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one bore the mild designation of Fear-God Barebone, while the others had such formidable Christian names as Jesus-Christ-came-into-the-world-to-save Barebone, and If-Christ-had-not-died-for-thee-thou-hadst-been-damned Barebone. For the needs of daily life such names usually had to be reduced to the first or the last syllable, the brother of Praise-God being thus, for instance, familiarly known as "Doctor Damned Barebone." Whether these words were given at their baptism is not certain, but if parochial registers may be taken as evidence, the length of the child's name was by no means an insuperable hinderance to the bestowal of it at the font. The register of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, for the year 1611 tells the short tale of "Job-rakedout-of-the-ashes," a child born on the last day of August, "in the lane going to Sir John Spencer's back gate," "and there laid on a heap of sea-coal ashes. Baptized the next day and buried on the day following." A longer life may have been granted to "Dancell Dallphebo Marc Antony Dallery Gallery Cæsar, sonn of Dancell Dallphebo Marc Antony Dallery Gallery Cæsar Williams," whose name appears in the registry of the parish church of Old Swineford.
"Grace names" were of course very common among the Puritans,-Faith, Hope, and Charity, Prudence, Mercy, Truth, Constancy, Temperance, Honor, Obedience, Rejoice, Endure, Repentance, Humiliation, Pride, and Humility. A man named Sykes had four sons, whom he named Lovewell, Dowell, Diewell, and Farewell.
The grotesque Puritan nomenclature has died out in England and only survives in grace names in some portions of New England, but there are still common instances of people whose names are ridiculous from their length. Thus, an old lady in Lansingburg, New York, was called Frances Caroline Constantia Maria Van Rader Van Rase Out Zoron Van Bian Van Helsdinger. This was even more sonorous than the name of a colored nursemaid in Brooklyn, who informed her employer that she was called "Miss Minnie Loretta Progret Under-the-Snow Sypher." But after all, when one wants names, he must have recourse to the Almanach de Gotha, and especially to the chapters devoted to the Hapsburgs of Tuscany, the Bourbons of Parma, and the royal family of Portugal. For a good mouth-filler there is nothing so complete as the name of the Portuguese Prince Alphonso Henry Napoleon Maria Louis Peter of Alcántara Charles Humbert Amadeus Ferdinand Anthony Michael Raphael Gabriel Gonzaga Xavier Francis of Assisi John Augustus Julius Volfando Ignatius of Braganza, Savoy, Bourbon, SaxeCoburg, and Gotha.
In some noble European families it is not uncommon to christen several sons by the same name, where it is desired to perpetuate it. The German family of Reuss carries this practice to an absurd extent, all the males being named Henry, the distinguishing numbers attached to their titles beginning with each century. Another curious name is that of a prominent Belgian house, the Viscounts Vilain XIIII. (sic), one of whom neatly answered the banter of the Austrian emperor, "Ah, viscount, all your family are numbered like cabs," with the retort, "Yes, sire, like cabs and kings." All the oldest sons of the Rochefoucauld family have borne the name of François since one of their ancestors held Francis the First at the baptismal font.
A crusade has recently been waged against the diminutives, and especially those ending in ie, which at one time threatened almost to supersede the good old names which they spoil. If trifles are any indication of character, Mrs. Harrison must yield in dignity to Mrs. Cleveland. The latter promptly rebuked all efforts to call her "Frankie," and will go down to history as Frances Folsom Cleveland. Mrs. Harrison is not Caroline; she signs herself Carrie S. Harrison, both in business and in friendly letters. To be sure, one
of the most popular mistresses of the White House was known as "Dolly Madison," but her real wit and grace carried off her want of dignity. Robert and William who allow themselves to be styled Bobby and Billy must be either wanting in self-respect or be afflicted with a weak amiability that falls below the level of a vice. The public men who are familiarly known as Tom this or Steve that may be "good fellows" and friends of the boys, but they are politicians and not statesmen.
In spite of Hayward's declaration, "I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom," it has been legally ruled that it is disrespectful and insulting to call a man by his Christian name unless the parties have been intimately connected. A Massachusetts hotel-keeper discharged his clerk because that magnificent creature was too fond of such familiarity. The clerk sued for his salary for a year and damages, but was non-suited, the Supreme Court delivering the following judgment: "To address a person by his Christian name, unless the parties have been intimately connected, socially and otherwise, is uncalled-for familiarity, and, therefore, insulting to the person so addressed. To address a party by his surname only shows a want of respect, and would imply that the party so addressed was beneath the party addressing; therefore it is discourteous, and would be considered insulting. To speak of employers by their surnames only shows a great want of respect on the part of the employee towards the employer. While it may be customary for a person to address his junior clerks or under-servants by their Christian or surnames, to address others so shows a want of respect, and the party so addressed would naturally evade contact in the future with any one who had previously so addressed him."
It has sometimes been foolishly held that only snobs and dudes would part their names in the middle, but in fact anything that increases the individuality of names is to be welcomed, especially in the case of the unfortunates who are burdened with such undistinctive names as Smith, Brown, Jones, or Robinson. There are thousands of John H. Smiths or John M. Smiths, there may be only a few J. Hayward Smiths or J. MacNamara Smiths. Nor is there any reason why Mr. Smith should not alter the spelling of his name to Mr. Smyth or Smythe, or Mr. Brown should not likewise add a final "e." A fine example of how a commonplace patronymic may gain a lordly and aristocratic sound is the name of the popular magazinist Junius Henri Browne. The middle name, "Henri," whether given in baptism or changed subsequently to please the nice ear of its possessor, is a stroke of genius. During the progress of the famous Codman Will case, the name of J. Amory Codman gave rise to an amusing error of a type-writer. A copy of the telegram found among the papers bore the address "J. A. Mory, cabman, Parker House." A long and puzzling search followed. Not a trace of Mory could be found, no such cabman was known to be in employ there, and not until after two weeks' hunt did the solution dawn upon the counsel.
According to Mr. H. A. Hamilton, in his "Quarter Sessions from Queen Elizabeth," the practice of giving children two Christian names was unknown in England before the period of the Stuarts, was rarely adopted down to the time of the Revolution, and never became common until after the Hanoverian family was seated on the throne. In looking through so many volumes of county records," he says, "I have, of course, seen many thousands and tens of thousands of proper names, belonging to men of all ranks and degrees,—to noblemen, justices, jurymen, witnesses, sureties, innkeepers, hawkers, paupers, vagrants, criminals, and others,-and in no single instance, down to the end of the reign of Anne, have I noticed any person bearing more than one Christian name. The first instance occurs in 1717, when Sir Coplestone War wick Bampfield appears among the justices who attended the midsummer
sessions at Exeter. The first instances which I have met with in any other place are those of Henry Frederick, Earl of Arundel, born in 1608, and Sir Henry Frederick Thynne, who was created a baronet in 1641. Both these must have been named after the eldest son of James I., who was, of course, born in Scotland. No other child of James bore two Christian names, nor did any child of Charles I., except Henrietta Maria, named after her mother, who was a Frenchwoman. No king of England bore two Christian names before William III., who was a Dutchman."
Surnames, in modern times as distinguished from classical, cannot be traced farther back than the tenth century. Their origin is simple enough. So long as persons bore only single names, and these derived from a limited number of sources, as profane or sacred history, there might be fifty persons of the same name in every little community. Hence there gradually grew up the habit of adding a distinguishing epithet, commonly noting some personal peculiarity or attribute, place of birth or residence, trade, occupation, office, or relationship. Thus, such names as Brown, Black, Gray, etc., are derived from the color of the hair or complexion of the eponymic ancestor; Long, Short, Little, Cruikshank, and so on, from his bodily conformation; Smart, Swift, Hardy, from his disposition; Noble, Rich, King, Earl, Knight, etc., from his station; Archer, Fletcher, and especially the familiar Smith, from his trade or occupation; and English, Scott, Holland, and Ireland, from his country. A great fund from which the necessities of family nomenclature have been supplied is the baptismal or personal names of the founders. These have become surnames, not only in their original form, but also in the many familiar shapes which usage may have assigned to them, as the affectionate diminutives in the domestic circle or the monosyllabic appellatives once current in the workshop or on the farm. Thus, from Richard we get Richards and Richardson, Ricks and Rix, Rickson, Rixon, or Ritson, Ricards and Ricketts. From the curter Dick or Diccon we derive Dicks, Dix, Dickson or Dixon, Dickens or Diccons, and Dickenson or Dicconson; from Hitchin (once nearly as familiar as Dick) we get Hitchins, Hitchinson, Hickok, and Hickox. Surnames in this class add to the personal names on which they are based either the possessive "s" or the more explicit "son," these being the Saxon patronymic forms, as the prefixes "Fitz," "Ap," "Mac," and "O" are respectively the Norman, Welsh, Scotch, and Irish forms. People bearing these patronymic names may be assumed to be descended from the stay-at-homes of the family, the domestic and unambitious ones, who were content to tread quietly in their father's footsteps. While the enterprising brother travelled to a distance and acquired a surname from the town or shire or country of his birth, with which new associates identified him, while the brother of strong predilections seized his favorite occupation and extracted from it his distinguishing appellation, the less sanguine, less original of the three, who calmly took up his father's business, was called merely the son of his father, and handed down to his posterity a surname based upon that father's baptismal name. Does this explain why in a country where probably one-third of the names end in "son" there are comparatively so small a number of eminent names with that termination? The greatest of all, probably, is Dr. Johnson, and he can only be ranked in the second class.
A number of things conspire to increase the difficulty of tracing surnames to their origin. Many were given on account of circumstances long ago forgotten, many were mere accidental nicknames. Many of the words on which
surnames were based have become more or less obsolete. Fletcher and Lorimer, for example, would be inexplicable did they not appear in early Norman literature as the words for archer and manufacturer of horse-bits. Todd ("fox") and Beck (“brook") are intelligible only through dialects. But
above all, many names have become so transmogrified through abbreviation, phonetic decay, and corruptions of all sorts that in many cases it is not possible to recognize the original form. In old times every one spelt phonetically, and especially insisted on the right to spell his own name as he chose. Shakespeare spelt his forty-three different ways. His friends lent additional variety by giving it two hundred and seventeen forms. Some idea of the confusion which among the unlettered classes might arise from this phonetic spelling may be gained from the story told by a recent traveller in Cornwall, that a pit-girl on her marriage confounded both parson and clerk by giving her name as "Loice Showd." It was only by diligent inquiries among her friends that the name was found to be "Alice Harwood." Nay, even among the higher classes phonetic spelling would alter the appearance of many noble names. Wemyss would become Weems; Eyre, Air; Geoffrey, Jeffrey; Colquhoun, Cohoon; Urquhart, Urkurt; Dyllwyn, Dillun; Waldegrave, Walgrave; Cockburn, Coburn; Mainwaring, Mannering; Knollys, Knowles; Gower, Gor; Meux, Mews; Kerr, Carr; McLeod, McCloud; St. John, Sin Jin; St. Clair, Sinkler; Beauchamp, Beecham. The strange metamorphosis which a name may assume in passing from one language to another may be illustrated by Taliaferro, which drops into "Tolliver" in Virginia (where Carruthers must fail to recognize itself as “Cruder”), Tollemache, which becomes "Talmage" in New York, Janvier, which has been anglicized as “January." Somerset becomes "Sainte Mousette" in Canada, Fitzpatrick "Felix Patry," and Stanford "Sainte Folle." For the astonishing mispronunciation of Enroughty to which we have already alluded, many explanations have been offered. It has been suggested that when the original Enroughtys reached Virginia they found it a perfectly hopeless job to get their name properly spelt or properly pronounced by their new countrymen. So in despair they consented to be called Darbys by mankind in general, though they steadfastly clung to their true patronymic in all papers and documents. But a Richmond paper offered a more plausible solution, obtained from a member of the family, according to which the first Enroughty who emigrated to this country was named Darby Enroughty. He settled at or near what is now known as Darbytown, and his neighbors called him Darby for short. This finally became so universal that it attached to him as his patronymic, and n.any supposed he had no other. None of the family, however, ever used it in writing, but always answered it when spoken to.
It is curious to trace the real meaning of some famous names, and to see how whimsically inappropriate some of them were to the men who bore them. The greater part of Europe suffered from the misdeeds of Bonaparte, whose name really means good part, or good side. The Prince of Benevento (welcome) must greatly have belied his name to the Hollanders who were compelled to receive him. The Christian world would hardly consider Renan as a friend, in spite of the etymological meaning of his name; and it seems merely whimsical that Sardou, the playwright, should trace his name to sacerdos, a priest. Biron, the original form of Byron, means squint. The ancient Italian princely name of Borghese is the same as the French bourgeois, or citizen. Daudet is a form of the Hebrew David. There is no significance in the fact that Gambetta signifies a little leg, Goupil a fox, Abelard a beeherd, or Boucicault a fat man. MacMahon scarcely seems to be the same as the Italian Orsini or the French Ursins, yet all mean son of the bear.
On the other hand, Arago, the name of a philosopher who looked so steadily at scientific truth, means good eagle. Erckmann, the novelist, the first half of the literary partnership which always suggests the Siamese twins, is both by name and by nature a sincere man. Garibaldi means brave
spear. Gounod derives his name appropriately from garlan, to sing. Hugo means intelligence. The name of Victor Hugo would therefore signify victorious intelligence. Sarcy means switch, a fit name for a critic. Sibour, the Archbishop of Paris who was killed at the Barricades, bore an old German name which signifies victorious protector. Bennett is a form of Benedict, but the bachelor proprietor of the Herald does not seem bent on justifying its signification.
Coincidence has even determined that the name of a person should be felicitously linked with his profession. Thus, Dr. Physick was one of the most famous of Philadelphia doctors, and that city now boasts several lawyers named Law, one named Lex, and another named Judge. In the same city Mr. Loud and Mr. Thunder were both organists at one time. Among other instances authenticated by trades directories and parish registers are Mr. Toe and Mr. Heel, one a shoemaker, the other a clog-maker, at York. Foot and Stocking were the names of two hosiers, and Treadaway and Last were shoemakers. Trulock was a gunsmith, Pie was a pastry-cook, Pickles sold pickles in a provincial town, Rideout did business as a livery-stable-keeper, Pickup was an omnibus-owner, Lightfoot a dancing-master, Rod (an ominous name) a school-master, Henry Moist a waterman, Dabb a painter, and Copper a copper-plate engraver. No better name could have been suggested for the editor of Punch than Mark Lemon. The church militant during our civil war was significantly typified in the names of two chaplains of the Federal army, Mr. Camp and Mr. Drum. The Prohibitionists would probably think that Bones and Death were admirable names for two tavern-keepers.
Odd juxtapositions of names without reference to the trades carried on are very frequent. Violet, Primrose, and Wallflower was a former London firm; Blood and Hoof had a sign in Liverpool; Heath and Waterfall were partners; Jones and Huggs seems a harmless enough name for school-teachers, but a parent might well be alarmed at learning from their circular that "Jones teaches the boys, and Huggs the girls." The proprietor of an Illinois newspaper felt obliged to decline an otherwise desirable partnership proposal from the impossibility of arranging the name satisfactorily, since the title of the firm must read either "Steel and Doolittle" or "Doolittle and Steel," so he wrote, "We cannot join: one partner would soon be in the workhouse and the other in the penitentiary."
Names in Fiction. If the influence of a right name is felt in real life, how much more so in fiction! In real life it is a matter of chance or of lucky accident if the baptismal name prove a just and congruous one, suited to the character and the circumstances of the owner. The natural parent may claim forgiveness for error on the score that he could not foresee the possible career of the child whom he may have handicapped at the altar. The author of a work of fiction can make no such plea. His characters should take form in his brain, like Minerva in the skull of Jupiter; they should be armed at all points, and the most vulnerable point of their equipment is an unworthy name. Yet knowledge of the thing desired does not necessarily lead to its easy discovery. It is a matter for thought, for research, for studious inquiry. Great skill and nicety of perception must be called into play. The effect must not be too crudely palpable. Suggestion, not insistence, is needed. The good old trick which pleased our simpler forefathers, that which consists in merely labelling a character,-an ingenuous, but not ingenious, stratagem,-has had its day. It was carried to an extreme in the early English drama, where even Shakespeare gives us such names among his minor characters as Mouldy, Feeble, Shallow, Shadow, etc., and it retained its hold on the comic stage down to the time of the Lydia Languishes, the Sneerwells, the Mrs. Malaprops of Sheridan, the Sir Fopling Flutters of Vanbrugh.