable in his personal history. But these, I presume, will be exceptional, for there is no manner of doubt that it was a practice, and by no means a rare one, to baptize a child by the name of the day on which it was born, especially if it were a holiday. We know now how often it happens that the Church Calendar furnishes names for those born upon the Saints’ days—how many ‘Johns’ and ‘Jameses’ and ‘Matthews’ owe their appellations to the fact that they came into the world upon the day marked, ecclesiastically, for the commemoration of those particular Apostles. This is still a custom among more rigid Churchmen. In early days, however, it was carried to an extreme extent. Days of a simply local interest—days for fairs and wakes—days that were celebrated in the civil calendar—days that were the boundaries of the different seasons—all were familiarly pressed into the service of name-giving. These, springing up in a day when they were no sooner made part of the personal than they became candidates for our hereditary nomenclature, have in many cases come down to us. Thus, the time when the yule log blazed and crackled on the hearth has given us ‘Christmas,’ or ‘Noel,’ or ‘Yule,’ or ‘Midwinter.’ This last seems to have been an ordinary term for the day, for we find it in colloquial use at this time. In Robert of Gloucester’s ‘Life of William the Conqueror,’ he speaks of it’s being his intention

to Midwinter at Gloucester,

To Witesontid at Westminster, to Ester at Wincester.

‘Pentecost’ was as familiar a term in the common mouth as ‘Whitsuntide,’ and thus we find both occurring in the manner mentioned. ‘Wytesunday’ is, however, now obsolete; ‘Pentecost’ still lives.[^[49]] ‘Paske,’ for ‘Easter,’ was among the priesthood the word in general use; old writers always speak of ‘Paske’ for that solemn season. Thus, ‘Pask,’ ‘Pash,’ ‘Paschal,’ and ‘Pascal’[^[50]] are firmly set in our directories; as, indeed, they are on the Continent also. It is the same with ‘Lammas,’ ‘Sumption,’ and ‘Middlemas;’ that is, ‘Assumption’ and ‘Michaelmas.’ Each as it came round imprinted its name at the baptismal font upon the ancestors of all those who still bear these several titles in our midst. It would be an anachronism, therefore, to suppose Mr. Robinson Crusoe to have been the first who introduced this system, as even ‘Friday’ itself, to say nothing of ‘Munday,’ or ‘Monday,’ and ‘Saturday,’ and ‘Tuesday,’ were all surnames long anterior to that notable personage’s existence. Nor, as I have said, are the less solemn feast days disregarded. ‘Loveday’ is one such proof. In olden times there was often a day fixed for the arrangement of differences, in which, if possible, old sores were to be healed up and old-standing accounts settled. This day, called a ‘Loveday,’ is frequently alluded to. That very inconsistent friar in Piers Plowman’s Vision could, it is said—

hold lovedays,

And hear a reves rekenyng.

The latter part of the quotation suggests to us the origin of ‘Termday,’ which I find as existing in the twelfth century, and probably given in the humorous spirit of that day.[^[51]] Nor are these all. ‘Plouday’ was the first Monday after Twelfth Night, and the day on which the farmer began his ploughing. It was a great rural holiday at one time, and the ploughmen as a rule got gloriously drunk. Similarly, we have ‘Hockerday,’ ‘Hockday,’ and perhaps the still more corrupted ‘Hobday,’ the old English expression for a ‘high-day.’ The second Tuesday after Easter was especially so termed, and kept in early times as such, as commemorative of the driving out of the Danes in the days of Ethelred. This was a likely name to be given on such a high day in the domestic annals as that on which the first-born came into the world. Happy parents would readily seize upon this at a time when the word and its meaning were alike familiar. Our ‘Hallidays’ or ‘Hollidays’ throw us back to the Church festivals, those times of merriment and jollity which have helped to such a degree to dissociate from our minds the real meaning of the word (that is, a day set apart for holy service in commemoration of some religious event), that we have now been compelled by a varied spelling to make the distinction between a ‘holyday’ and a ‘holiday.’ Thus strongly marked upon our nomenclature is this once favourite but now well-nigh obsolete custom.

V.—Patronymics formed from Occupations.

We may here briefly refer to a class of patronymics which, although small from the first, took its place, as if insensibly, among our hereditary surnames. It is a class of occupative or professional names, with the filial desinence attached. There is nothing wonderful in the fact of the existence of such. The wonder is that there are not more of them. It must have been all but as natural to style a man as the son of ‘the Clerk’ as the son of ‘Harry’ in a small community, where the father had, in his professional capacity, established himself as of some local importance. Hence we cannot be surprised to find ‘Clerkson’ in our registers. It is thus the ‘sergeant’ has bequeathed us our ‘Sergeantsons;’ the ‘kemp,’ or soldier, our ‘Kempsons;’ the ‘cook,’ our ‘Cooksons,’ or ‘Filius Coci,’ as the Hundred Rolls have it; the ‘smith,’ our ‘Smithsons;’ the ‘steward,’ our ‘Stewardsons;’ the ‘grieve,’ i.e. ‘reeve,’ our ‘Grievesons;’ the ‘miller,’ our ‘Millersons;’ and the ‘shepherd,’ our ‘Shepherdsons.’ Of other instances, now obsolete, we had ‘Masterson,’ ‘Hyneson,’[^[52]] ‘Hopperson,’ ‘Scolardson,’ and ‘Priestson.’ Nor were the Normans without traces of this practice, although in their case all the examples I have met with have ceased to exist amongst us. ‘Fitz-Clerk’ but corresponds with one of the above; while the warden of the woods gave us ‘Fitz-Parker,’ and that of the college, ‘Fitz-Provost.’ Thus, those who yet possess names of this class may congratulate themselves upon belonging to a small but compact body which has ever existed amid our more general nomenclature.

VI.—Metronymics.

We have already mentioned Joan as having bequeathed several surnames. We did not then allude to the somewhat difficult subject of metronymics; we shall first prove by examples that there are a large number of such. We shall then briefly unfold their origin from our point of view. The feminine of Peter, ‘Petronilla,’ was a name in familiar use at this time. St. Petronilla, once much besought as a help against fevers, would no doubt add to its popularity. Barnyby Googe says:—

The quartane ague and the rest

Doth Pernel take away,

And John preserves his worshippers

From prison every day.

In the above stanza we are supplied with the common sobriquet taken from his name. As ‘Pernel’ or ‘Parnel’ it held a high place among the poorer classes. From an ill-repute, however, that attached to it in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it is now all but extinct as a Christian name, and it is only among our surnames that it is to be met with. It is curious how associations of this kind destroy the chances of popularity among names. ‘Peter’ was forced into familiarity. ‘Pernel’ lost caste through its becoming a cant term for women of a certain character. ‘Magdalen’ is another case in point. The Bible narrative describes her briefly as a penitent sinner. Legend, adding to this, portrayed her beauty, her golden tresses, her rich drapery. Art added touches of its own in the shape of dishevelled hair and swelled eyes, but all to make this centre scene of penitence the more marked. This, and the early asylums for penitents, of which she became the forced patroness, prevented her name being used as a Christian name at this time—I have never, at least, found an instance. But as a proof how early it had become a term for what I may call mental inebriety, a connection which of course it owes to the portrayals alluded to above, I may instance the name of Thomas le Maddelyn, found in the twelfth century (H.R.), and an evident nickname given to one of a sickly sentimental character. Our present ‘Maudlins’ and ‘Maudlings’ may be descended from one so entitled, or locally from some place dedicated to the saint.

Among other female names, ‘Constance’ bid fair to become very popular. A daughter of William the Conqueror, a daughter of Stephen, and a daughter-in-law of Henry II. were all so called. Chaucer in his ‘Man of Lawes Tale’ calls his heroine by this title—

But Hermegild loved Custance as her life,

And Custance hath so long sojourned there

In orisons, with many a bitter tear,

Til Jesu hath converted, through his grace,

Dame Hermegild.

This must have been its favourite form in the common mouth, for we find it recorded in such names as ‘Custance Muscel,’ ‘Custance Clerk,’ ‘Robert fil. Custe,’ or ‘Cus nepta Johannis,’ with tolerable frequency. The diminutive ‘Cussot’ is also to be met with. I need hardly say that in our ‘Custances,’ ‘Custersons,’ ‘Cuss’s,’ and ‘Custs,’ not to say some of our ‘Cousens,’ as corruptions of ‘Custson,’ the remembrance of this once familiar name still survives. Of late years the name proper has again become popular. ‘Beatrice’ is another instance of a name once common sunk into comparative desuetude. The Norman ‘Beton’ was the most favoured pet form. Piers Plowman says (Passus V.):—

Beton the Brewestere bade him good-morrow,

and a little further on,

And bade Bette cut a bough, and beat Betoun therewith.

Thus it is we frequently light upon such entries as ‘John Betyn,’ ‘Betin de Friscobald,’ ‘Robert Betonson,’ ‘John Bettenson,’ or ‘Thomas Betanson.’ These latter of course soon dropped into ‘Beatson’ and ‘Betson,’ which, with ‘Beton’ and ‘Beaton,’ are still common to our directories. ‘Emma,’ too, as a Norman name has left its mark. By a pure accident, however, as Miss Yonge points out, it had got a place previous to the Conquest among the Saxons, through the fact of the daughter of Richard I. of Normandy marrying first Ethelred, surnamed the Unready, and then Canute the Great. Thus, though it has not unfrequently been claimed as of Saxon origin, it is not so in reality. The general spelling is ‘Emme,’ and the pet ‘Emmot’ or ‘Emmet’ is found in such names as ‘Emmota Plummer’ or ‘Emmetta Catton.’ This at once guides us into the source of our ‘Emmots,’ ‘Emmetts,’[^[53]] ‘Emmes,’ ‘Emsons,’ ‘Empsons,’ and ‘Emmotsons.’[^[54]]

Almost as equal a favourite as ‘Emma’ was ‘Cecilia.’ This was a name introduced at the Conquest in the person of Cecile, a daughter of William I., and it soon found itself a favourite among high and low as ‘Cicely,’ or still shorter as ‘Cis’ or ‘Sis,’ although the latter seems to have been the more general form. In Piers Plowman, however, is preserved the more correct initial. I have already quoted him when he speaks so familiarly of

Cesse the souteresse.

In all the ballads of the seventeenth century, on the other hand, it is always ‘Sis,’ ‘Siss’ or ‘Sys.’

Long have I lived a bachelor’s life,

And had no mind to marry;

But now I would fain have a wife,

Either Doll, Kate, Sis, or Mary.

Our ‘Sissons,’ ‘Sysons,’ and ‘Sisselsons’[^[55]] are of course but the offspring of this pretty appellative, while one more instance of the popular diminutive may be met with in such a name as ‘John Sissotson’ or ‘Cissota West’ found in the ‘Testamenta Eboracensia,’ or ‘Bella Cesselot’ in the Hundred Rolls.[^[56]] Our ‘Dowses,’ ‘Dossons,’ and ‘Dowsons’ represent the once popular ‘Douce,’ ‘Duce,’ or ‘Dulce,’ more correctly ‘Dulcia.’ Hence we find such entries as ‘John filius Dousæ,’ ‘Douce de Moster,’ and ‘John Dowsson.’ Diminutives are found in ‘Richard Dowkin’ (F), and in ‘Dowsett,’ ‘Doucett,’ and ‘Duckett.’ The Norman was the more familiar form, all the more so perhaps because in the baronial kitchen a course of sweets was called dowcetts. An instance will be found in the Rutland papers, p. 97 (Cam. Soc.). This is but another form of our ‘dulcet.’ That the more literal form was not lost, such names as ‘Dulcia le Draper’ or ‘Dulcia fil. William’ will show, not to mention our still existing patronymic ‘Dulson.’ The later ‘Dulcibella’ underwent the same change and became ‘Dowsabell.’ This also attained the rank of a surname, for beside such entries as ‘Dowzable Mill’ (Z) and ‘Dussabel Caplyn’ (Z) we light upon a ‘Thomas Duszabell’ (M). Thus familiar was ‘Dulcia’ in former days. ‘Dionisia del Lee’ or ‘Dionisius Garston’ are common entries, both masculine and feminine forms being popular. ‘Dennis,’ ‘Denot,’ and ‘Dyot’ were the pet forms. Piers Plowman styles one of his characters ‘Denot.’ Hereditary forms are found in ‘Dennis,’ ‘Dennison,’ ‘Dyott,’ ‘Diotson,’[^[57]] and ‘Dyson.’ I cannot but think that ‘Tenison’ or ‘Tennyson’ is but a corruption of ‘Dennison,’ as also ‘Tyson’ of ‘Dyson.’ That they are patronymics of Antony (Tony) is the only alternative, and this I fear is unsatisfactory. Mabel, although now somewhat out of fashion, was very popular four hundred years ago as ‘Amabilla,’ hence such entries as ‘Amabella la Blund,’ or ‘Amabil fil. Emme.’ The surnames descended from it are sufficiently numerous to testify to this. Besides ‘Mabell’ simple, we have ‘Mabson,’ ‘Mabbs,’ ‘Mabbes,’ ‘Mabbott,’ and perhaps ‘Mapleson.’[^[58]] Catharine, always called ‘Catlin’ in the North, reminding us of the Irish ‘Kathleen,’ is the source of several surnames. Entries like ‘Eleonore Catlynson’ (W. 12) or ‘Thomas Katlynson’ (W. 11) are common, and the shorter ‘Cattlin’ is found in every Yorkshire roll.

There is a certain quaint prettiness about ‘Hilary,’ ‘Lettice,’ and ‘Joyce,’ three acceptable cognomens in mediæval times. The Normans liked their women to be, however modest, none the less lighthearted, gay, and spirited, and in the synonyms of ‘mirth,’ ‘gladness,’ and ‘sportiveness,’ they would delight in affixing on their newly-born children that which they hoped would be in the future but the index of the real character. ‘Hillary’ when not local is therefore but the fuller ‘Hilaria.’ ‘Joyce,’ sometimes the result of the mere nickname, is nothing more than ‘Jocosa,’ and ‘Lettice,’ ‘Letts,’ and ‘Letson’ are sufficiently numerous to preserve the memory of ‘Lætitia.’ Thus, in one of the Coventry Mysteries already alluded to, mention is made of

Col Crane and Davy Dry-dust,

Lucy Lyer and Letyce Lytyl-trust,

Miles the Miller and Colle Crake-crust.

‘Letson’ is met in the fourteenth century as ‘Fitz-Lettice.’ ‘Theophania’ was anything but unpopular, but its length made it unavoidable but that it should be mutilated, or at least put in an abbreviated or nickname form, and thus it is has arisen our ‘Tiffany,’ whence of course the surname of to-day. Thus, in the Coventry Mysteries, it is demanded that

Both Bonting the Brewster and Sybyl Slynge,

Megge Mery-wedyr, and Sabyn[^[59]] Sprynge,

Tiffany Twynkeler fayle for no thynge.

Thierry in his history of the ‘Conquest of England’ quotes an old writer, who has preserved the following lines of a decidedly doggrel character:—

William de Cognisby

Came out of Brittany

With his wife Tiffany,

And his maid Manfras,

And his dogge Hardigras.

We must not forget to mention ‘Eleanor,’ or ‘Alianora,’ as it is more frequently registered, a name of suffering royalty, and therefore to a portion of the English people, at least, a popular name. Its forms are too many for enumeration, but ‘Alianor,’ ‘Annora,’ ‘Annot,’ ‘Alinot,’ ‘Leonora,’ ‘Eleanor,’ ‘Elinor,’ ‘Ellen,’ ‘Lina,’ ‘Linot,’ and ‘Nel’ were the most common. All of these were either surnames themselves, or became the roots of surnames. Thus we find among other entries such registrations as ‘Alicia Alianor,’ ‘Alianor Busche,’ ‘Annora Widow,’ ‘Annora de Aencurt,’ ‘Anota Canun,’ ‘John Annotson,’ ‘William Annotyson,’ ‘Hugh fil. Elyenore,’ ‘William Alinot,’ ‘Alnot Red,’ ‘Lyna le Archer,’ ‘Linota ate Field,’ or ‘Linota Vidua.’ This list will suffice to prove the place occupied by ‘Eleanor.’ I have not mentioned such entries as ‘John fil. Nel’ or ‘Elisha Annyson,’ or ‘Richard Anyson,’ for though in these particular instances we see the origin of some of our ‘Ansons’ and ‘Nelsons,’ both are more generally referable to a different source. ‘Neal’ or ‘Neile’ was very common in this day, and ‘Neilson’ would easily be corrupted into ‘Nelson.’

‘Julian,’ the abbreviated form of ‘Juliana,’ as a Norman-introduced name became very popular, and its after history was a very curious one. Such appellations as ‘Gillian Cook,’ or ‘Gilian of the Mill,’ found in the Hundred Rolls, or that of the well-known ‘Dame Julyan Berners,’ whose work on household management I shall have occasion to quote by-and-by, only represent in fuller forms the ‘Gill’ or ‘Jill’ who is so renowned in our nursery literature as having met with such a dire disaster in the dutiful endeavour ‘to fetch a pail of water’ from the hill-side. I have already mentioned ‘Cocke Lorell’s Bote,’ where allusion is made to

Jelyan Joly at signe of the Bokeler.

The shorter and curter form is given us in Heywood’s Epigrams, where the following marital dialogue occurs:—

I am care-full to see thee carelesse, Jylle:

I am wofull to see thee wytlesse, Wyll:

I am anguisht to see thee an ape, Jyll:

I am angry to see thee an asse, Wyll:

I am dumpyshe to see thee play the drabbe, Jyll:

I am knappyshe to see thee plaie the knave, Wyll.