Chapter I: Patronymic Surnames (2)

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.

But ‘Gill’ at some time or other got into evil odour, and this brought the name into all but absolute disuse. As a term for a wanton flirt or inconstant girl, it was familiarly used till the eighteenth century. It would seem as if the poet I have just quoted were referring to this characteristic when he writes:—

All shall be well, Jacke shall have Gill;
Nay, nay, Gill is wedded to Wyll;[60]

or where in another place he says:—

How may I have thee, Gill, when I wish for thee?
Wish not for me Jack, but when thou mayest have me.[61]

The diminutive ‘Gilot’ or ‘Juliet’ is used in the same way. In an old metrical sermon it is said—

Robin will Gilot
Leden to the nale,
And sitten there togedres,
And tellen their tale.

This at once reminds us of the origin of our ‘jilt,’ which is nothing more than a relic of the name for inconstancy the sobriquet had obtained. In our ‘Gills,’ ‘Gilsons,’ and many of our ‘Gillots,’ a further remembrance is likely to remain for all time.[62] Such names as these, however, offer no kind of comparison with that of ‘Margaret.’ This is the only rival that ‘Gillian’ had to fear, and had the misfortunes of Margaret of Anjou occurred two, or even one century earlier, it would easily have taken precedence, so far as our surnames are concerned. Apart from its being found in several royal lines, it had the advantage of undoubted prettiness both in sound and sense. Every one, too, knew its meaning, for ‘margarite’ and ‘pearl’ then, and until the seventeenth century even, were interchangeable terms. Every early writer so uses it. ‘Casting pearls before swine’ is with Wickliffe ‘margaritis.’[63] The pet names too were pretty, important in a day when the full name was rarely if ever used.[64] The Norman-French ‘Margot’ seems to have been quite as familiar as ‘Marjorie.’ Thus the homely ‘magpie’ was at first styled the ‘maggoty’ or ‘magot-pie.’ Many will remember that Macbeth so uses it—

Blood will have blood:
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak,
Augurs and understood relations have
By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth
The secretest man of blood.—ii. 7.

‘Madge-owlet,’ too, from its occasional use by writers of this later period, seems to prove that the still more homely owl of the barn owed an appellation to Dame Marjorie. Her issue, as we should expect, is large. We have ‘Maggs,’ ‘Maggots,’ and ‘Magotson;’ ‘Margots,’ ‘Margetts,’ and ‘Margetson;’ ‘Margison,’ ‘Margerison,’ ‘Meggs,’ and ‘Megson.’[65] It will be surprising to many that we cannot place ‘Mary’ in the first place among female names, as it is now among those of either sex, but such was far from the case. Edward I.’s daughter ‘Marie’ seems to have been the first instance we possess of its use among the higher families of the realm; and doubtless its presence at this time must be referred, as in so many other cases we have mentioned, to the Crusades. Mariolatry, we must remember, was not yet an article of Romish belief. Indeed, the name is still of the rarest for generations after this. Maid Marion, the mistress of Robin Hood, seems to have made that diminutive popular, and either from the acted plays in which she frequently afterwards figured, or the little ornamental image of the Virgin worn by women, is come our _marionette_. The one only form in which it can be said to occur in our English records is that of ‘Mariot,’ such names as ‘Mariot Goscelyn,’ or ‘Mariota Giffard,’ or ‘Mariota Gosebeck,’ being found as a very occasional registry. Thus our ‘Mariotts’ and ‘Maryatts’ are explained. With regard to another batch of names said to have sprung from this, I find a difficulty sets in. We have the clear statement of the author of the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ that ‘Malkyne’ in his day was the sobriquet of Matilda, that is, ‘Mawdkin.’ On the other hand, I find Halliwell has a single quotation from a manuscript in which Maid Marion is styled Malkyn also.[66] All modern writers, saving Mr. Lower, who has come to no decision at all, have comfortably put it down to this latter. I have no hesitation whatever myself in deciding differently, or at least in qualifying their conclusion. There can be scarcely any doubt, I think, that Malkin was originally the pet name of Matilda; then, as that favourite name gradually sunk in estimation, and Mary proportionately advanced, but this much later on, it was transferred. Thus, if I am correct, our ‘Makinsons’ and ‘Makins,’[67] our ‘Meakins’ and ‘Meekins,’ and our ‘Mawsons’[68] will be sprung from Maud, rather than Mary. In confirmation of this, I may quote ‘Malkin,’ the early cant term for a ‘slut,’ a word as old as Chaucer himself, and one that Mary could not have possibly acquired in his day, as barely familiar. ‘Mawdkin’ or ‘Malkin,’ on the other hand, would be the ordinary term for every household drudge. It is only those who have carefully studied early registers who can realize the difference of position ‘Matilda’ and ‘Mary’ relatively occupy at such a period as this. There were six ‘Matildas’ of royal lineage between William I. and Henry II. alone. It greets one at every turn; the present popularity of the latter is entirely the growth of a later and more superstitious age.[69]

Speaking of Mary, we must not forget Elizabeth, known, generations ere Queen Bess made it so popular, as Isabella. It was in this form it came into England with that princess of Angoulême who married John Lackland. But it was not a favourite; pretty as it was, its connexion with our most despicable monarch spoiled all chance of popularity, and while on the Continent it gained friends on every hand, it was only with the higher nobility of our own land it got any place worth speaking of. Still it has left its mark. As Elizabeth[70] at a later stage became ‘Lib’ and ‘Libby,’ so Isabel was fondled into ‘Ib’ and ‘Ibby.’ Thus we come across such entries as ‘Henry Ebison,’ ‘Thomas Ibson,’ or ‘John Ibson.’ But a foreign name without the foreign desinence would be impossible. With the introduction of Isabel came in the diminutive ‘Ibbot’ or ‘Ibbet.’ Registrations like ‘Ibbota fil. Adam,’ ‘Ibote Babyngton,’ or ‘Ebote Gylle,’ and as surnames ‘Walter Ibbot,’ ‘Robert fil. Ibote,’ ‘Francis Ibbitson,’ or ‘Alice Ebotson’ are of common occurrence.[71] Another form of the same diminutive was ‘Isot,’ hence ‘Isotte Symes,’ ‘Izott Barn,’ or ‘Ezota Hall.’[72] But even with this we have not completed our list. One more pet form, and one still common amongst us, that of ‘Bell,’ left its mark in ‘Bellot,’ ‘Bellet,’ and ‘Bellson,’ all of which are still to be found in our directories.

The preceding pages will be sufficient proof that our metronymics are a considerable class. Many have not hesitated to affirm them to be wholly of illegitimate descent. We cannot doubt that in some instances this is the case. Nevertheless, we must not be led astray. ‘Polson’ is Paul’s son, ‘Nelson’ is Neil’s son, Neil or Nigel being at one time a familiar name with us. And even when the name is unquestionably feminine, as in Mollison, Margerison, Marriot, Emmett, or Annotson, illegitimacy is anything but established as a matter of fact. Adoption of children by women, posthumous birth, and other peculiar circumstances would often cause a boy or girl to be known in the community by a metronymic. Especially, too, would a child be thus styled in a family where the mother was notoriously, and in an emphatic sense, the better half, in a family where the husband was content to sit in the chimney nook, and let the bustling Margery, or Siss, or Emmot take, whether in or out of doors, the lead in all that concerned the domestic relationship. Thus, I doubt not, a large mass of them have arisen.

VII.—_Names Derived from Holy Scripture._

We have incidentally referred to several Bible names, such as John, Mary, or Elizabeth. We shall find a certain characteristic appertaining to these. It is only those personages who prominently figured in the Scripture narrative who made any mark upon our nomenclature. The others, I doubt not, were unknown. It is even uncertain whether the clergy themselves had any but the faintest knowledge of the Bible. Indeed, such names even as were in use bear no testimony to the fact that they were given as the direct result of familiarity with the sacred pages. If from the New Testament, they were names that figured in the calendar as saints and martyrs, names to whom shrines and chapels had been dedicated. If from the Old, they were just those like ‘Adam,’ or ‘Isaac,’ or ‘Joseph,’ or ‘Samson,’ or ‘Daniel,’ or ‘Absolom,’ whose stories, told in the monkish performances or miracle-plays, were thus forced into the acquaintance of the popular mind. In a word, there is not a trace of anything beyond a mere superficial knowledge of the very outlines of the sacred narrative. Thus was it with ‘Adam,’ already mentioned. That he and Eve should be remembered at the font was inevitable. The Hundred Rolls give us an ‘Adam fil. Eve.’ Mr. Lower has been tempted to refer our ‘Atkins’ and ‘Atkinsons’ to Arthur, but there can be little doubt, I imagine, that these are but sharper forms of ‘Adkins’ and ‘Adkinson.’ The record alluded to above registers the same person twice as ‘Adam le Fullere’ and ‘Adekin le Fuller.’ With them therefore we must ally our ‘Addisons,’ ‘Adcocks,’[73] and ‘Adamsons.’ Eve left us ‘Eveson’ as a metronymic, and ‘Evetts’ and ‘Evitts,’ as the diminutives, are firmly set amongst us.[74] ‘Abel’ was equally popular. The Norman desinence is found in such entries as ‘Abalotta de la Forde,’ or Richard Abelot, whose descendants now figure as ‘Ablett’ and ‘Ablott.’ As will be seen, these may be feminine in origin. The reverence of the despised Jew for Abraham prevented this from becoming acceptable to Christians, but Isaac’s sacrifice was too popular a story not to leave an impression. It would be frequently represented by the monks. I have already quoted Langland where he speaks of

Hikke the hackney-man
And Hugh the nedlere—

an abbreviation now more generally known and spelt as ‘Ike.’ Gower also has it—

_Watte_ vocat, cui _Thoma_ venit, neque _Symme_ retardat,
_Bat_-que _Gibbe_ simul, _Hykke_ venire jubent.

From him then have arisen our ‘Isaacs’ and ‘Isaacsons,’ our ‘Hicks’ and ‘Hicksons,’ our ‘Higgs’ and ‘Higsons,’ and with the Norman-French diminutives appended, our ‘Higgins,’ ‘Higginsons,’ ‘Higgotts,’[75] and ‘Higgetts.’ ‘Sarah,’ in the dress of ‘Sarra,’ had a fair number of admirers. ‘Sarra le Commongere,’ ‘William fil. Sarra,’ ‘Nicholas fil. Sarre,’ is the usual entry. The origin of our ‘Sarsons’ would thus be certain, were it not that this name, as will be shown elsewhere, has got confused with ‘Saracen.’ Moses also failed to be accepted among Christians, nor was Aaron much more fortunate, such registration as ‘Aaron le Blund’ or ‘Aron Judde’ being rare. ‘Samson’ or ‘Sampson,’ as it is more generally recorded, was of course popular enough, and many of our ‘Sampsons’ are rather the simple ‘Samson’ than the patronymic of ‘Samuel.’ ‘Samms,’ ‘Samuels’ and ‘Samuelson’ are generally of Jewish descent. ‘David,’ with its ‘Davies,’ its ‘Davidsons,’ its ‘Dawes’ and ‘Dawsons,’ its ‘Dawkes’ and ‘Dawkins,’ or ‘Dawkinsons,’ its ‘Dayes,’ ‘Daysons,’ and ‘Dakins’ (when not ‘Deakin’), would be equally sure of remembrance; though doubtless, as the patron saint of the Principality, and as a favourite among Scottish kings, it owes much to these outer chances. Here, too, we are reminded of Piers Plowman, with his—

Dawe the dykere
And a dozen othere.

This nickname seems to have had a long reign in the popular mouth, for we find, towards the close of the sixteenth century, Haywood writing the following epigram:—

To a justice a juggler did complaine,
Of one that dispraised his legerdemain.
What’s thy name? sayd the Justice: Dawson, sayd hee:
Is thy father alive? Nay, dead, sir, pardee:
Then thou shalt no more be Dau’s son, a clere case,
Thou art Daw thyself now in thy father’s place.[76]

Passing by ‘Absolom,’ ‘Solomon,’ or ‘Salamon,’ ‘Job’ and ‘Jobson,’ the story of Daniel would of course be common. This has bequeathed us itself in _propria persona_, and ‘Dancock,’ ‘Dankin,’ ‘Danett,’ and ‘Dannett.’ With regard to ‘Dans,’ ‘Dance,’ ‘Danse,’ and ‘Danson,’ there is a little difficulty. We have to remember that ‘Dan,’ like ‘Dame,’[77] figured prominently in early days as a simple title of respect. They were but the ‘Don’ and ‘Donna’ which, in one form or another, still exist in Italy, France, and Spain. ‘Dame,’ from domina, meant ‘mistress.’ ‘Don,’ from dominus, meant ‘master.’ To rank and age the two terms were equally applied. A ‘dame’s school’ still preserves this connexion of ideas. ‘As with the mistress so with the maid,’ is in early Bibles ‘As with the dame so with the maid.’ Thus there seems to be little doubt that our ‘Dames’ and ‘Damsons’ are so sprung. Why then should not ‘Dans’ and ‘Danse’ and ‘Danson’ be the masculine form? Chaucer, in his Canterbury Tales, represents the host as asking the Monk—

But, by my trothe, I cannot tell your name:
Whether shall I call you my lord Dan John,
Or Dan Thomas, or elles Dan Albon?

Thus he speaks also of ‘Dan Constantine,’ and jestingly of the ass as ‘Dan Burnell.’ Thus, Lord Surrey in one of his poems speaks of ‘Dan Homer;’ Spenser of ‘Dan Geoffrey;’ Thomson of ‘Dan Abraham.’ The best way will be, as in many another case, to divide the honours between the two; and leaving it thus undecided, I pass on.