We have already said enough to show that our early English pursuits were mainly pastoral. Even to this day, as we are whisked across the midland counties or driven across the Yorkshire wolds, we see what advantages we must have enjoyed in this respect. Our one chief staple was wool, and to export this in a raw unmanufactured state was the early practice. So general was this occupation that even subsidies to the crown were given in wool. In 1340, 30,000 sacks of wool were granted to Edward III. while engaged in the French War. This would be a most valuable contribution, for at this time it was held in the highest repute by foreign buyers. ‘The ribs of all nations throughout the world,’ wrote Matthew Paris, ‘are kept warm by the fleeces of English wool’ (Smiles). So early as 1056 we find the Count of Cleves obtaining a certain jurisdiction over the burghers of Nimeguen upon condition of presenting to the Emperor every year ‘three pieces of scarlet cloth of English wool’ (Macullum). With the incoming of the Flemish refugees and other settlers already mentioned this state of things was changed. The Conqueror himself had settled one band near Carlisle, but his son Henry soon after coming into possession removed them into Herefordshire, and the Southern Marches of the Principality. Doubtless the object of both was that of setting up a barrier against hostile encroachments on the part of the Scotch and Welsh; but the result was the spread of a peaceful and useful industry in two widely separated districts. Two other settlements, in Norfolk and Suffolk, one by Henry I., the other under the direction of Edward III., made East Anglia for centuries the Yorkshire of England. When we talk so familiarly of ‘worsted,’ or ‘lindsey-wolsey,’ or ‘kerseymere,’ or ‘bocking,’ we are but insensibly upholding a reputation which centuries ago the several villages that went by these names had obtained through Flemish aid. Thus was it then that at length our country was enabled to produce a cloth which could afford a comparison with that of the Flemish cities themselves. Of this incoming many surnames of this date remind us, the most important of which I have already mentioned in my chapter upon local names, ‘Fleming,’ as a general name for all these settlers, being the commonest.

When, however, we turn to the occupations themselves connected with the industry, we cannot but be struck by the wonderful impress it has made upon our nomenclature. The child’s ancient rhyme—

carries us to the first stage, and to the first dealer. In our ‘Woolers’ and ‘Woolmans,’ in our obsolete ‘Woolmongers’ and ‘Woolbuyers,’^[315] in our ‘Packers’^[316] and once flourishing ‘Woolpackers,’ and in our ‘Lanyers’ and ‘Laners,’ relics of the old and more Norman ‘Bartholomew le Laner’ or ‘John le Lanier,’ we can see once more the train of laden mules bearing their fleecy treasure to the larger towns or distant coast. No wonder that Piers Plowman and others should make familiar mention of the ‘pack-needle,’ when we reflect upon the enormous number of sacks that would be in constant use for this purpose; and no wonder ‘Adam le Sakkere’ (i.e. ‘Sacker’), and ‘Henry le Canevaser’ are to be met with as busied in their provision.^[317] Another proof of the engrossing importance of this one English article of commerce is left us in our ‘Staplers.’ The ‘stapleware’ of a town was, and is still, that which is the chief commodity dealt in by that particular market. A ‘stapler,’ however, has for centuries been a generally accepted title for a woolmerchant, and has therefore absorbed the more general meaning the word ought to have conveyed.

The first stage towards manufacture would be the process of carding the raw and tangled material, and numberless are the ‘Carders,’ ‘Combers,’ and ‘Kempsters,’^[318] or ‘Kemsters,’ who remind us of this. In these latter sobriquets we have but varied forms of the same root ‘cemb,’ to comb. We still talk poetically of ‘unkempt locks,’ and we are told of Emelie in the ‘Knight’s Tale’ that—

The Norman corresponding name is found in ‘Robert le Peinnur’ or ‘William le Puigneur,’ but unless in our ‘Pinners’ (a supposition not unnatural) it has left no descendants. But even these are not all. It is with them we must associate our ‘Towzers’ and ‘Tozers,’ from the old ‘touse’ allied to ‘tease’—they who cleared the fibre from all entanglements. Spenser talks of curs ‘tousing’ the poor bear at the baiting, and I need not remind the reader that in our somewhat limited canine nomenclature, ‘Towzer,’ as a name for a dog of more pugnacious propensities, occupies a by no means mean place. As applicable to the trade in question, Gower uses the word when he says, in his ‘Confessio Amantis’:—

It is here, therefore, we must place our one or two solitary relics of the rough machinery then in use. In ‘Cardmaker’ we have the manufacturer of the ‘comb’ or ‘card’ thus usefully employed; in ‘Spindler’ the maker of the pin round which the thread was wound; while our ‘Slaymakers,’^[320] ‘Slaymans,’ and obsolete ‘Slaywrights’^[321] preserve the once so familiar ‘slay’—that moveable part of the loom which the webbe with his fingers plied nimbly and deftly along the threads. A petition to Parliament in 1467 from the worsted manufacturers complains that in the county of Norfolk there are ‘divers persones that make untrue ware of all manner of worstedes, not being of the assises in length nor brede, nor of good, true stuffe and makyng, and the slayes and yern thereto belonging untruly made and wrought, etc.’ (Rot. Parl. Ed. IV.) I believe the word is not yet obsolete as a term of the craft.

I have mentioned ‘Webbe.’

says Piers in his ‘Vision.’ This appears, judging at least from our directories, to have been the more general term, and after it its longer forms, the masculine ‘Webber’ and the originally feminine ‘Webster.’ A poem written in the beginning of the sixteenth century refers to

Such entries as ‘Elyas le Webbe,’ or ‘Clarice le Webbere,’ or ‘John le Webestre,’ are of common occurrence in our mediÆval and still earlier records. But the processes are anything but at an end. The cloth must be dyed and fulled. Of the first our ‘Listers,’ once enrolled as ‘Hugh le Litster’ or ‘Henry le Littester,’^[322] speak, and ‘Dyer’ or ‘Dister,’ still harder of recognition in such a guise as ‘Geoffrey le Deghere’ or ‘Robert le Dighestere,’ forms found at the period we are writing about. It was John Littester, a dyer, who in 1381 headed the rebellion in Norwich. Here the surname was evidently taken from the occupation followed. Halliwell gives the obsolete verb ‘to lit’ or dye, and quotes an old manuscript in which the following sentence occurs: ‘We use na clathis that are littede of dyverse coloures.’ Such names as ‘Gilbert le Teinturer,’ or ‘Richard le Teynterer,’ or ‘Philip le Tentier,’ which I have come across in three separate records, represent the old French title for the same occupation, but I believe they have failed to come down to us—at least I have not met with any after instance. The old English forms of ‘tincture’ and ‘tint’ are generally found to be ‘teinture’ and ‘teint.’ The teinturer is not without relics. We still speak when harassed of ‘being on the stretch,’ or when in a state of suspense of ‘being upon tenter-hooks,’ both of which proverbial expressions must have arisen in the common converse of cloth-workers. The tenter itself was the stretcher upon which the cloth was laid while in the dyer’s hands. On account of various deceits that had become notorious in the craft, such, for instance, as the over-stretching of the material, a law was passed in the first year of Richard III. that ‘tentering’ or ‘teyntering’ should only be done in an open place, and for this purpose public tenters were to be set up. (‘Stat. Realm,’ Rich. III.) We find many references to this important instrument in old testaments. Thus an inventory of goods, dated 1562, belonging to a man resident in the parish of Kendall, speaks of ‘Tenture posts and woodde, 6d.—ii tentures 20s.’ (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 156.) The dyes themselves used in the process of colouring are not without existing memorials. In the York Pageant, already referred to, we find, walking in procession with the woolpackers, the ‘Wadmen,’ that is, the sellers of woad, unless indeed, they were the dyers themselves. The more common spelling was ‘wode,’ and when not local, ‘Thomas le Wodere’ or ‘Alan le Wodeman,’ with their modern ‘Wooder’ and ‘Woodman,’ will be found, I doubt not, to be the representative of this calling. ‘John Maderman,’ and ‘Lawrence Maderer’ remind us of the more reddish and popular hues. Great quantities of this were yearly imported from Holland, especially Middleburgh. The old ‘Libel on English Policy’ speaks of—

as being

The thickening mill, however, has left us several words of much more familiar import than these—viz., ‘Tucker,’ ‘Fuller,’ (or ‘Fulman’^[323]) and ‘Walker.’^[324] Among other older forms we find ‘Roger le Tukere,’ ‘Percival le Toukare,’ ‘Walter le Fullere,’ ‘Ralph le Walkere,’ and ‘Peter le Walkar.’ Of the first Piers in his ‘Vision’ makes mention, where he speaks of

‘Cocke Lorelle’ also refers to—

‘Walker,’ claiming as it does an almost unrivalled position in the rolls of our nomenclature, reminds us of the early fashion of treading out the cloth before the adaptations of machinery were brought to bear on this phase of the craft. In Wicklyffe’s version of the story of Christ’s transfiguration he speaks of his clothes shining so as no ‘fullere or walkere of cloth’ may make white upon earth.^[325] Reference is made to the same practice by Langland also when, using this whole process of cloth-making as an illustration, he says:—

We are here not merely furnished with the entire process itself, but the terms themselves employed harmonize well with the names I have mentioned. ‘Walker’ and ‘Tucker’ or ‘Towkare’ or ‘Toker,’ as it was variously spelt, together with ‘Tuckerman,’ have, however, disappeared as terms of this trade; and it is in our directories alone we can find them declaring these forgotten mysteries of a more uncouth manufacture.

The ‘taseles’ mentioned in the poem quoted above were the common ‘teasel’ or ‘tassel,’ a rough prickly plant allied to the thistle, which when dried was used for scratching the cloth, and thus raising a nap thereupon. Thus in Willsford’s ‘Nature’s Secrets’ it is said, ‘Tezils, or Fuller’s Thistle, being gathered or hanged up in the house, where the air may come freely to it, upon the alteration of cold and windy weather will grow smoother, and against rain will close up his prickles.’ (Brand’s ‘Pop. Ant.,’ vol. iii. p. 133.) In an inventory of the property of Edward Kyrkelands, of Kendall, dated 1578, we find the following articles mentioned:—iiii syckles, a pair wyes and iii stafs, tazills, 5s. 8d.—more in tazills, 2s.—iiii tentors, 40s. (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 274.) The occupation itself is referred to in an old statute of Edward IV.—‘Item, that every fuller, from the said feast of St. Peter, in his craft and occupation of fuller, rower, or tayseler of cloth, shall exercise and use taysels and no cards, deceitfully impairing the same cloth’—‘en sa arte et occupacion de fuller et scalpier ou tezeiler de drap, exercise et use teizels, &c.’ (4 Ed. IV. c. 1.) It is probable that our ‘Taylors’ have engrossed this name. We find it lingering in Westmoreland, about Kendal, till the middle of the sixteenth century, in a form which required but little further change to make it the same. In the will of Walter Strykland, dated 1568, there is mentioned among other legatees a certain ‘Edward Taylzer,’ a manifest corruption of ‘Teazeler.’ (‘Richmondshire Wills,’ p. 224.) A century earlier than this, however, such names as ‘Gilbert le Tasseler’ or ‘Matilda le Tasselere’ were entered in our more formal registers.

Our ‘Baters’ and ‘Beaters,’ relics of the old ‘Avery le Batour’ or ‘John Betere,’ were all but invariably cloth-beaters, although, like the fuller ‘wollebeter,’^[326] they may have been busied at an earlier stage of the manufacture. Capgrave, in his ‘Chronicles,’ under date 30 A.D., says, ‘Jacobus, the son of Joseph first bishop of Jerusalem, was throwe there fro the pinacle of the temple and after smet with a fuller’s bat.’^[327] With the mention of our ‘Shearers’ (‘Richard le Sherere,’ M.) and endless ‘Shearmans,’ ‘Sharmans,’ or ‘Shermans’ (‘Robert le Sherman,’ ‘John le Shereman,’ M.), who represent the shearing of the manufactured fabric, rather than that of the sheep itself, we have the process complete. The cloth is at length ready to be transmitted into the care of our ‘Drapers’ and ‘Clothiers,’ and from them again through the skilled and nimble fingers of our numberless ‘Tailors.’ From all this we may readily see what an important influence has England’s one great staple of earlier days had upon the nomenclature of our countrymen.

Such a name as ‘Ralph le Flexman,’ with its many descendants, reminds us of the manufacture of linen, which, if not so popular as that of wool, was nevertheless anything but unfamiliar to the early craftsman. Our ‘Spinners’ carry us to the primary task of thread-making, an employment, however, all but entirely in the hands of the women. The distaff and the weaker sex have been ever associated, whether in sacred or profane narrative. Thus it is that ‘spinster’ has become stereotyped even as a legal term. Chaucer, four hundred years ago, somewhat uncourteously said:—

Our modern ‘linen’ is formed from ‘lin’ or ‘line’—flax—as ‘woolen’ is from ‘wool.’ Hence we still speak of the seed of that plant as ‘linseed.’ That this was the common form of the word we might prove by many quotations.

says an old poem. Even Spenser speaks of ‘garment of line,’ and in ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ allusion is made to ‘lyne-webbers’ and ‘lyne-drapers.’^[328] We need not be surprised, therefore, to meet with such names as ‘Elias Lyndraper,’ or ‘Henry le Lindraper,’ or ‘John le Lyner.’ Only this last, however, has survived the changes of intervening centuries, and still holds a precarious existence as ‘Liner.’ ‘Weaver’ was more common. A more Norman equivalent is found in such a sobriquet as ‘John le Teler,’ or ‘Henry le Telere,’ or ‘Ida la Teleress,’ a name which is not necessarily of modern French refugee origin, as Mr. Lower would lead us to suppose. Indeed, a special part of the ladies’ head-dress had early obtained the name of a ‘teler,’ from the fine texture of the linen of which it was composed.^[329] It is but too probable that this name has become lost, like ‘Taylzer,’ in the more common ‘Taylor.’ This process of absorption we shall find to be not unfrequent. Nor are we without a memorial of the bleaching of linen. ‘Whiter,’ if not ‘Whitster,’ still lives in our directories. It seems strange that our ‘Blackers’ should denote but the same occupation; but so it is—they, like our old ‘Walter le Blakesters’ or ‘Richard le Bleckesters,’ being but the harder and more antique form of our present ‘bleacher.’^[330] Our term ‘bleak,’ preserving as it does the earlier pronunciation, is but the same word, being formerly used to denote pallor, or wanness, or absence of colour. From this, by a natural change, it came to signify anything cheerless or desolate. With perfect honesty in this case, at any rate, we may ‘swear that black is white.’

With regard to silk, we had but little to do. The manufacture of this important cloth was barely carried on in Western Europe during the period of the establishment of surnames. It was nigh the close of the fifteenth century before it appeared in France. All our silks were imported from the East by Venetian and Genoese merchants. Of the latter an old poem says, they come—

Still we find a company of silkwomen settled in London at an early period. In the records of this city occur such names as ‘Johanna Taylour, Silkwyfe,’ in 1348, and ‘Agatha Fowere, Silkewoman,’ in 1417.^[331] In 1455 a complaint was raised by ‘the women of the mystery and trade of silk and threadworkers in London, that divers Lombards and other foreigners enriched themselves by ruining the said mystery.’ I think, however, we shall find that all these were engaged less in the manufacture of fabrics than of threads for the embroiderers to use. Thus, as connected with the throwing or winding of these silken tissues, we come across such names as ‘Thrower’ and ‘Throwster,’ the former having been further corrupted into ‘Trower.’^[332]

Next to wool, perhaps leather formed the most important item of early manufacture. We can hardly now conceive the infinite use to which it was put at this period. In military dress it had an especial place, and in the ordinary costume it was far from being confined to the extremities, as we have it now. Jerkins, chausses, girdles, pouches, gipsire—all came under the leather-dresser’s hands. In 1378 we find a jury, called together to decide upon a case of alleged bad tanning, to have been composed of ‘saddlers, pouchmakes, girdlers, botel-makers, tanners, curriers, and cordwainers.’ Of the more general manufacture of hides we have numerous relics; indeed, we are at once introduced into the midst of a throng of tradesmen, the very list of which proves the then important character of the article on which they spent their energies. Such names as ‘Jordan le Tannur,’ or ‘Loretta le Tannur,’ ‘Richard le Skynnere,’ or ‘Hamo le Skynnere,’ are still numerous both in the tanyard and the directory, and need little explanation. Our ‘Curriers’ are also self-evident; but I have not met with any instance as yet in mediÆval times. Our more rare ‘Fellmongers’ were once occupied more directly with the larger hides, or fells, as they were called, of the farmyard stock. Less connected with them, therefore, than with the others, we may mention such men as ‘William le Barcur,’ or ‘Nicholas le Barkere,’ or ‘Robert Barcarius,’ the ancestors of our modern ‘Barkers,’^[333] who, by the very frequency with which they are met, show how important was the preparation of bark in the tanners’ yard. In the conversation between Edward the Fourth and the Tanner of Tamworth, as given by Percy, it is said—

Such names as ‘John le Tawyere’ or ‘Geoffrey le Whitetawier’ (now found as ‘Whittear,’ ‘Whittier,’ and ‘Whityer’), not to mention such an entry as that of ‘Richard le Megucer,’ throw us back upon the time when the terms these men severally bore as surnames would be of the most familiar import. Their owners spent their energies in preparing the lighter goat and kid skins, which they whitened, and made ready for the glovers’ use.^[334] The verb ‘to taw,’ however, was also used of dressing flax, and we may have to place ‘Tawyer’ in some instances in this category.

we are told in ‘Robin Goodfellow.’ Our ‘Towers,’ while apparently local, may be in some instances but a corruption of this same term. So early as the 14th century we find a certain ‘Eustace le Wittowere’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls, and that the simpler form should similarly be corrupted would be natural enough.^[335] Thus we see that leather, too, is not without its memorials. The more furry skins, as used in a somewhat more specific form as articles of dress, or to attach thereto, we will allude to by-and-by. As we traverse in some semblance of order the more definite wants and requirements of early social life, the importance of these several crafts will be more clearly brought out. We must not forget that there were the same needs then as now, though of a different mould. Man in all time has had to be fed, and clothed, and housed; and if in all these respects he has in these modern days become more civilized and polished, it has been the result of a gradual process by which he has slowly, and not without many a struggle, thrown off, one by one, this custom and that, which belonged to a ruder era and a rougher cast of society. Our surnames of occupation are a wonderful guide in this respect. A tolerable picture of early life may be easily set before us by their aid; for in them are preserved its more definite lineaments, and all we need is to fill up the shading for ourselves. Forgotten wants, needs now no longer felt, requirements of which a progressive civilization slowly slipped the tether, necessities of dress, of habit, of routine, all, while the reality has long faded from view, have left their abiding memorial in the nomenclature of those who directly supplied them. Let us, however, observe, as in our other chapters, some kind of order—clothing, food, and general needs, this seems the proper course of procedure. And yet one more observation ere we do so. We have already spoken of the early system of signs as advertising the character of the articles to be sold. The early shop was far more prominent as a rule than the modern one. The counter, instead of being within the walls of the house, projected forward upon the pathway, so much so that we can only compare them to those tables we may often see at night, where under the lee of the walls costermongers offer shellfish, or tripe, or coffee to the passers-by. This was objectionable enough; but it was not all. Each dealer loudly proclaimed to the wayfarer the merits of his goods, vying with his neighbour in his endeavours to attract attention to himself or distract it from the other, especially if, as was often the case, a number of traders trafficked in the same class of merchandise. Others, and their name was legion, had no shop at all, not even the street table or counter, but passing up and down with wooden platters or deep baskets, made the very air discordant with their loudly reiterated cries of ‘Hot sheep’s feet,’ or ‘Mackerel,’ or ‘Fresh-herring,’^[336] or ‘Hot peascods,’ or ‘Coloppes.’ It is in reference to this we find Langland saying—

Lydgate has a still fuller and more detailed description of this in his ‘London Lackpenny,’ and as it is tolerably humorous I will quote it somewhat largely, using Mr. Bowen’s modernization of it—

If we pass on from shop to shop in a more quiet and undisturbed fashion than poor ‘London Lackpenny,’ we must not forget that we are, at least so far, enjoying that which our forefathers could not.

With regard to the head-dress, and to begin with this, we have many memorials. ‘Tire,’ once a familiar word enough, is still preserved from decay by our Authorized Version of the Scriptures. Thus, for example, it is said in Ezekiel, ‘make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of thine head upon thee.’^[337] I do not know how comprehensive are the duties belonging to our present ‘tirewoman’ or lady’s-maid, but in the day when the tragic story of Jezebel was first translated, the sense of the word was entirely confined to the arrangement of her mistress’s ‘tiara,’ which is but another form of the same term. In the ‘Paradise Lost’ it is found as ‘tiar’—

When we remember their former size, their horned and peaked character, and the variety of the material used, arguing as they do the then importance of the fact, we need not be surprised at meeting with comparative frequency such a surname as ‘Tyrer,’ ‘Tyerman,’ or ‘Tireman.’ It is somewhat hard to say whether our ‘Coffers’ are relics of the old ‘Coffrer’ or ‘Coifer,’ but as the latter business was all but entirely in the hands of females, perhaps it will be safer to refer them to the other. Such names, however, as ‘Emma la Coyfere’ or ‘Dionysia la Coyfere,’ found in the thirteenth century, may serve to remind us of the peculiar style of the head-gear which the ladies affected in these earlier times. The more special occupation of preparing feathers or plumes has left its mark in our ‘Plumer’ and ‘Plummer,’ memorials of the old ‘Mariot le Plumer’ or ‘Peter le Plomer.’ The old ‘caul’ or ‘call’ still lives in our ‘Calmans’ and ‘Callers.’ ‘Elias le Callere’ occurs in the Parliamentary Writs, and ‘Robert le Callerere’ in the ‘Munimenta GildhallÆ.’ Judging from the ‘Wife of Bath’s Tale,’ we should imagine this also to have been a female head-dress. There the old witch appeals to the Queen and her court of lady attendants as to them who wear ‘kercheif or calle’—

Another form of the surname is found in ‘Alicia la Kellere,’ now simple ‘Keller,’ the article itself being also met with in a similar dress. In the ‘Townley Mysteries’ a fallen angel is represented as saying that a girl—

In its several more general uses it has always maintained its strict meaning of a covering.^[338] Hoshea, we may recollect, speaks figuratively of God’s ‘rending the caul of Israel’s heart.’ Probably the word is connected with the ‘cowl’ of other monkish days, and thus may be associated with our ‘Coulmans’ and ‘Cowlers.’ ‘Richard le Couhelere,’ an entry of the fifteenth century, may belong to the same group.^[339] A once familiar sobriquet for a hood was that of ‘chapelle,’^[340] whence our edifice of that name and the diminutive ‘chaplet.’ The Parliamentary Writs give us an ‘Edmund le Chapeler;’ the Hundred Rolls furnish us, among other instances, with a ‘Robert le Chapeler.’ ‘Theobald le Hatter,’ ‘Robert le Hattare,’ ‘Thomas le Capiere,’ ‘Symon le Cappere,’ or ‘John Capman’ need no explanation. The articles they sold, whether of beaver, or felt, or mere woollen cloth, were largely imported from Flanders. Thus it is that Lydgate, as I have but recently shown, picturing the streets of London, mentions spots in his progress therethrough where—

That many of these wares, however, were of home manufacture is equally undoubted, and of this we are reminded by our ‘Blockers,’ representatives of the old ‘Deodatus le Blokkere.’ The ‘block’ was the wooden mould upon which the hat was shaped and crowned. In ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ Beatrice is made to say: ‘He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.’ The ‘blocker,’ I doubt not, was but a hat-maker; we still call a stupid man a blockhead. Our ‘Hurrers’ (‘Alan le Hurer,’ H.R., ‘Geoffrey le Hurwere,’ H.R.), once so important as to form a special company with articles and overseers, as representative of an old general term, are not so familiar as we might have expected them. Bonnets, caps, hoods, hats, all came under their hands. Strictly speaking, however, a ‘hure’ or ‘howre,’ as Chaucer spells it, was a shaggy cap of fur, or coarse jagged cloth. In an old political song of Edward the First’s time it is said—

That the word itself should have dropped from our vocabulary is to me a mystery.^[341] Even in our nomenclature the rarity of our ‘Hurers’ and ‘Hurrers’ is to me inexplicable, bearing as it does no possible proportion to the former importance of the occupation. But this, as I have said before, is one of the peculiarities of personal nomenclature, depending entirely as it does on the uncertainties of descent. The head, we see, was not neglected.

The sale of woollen cloth by our ‘clothiers’ and ‘drapers’ we have already mentioned. The tailor then, as now, made it up into the garments which the age required. Few names went through so many metamorphoses as this. ‘Mainwaring,’ it is said, can be found in over a hundred and thirty different spellings. The exact number with regard to ‘Taylor’ I cannot state, as I have not dared hitherto to encounter the task of collecting them. The forms recorded in one register alone give us such varieties as ‘le Tayllur,’ ‘le Tayllour,’ ‘le Tayller,’ ‘le Taylir,’ ‘le Taylour,’ ‘le Taylur,’ ‘le Taillur,’ and ‘le Talur.’ We have also the feminine ‘la Taylurese’ in the same roll.^[342] A name obsolete now in a colloquial sense, but common enough in our directories, is ‘Parminter,’ ‘Parmenter,’ or ‘Parmitar,’ a relic of the old Norman-French ‘Parmentier,’ a term a few hundred years ago familiarly used also for the snip. Among other mediÆval forms are ‘Geoffrey le Parmunter,’ ‘Saher le Parmentier,’ ‘William le Parmeter,’ and ‘Richard le Parmuter.’ The Hundred Rolls give us the same sobriquet in a Latin dress as ‘William Parmuntarius.’^[343] As associated with the tailor, we may here set down our ‘Sempsters,’ that is, ‘Seamster,’ the once feminine of ‘Seamer,’ one who seamed or sewed. Mr. Lower hints that our ‘Seymours’ may in some instances be a corruption of this latter form, but I must confess I discover no traces of it.

The sobriquet of ‘William le Burreller’ introduces us to a cloth of a cheap mixture, brown in colour, of well-nigh everlasting wear, and worn by all the poorer classes of society at this period. So universal was it that they came to be known by the general term of ‘borel-folk,’ a phrase familiar enough to deeper students of antiquarian lore. The Franklin premises his story by saying—

Our ‘Burrells’ are still sufficiently common to preserve a remembrance of this now decayed branch of trade. They may derive their name either from the term ‘borel’ or ‘burel’ pure and simple, or from ‘Burreller,’ and thus represent the trade from which the other, as a sobriquet, owed its rise. The manufacturer is referred to by ‘Cocke Lorelle,’ in the line—

Special articles of costume now wholly disused, or confined or altered in sense, crop out abundantly in this class of surnames. At this period a common outdoor covering for the neck was the wimple, or folded vail, worn by women. To this day, I need not say, it is part of the conventual dress. The author I have just quoted beautifully describes Shame as—

Of this princess, too, whose careful dress he so particularly describes, he says—

The maker of such was, of course, our ‘Wympler.’^[344] Among other ornaments belonging to the princess, also, is mentioned ‘a pair of beads,’ that is, bracelets of small coral, worn upon the arm, and in this case ‘gauded with green.’ A ‘Simon Wyld, Bedemaker,’ is found in the London records of this time, and no doubt ‘Thomas le Perler’ could have told us something about the same. Beside these, therefore, we may set our still existing ‘Paternosters,’ relics of the old ‘Paternostrer,’ who strung the chaplet of beads for pattering aves. ‘Paternoster Row,’ literally the ‘Paternostrer’s Row’ was some centuries ago the abode of a group of these, doubtless then busy artisans. Mr. Riley, in his interesting ‘Memorials of London,’ records a ‘William le Paternostrer’ as dwelling thereby.^[345] It is among such valuables we must undoubtedly set pins at this period. Judging by those which have descended to us, we should best describe them as ‘skewers.’ So anxious was Absolom the clerk to please Alison that, according to Chaucer, he sent her—

Whatever her appetite for the latter, there can be little doubt that the first would be acceptable enough in a day when these were so valued and costly as to be oftentimes made objects of bequeathment. Such entries as ‘Andrew le Pynner’ or ‘Walter le Pinner’ are, of course, common at this time, and their descendants still flourish in our midst. Our more rare ‘Needlers’ are but relics of such folk as ‘Richard le Nedlere’ or ‘John le Nedlemakyere.’^[346] Piers, in his Vision, speaks of—

‘Cocke Lorelle’ also mentions—

The Norman form ‘le Agguiler,’ or ‘Auguiler,’ still lives in our ‘Aguilers’ if not ‘Aguilars.’ A ‘Thomas le Agguiler’ represented York in the Parliament of 1305. Chaucer uses ‘aguiler’ in the sense of a needlecase—

But if pins and needles were valued more highly then than they are now, none the less did ‘buttons’ fulfil their own peculiar and important use. ‘Henry le Botoners’ or ‘Richard le Botyners’^[347] may be found in most of our records. I do not see, however, that their descendants have preserved the sobriquet, unless, after the fashion of several other words in our vocabulary, they are flourishing secretly among our ‘Butlers,’ and thus helping to swell the already strong phalanx that surname has mustered. While, however, all these representatives of so many though kindred occupations seem to have flourished in their separate capacities, I do not doubt but that ‘Richard le Haberdasher’ would have been able to supply most of the wares they dealt in. His was a common and lucrative employment in a day when, to judge by the contents of a shop of this kind as set down in the London Rolls, he could offer for purchase such a wide assortment as spurs and shirts, chains and nightcaps, spectacles and woollen threads, beads and pen-cases, combs and ink-horns, parchments and whipcords, gaming-tables and coffins (Riley’s ‘London Memorials,’ p. 422). There seems to be little doubt, however, that in the first place he dealt simply in the ‘hapertas,’ a kind of coarse, thick cloth much in vogue at this time, and that it was from this he acquired the name he bore.^[348]

The now, I fear, obsolete ‘Camiser’ made the ‘camis’ or chemise, or linen underdress—he was the shirtmaker, in fact. The former spelling lingered on to Spenser’s time, who writes of a

It is with him we must properly associate our ‘Smockers,’ ‘Smookers,’ and anachronistic ‘Smokers,’ who, though their chief memorial remains in the rustic smockfrock still familiar in our country districts, were nevertheless chiefly busied with the ‘smok,’ such as the patient Griselda wore. Of one of his characters Chaucer says—

Such phrases as ‘smock-treason,’ ‘smock-loyalty,’ and ‘smock-race,’ and the flower ‘Lady-smock,’^[349] still remind us that the word was once generally understood of female attire. Of the flower Shakespeare makes beautiful mention when he says—

The word slop is now well-nigh confined to the nether garments of our youngsters, but though, in this pluralized sense, it can date back to the time when the bard of Avon said of one of his personages that he was—

still, singularly used, it was in vogue far earlier. A ‘slop’ in Chaucer’s day, and even up to the fifteenth century, was a kind of frock or overmantle.^[350] In the ‘Chanon Yemannes’s Tale,’ the host expresses his surprise that the Chanon, a ‘lord of so high degree,’ should make so light of his worship and dignity as to wear garments well-nigh worn out. He says—

Our ‘Slopers’ still remind us of this. Our ‘Pilchers,’ relics of ‘Hugh le Pilecher’ or ‘Nicholas le Pilchere,’ are equally interesting. In his proverbs on covetousness and negligence, the writer I have just instanced thus speaks—

A ‘pilch’ was a large outer tippet made of fur, and worn in winter. The modern ladies’ ‘pelisse’ is but another form of the same root. Speaking of furs, however, we must not forget our ‘Furriers,’ and once common ‘Pelters’ and ‘Pellipers.’ They were engaged in the preparation of the more furry coats of the wilder animals. In the Hundred and other Rolls mention is frequently made of such names as ‘Geoffrey le Pelter’ or ‘Reyner le Peleter.’ A ‘pell’ or ‘pelt’ was any undressed skin. The ‘clerk of the Pells’ used to be the guardian of the rolls of the Exchequer, which were written upon a coarse parchment of this kind. As a general term of dress it was once of the most familiar import. Wicklyffe, in his complaint to the king, speaks of the poor being compelled to provide gluttonous priests with ‘fair hors, and jolly and gay saddles and bridles, ringing by the way, and himself in costly cloth and pelure.’ An old song written against the mendicant friars, too, says—

Among the many ordinances passed to curtail the subject’s liberty in regard to his attire, much is written on the fashion of wearing furs. It seems to have been the great mark between the higher and lower classes. In 1337 it was enacted by Edward III. that no one of those whom we now term the operative class should wear any fur on his or her dress, the fur to be forfeited if discovered. The names I have mentioned above still remain in fair numbers as a memorial of this period.

Such a name from the ‘Rolls of Parliament’ as that of ‘John Orfroiser,’ although now obsolete, reminds us of an art for which English craftsmen obtained a well-nigh European reputation in mediÆval times, that of embroidery. ‘Aurifrigium’ was the Latin word applied to it, and this more clearly betrays the golden tissues of which its workmanship mainly consisted. In the ‘Romance of the Rose,’ it is said of the fair maid ‘Idlenesse’—

The term ‘Broiderer,’^[352] however, was the more common, and with him all textures and all colours and all threads came alike. The Hebrew word in our Bible, variously rendered as ‘broidered work,’ ‘needlework,’ and ‘raiment of needlework,’ was translated in a day when this would be of the most familiar import. Our ‘Pointers’ and ‘Poynters’ manufactured the tagged lace which fastened the hose and doublet together. In Shakespeare’s ‘1 Henry IV.’ there is a playful allusion to this where Falstaff, in the act of saying—

is interrupted by the response—

It has been asserted that the presence of this name in our modern directories is entirely the result of later French refugee immigration; but such registered forms as ‘John le Poyntour,’ ‘Robert le Poynter,’ or ‘William Poyntmakere’ are found in the records of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries with sufficient frequency to justify the belief that it was a much earlier denizen than many suppose.^[353] In the former ‘Henry le Lacer’ or ‘Richard le Lacer’ we have, too, but a fellow-manufacturer. Lace, it is true, is now rather a delicate fabric of interwoven threads; once, however, it was but the braided string for fastening the different articles of dress together. Thus, the ‘shoes-latchet’ mentioned in Scripture is a mere diminutive of the word as thus used. The hose and doublet were invariably so attached. The verb ‘to lace,’ I need not add, is still entirely employed in this its literal sense. There were other means, however, of holding the several garments together, and not a few of which are still brought to our remembrance in our nomenclature. ‘Adam le Gurdlere’ or ‘Robert le Girdlere’ speaks for himself. It was for the girdle our former ‘Agnes Pouchemakers,’ ‘Henry Pouchers,’ ‘Robert le Purseres,’ and ‘Alard le Bursers’ (when not official) made the leathern pouch carried thus at her side for greater readiness by the careful housewife. Chaucer, whose sharply-cut descriptions of the dress of his company are invaluable to those who would study more closely the habits of the time, tells us of the Carpenter’s wife that—

The Norman equivalent of Girdler was ‘le Ceynturer’ (‘Nicholas le Ceynturer,’ A.) or ‘le Ceinter,’ but I have failed to find any traces of it beyond the fourteenth century.^[354] Our decayed ‘Brailers’^[355] and ‘Bregirdlers’ represent but the same occupation in more definite terms. The old English ‘brayle’ (from the Norman ‘braie’ or ‘braye,’ meaning ‘breeches’) was a waistband merely, a kind of strap, oftentimes attached to and part of the trousers themselves. The nautical phrase of ‘brailing up sails’ is, I fear, the only relic we possess conversationally of this once useful term. A ‘brailer’ (‘Roger le Braeler,’ A., ‘Stephen le Brayeler,’ X.) or ‘bregirdler’ (‘John le Bregerdelere,’ X.) was, of course, a manufacturer of these. Maundeville, in his ‘Travels,’ speaks of a ‘breek-girdille’ (p. 50). The now almost universal suspender was a later introduction, the names of ‘Bracegirdler’ and ‘Bracegirdle,’ which are not yet extinct, denoting, seemingly, the process of change by which the one gradually made way for the other. A ‘brace,’ from the Latin ‘brachium,’ the arm, encircles the shoulder as a ‘bracelet’ does the wrist. It is quite possible, however, they may be but a form of ‘breek-girdle.’ ‘Ivo le Glover’ or ‘Christiana la Glovere’ have left descendants in plenty, but they had to fight a hard battle with such naturalized foreigners as ‘Geoffery le Ganter’ or ‘Philip le Gaunter.’ At one time these latter had firmly established themselves as the nominees of the manufacture, and the only wonder to me is how we managed to prevent ‘gants’ from superseding ‘gloves’ in our common parlance. The connexion of the ‘gauntlet’ with military dress, however, has preserved that form of the term from decay. Both ‘Ganter’ and ‘Gaunter,’ I need scarcely say, are firmly set in our midst.

And now we must descend once more till we come to the lower extremities, and in a day of so much tramping it on foot we need not feel surprised if we find many memorials of this branch of the personal outfit. The once common expression for a shoemaker or cobbler was that of souter.^[356] It is of constant occurrence in our olden writers. Thus the Malvern Dreamer speaks of—

Elsewhere, too, he uses the feminine form when he makes mention of—

The masculine term, I need not remind Scotchmen, is still in colloquial use across the Border, and that it was once so in England our many ‘Souters,’ ‘Sowters,’ and ‘Suters,’ and ‘Suitors,’ misleading as these latter are, are sufficient evidence. Such entries as ‘Andrew le Soutere,’ ‘Robert le Souter,’ or ‘Richard le Sutor’ are common to old registers. In the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ ‘sowtare’ is defined as a ‘cordewaner’ or ‘cordynare,’ and this at once brings us to our ‘Cordwaners,’ ‘Cordiners,’ and ‘Codners.’ They were so termed because the goatskin leather they used came, or was supposed to have come, from Cordova in Spain. In the ‘Rime of Sire Thopas,’ that personage is thus described:—

In the ‘Libel on English Policy,’ too, we find it said of Portugal—

In the Hundred Rolls it is represented by such a name as ‘Hugh le Cordwaner’ or ‘Ranulph le Cordewaner.’^[357] ‘William le Corviser,’ from the same records, or ‘Durand le Corveser,’ held a name which struggled for some time for a place, but had finally to collapse.^[358] ‘Cobbler’ (‘Richard le Cobeler,’ A.), though it has existed as a name of occupation fully as long as any of the above, has, I believe, never been able so far to overcome the dislike to the fact of its being a mere mending or patchwork trade as to obtain for itself an hereditary place in our nomenclature. ‘Cosier’ has fared better, as have ‘Clouter’ and ‘Cloutman,’ relics of the old ‘John’ or ‘Stephen le Clutere,’ why I do not know. We all remember how the inhabitants of Gibeon ‘did work wilily, and went and made as if they had been ambassadors, and took old sacks upon their asses, and wine bottles, old and rent, and bound up, and old shoes and clouted upon their feet, and old garments upon them.’ Another name we may notice here is that of ‘Patten-maker,’ a ‘James Patyn-makere’ being found enrolled in a Norwich guild of 1385. Cocke Lorelle mentions among others:—

A patten seems in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries to have been very similar to our clog, only that the former was more easily put on and off. It was of a wooden sole, rimmed with iron. We find in 1464 the Patynmakers of London presenting a grievance in that the fletchers alone were allowed to use aspen-wood, whereas it was the ‘lightest tymbre to make of patyns or clogges.’ (Rot. Parl. iv. 567.) Mr. Way, in his Notes to the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum,’ says they were worn much by ecclesiastics to protect the feet from chill when treading the cold bare pavements of the churches, and he quotes a Harleian MS. dated 1390 regarding an archiepiscopal visitation at York: ‘Item, omnes ministri ecclesie pro majore parte utuntur in ecclesi et in processione patens et clogges contra honestatem ecclesie, et antiquam consuetudenem capituli.’ The patten-maker was evidently of some importance at this time.^[360]

Perhaps fashion never went to such an absurd extreme as it did in the fourteenth century with respect to wearing peaked shoes. An old poem entitled the ‘Complaint of the Ploughman,’ says of the friars, and alluding to their inconsistencies, that they wear—

Piers Plowman, too, speaks of a knight coming to be dubbed—

This last reminds us that they were commonly styled ‘copped shoon.’ Such a sobriquet as ‘Hugh le Coppede’ or ‘John le Copede’ would seem to refer to this. Probably the owner had carried on the practice to an even more extravagant length than his neighbours, and very likely he was one of those who caused a law to be passed in 1463 forbidding any knight, or any one beneath that rank, to wear any shoes or boots having pikes passing the length of two inches! Even this curtailment, I imagine, would astonish the weak minds of pedestrians in the nineteenth century. Of a similar craft with the shoemaker came ‘the hosier’ or ‘chaucer,’ the latter of which has become, surnominally, so famous in English literature. Though now obsolete, such a name as ‘Robert le Chaucer’ or ‘William le Chaucier’ was anything but uncommon at this time. Like ‘Suter,’ above-mentioned, it has a Latin source, its root being ‘calcearius.’ Chausses, however, were not so much boots as a kind of leathern breeches worn over mail armour. There is probably, therefore, but little distinction to be made between them and the ‘hose’ of former days, though it is somewhat odd that leather, which once undoubtedly was the chief object of the hosier’s attention, should now in his shop be conspicuous by its absence. While ‘Chaucer’ has long ago become extinct, ‘Hosier’ or ‘Hozier’ is firmly established in our nomenclature. Thus we see that clothing is not without its mementoes.

A curious surname is presented for our notice in our ‘Dubbers,’ not to be confounded with our ‘Daubers’ already mentioned. To ‘dub’ was to dress, or trim, or decorate. Thus, with regard to military equipment, Minot says in one of his political songs—

It is thus we have acquired our phrase ‘to dub a knight.’ The term, however, became very general in the sense of embellishing, rather than mere dressing, and it is to this use of the word we owe the surname. Thus, in the ‘Liber Albus’ we find a ‘Peter le Dubbour’ recorded, whose trade was to furbish up old clothes; he was a fripperer in fact. In the York Pageant, already referred to more than once, we see the ‘Dubbers’ walking in procession between the ‘Bookbinders’ and ‘Limners,’ and here they were evidently mere trimmers or decorators externally of books. In another register we find a ‘dubbour,’ so called because as a hawker of fish he was in the habit of putting all the fine ones at the top of his basket, a trick still in vogue in that profession, I fear.^[361] In all these cases we see that ‘adornment’ or ‘embellishment’ is the main idea. I need not remind my more North-country readers how every gardener still speaks of ‘dubbing’ when he heaps up afresh the soil about his flowers and plants. The old forms of the name were ‘Jordan le Dubber,’ ‘Payen le Dubbour,’ and ‘Ralph le Douber,’ which last most nearly approaches its root, the old Norman-French ‘adouber,’ to arrange.

A curious occupation is preserved from oblivion in our somewhat rare ‘Raffmans.’ We have the root meaning of the word in our ‘reft’ and ‘bereft,’ implicative of that which is snatched away or swept off. Thus we still use ‘riff-raff’ in regard to the off-scouring of the people. A raff-merchant was a dealer in lumber of any kind. In the Guild of Saint George, Norwich, 1385, we find not merely the name of ‘John Raffman,’ but such entries as ‘Robert Smith, raffman,’ or ‘John Smith, rafman.’ The term ‘raff’ for a low fellow is not yet obsolete, and Tennyson, when he says

is only using a sobriquet which, until recently, was a very familiar one in the mouths of our peasantry. I have placed the surname here because I doubt not the occupation whence it sprung was chiefly in respect of trimmings, and the shearings of cloth, wool, and such like articles of merchandise.

Another surname we must consider here is that belonging to ‘Ketel le Mercer’ or ‘Henry le Mercer,’ now found also as ‘Marcer.’ We see in the very title that the term has engrossed a sense not strictly its own, and that, though we visit the mercer’s shop for silken goods, he was originally a dealer in every kind of ware. He represented in mediÆval times, in fact, the storekeeper of our colonies. Indeed I believe that to this day in some of our more retired country parts the mercer will supply his customers with haberdashery, drugs, draperies, hardware, and all general wants, saving actual comestibles. Mr. Lower quotes an old political song against the friars, in which this more correct sense of the word is conveyed—

Our ‘Chaloners’ and ‘Challenors,’ representatives of such old names as ‘Peter le Chaloner,’ ‘Jordan le Chaluner,’ or ‘Nicholas le Chalouner,’ originated in a foreign but most useful manufacture. Chalons-sur-Marne, at this time one of the most thriving towns of the Continent, was chiefly renowned for its woollen and worsted stuffs, and a peculiar coverlet of this sort, called by the special name of a ‘chalon,’ became celebrated over the more civilized world. In the ‘Reves’ Tale’ we are told of the miller that—

Any importer or manufacturer of these was a ‘Chaloner.’ In a public solemn pageant held in 1415 in the City of York, at the end of a list of trades to be represented, there follows this: ‘It is ordained that the Porters and Coblers should go first, then, of the right, the Wevers and Cordwaners: on the left, the Fullers, Cutlers, Girdellers, Chaloners, Carpenters, and Taillyoures: then the better sort of citizens,’ etc. (‘History and Antiquities of York,’ vol. ii. p. 126.) The trade name seems to have died out about the end of the fifteenth century. How corrupted a word may become in the lapse of time may be seen in the modern ‘shalloon,’ a term used for a species of worsted cloth. In such a name as ‘Hugh le Shetare’ or ‘Roger le Shetere’ we recognize him who provided that other portion of the bed gear which is referred to in the extract from Chaucer. This name is now extinct. Not so, however, our ‘Quilters,’ who still thrive in our midst hale and hearty, and need never fear obsoletism. Doubtless, as the cold of winter set in, and its warm padded qualities began to be appreciated, the quilters would be busy enough in providing such a coverlet as this. ‘Quiltmaker’ (‘John le Quyltemaker,’ H.) is also found as a variation of the above: an old poem mentions among others—

Such a name as ‘Christiana le Heldere’ or ‘Robert le Holdere’ must, I doubt not, be set here, both forms being still in existence. They belonged, I think, to the craft of upholdsters or upholders, at this time confined, it would seem, entirely to the manufacture and sale of mattresses, bolsters, pillows, and quilts, anything of a padded nature connected with bed furniture.^[363] The insertion of flocks and feathers and the stitching together of such would seem to be a woman’s work, and this is the clue, I suspect, to the fact of our now using the feminine form of upholdster. There is a curious complaint made to Parliament in 1495, by the metropolitan upholders, that ‘Quyltes, mattres, and cussions (were) stuffed with horse hair, fen downe, neetis here, deris here (deers’ hair), and gotis here, which is wrought in lyme fattes and by the hete of mannys body the savour and taste is so abhomynable and contagious that many of the King’s subgettis thereby been destroied.’^[364] It is prayed, therefore, that only one kind of stuff be allowed to be inserted in any one of these articles (‘Stat: of Realm,’ Henry VII.). In ‘Henry le Canevacer’ or ‘Richard le Canevacer’ we are carried back to a class of now all but entirely decayed trade. The canvaser, of course, turned out canvas, and this more especially for bags for the conveyance of the raw wool, or for tapestry purposes. In an old poem relating to German imports, it is said at the close—

Tapestry work would engage much of this. Hangings of this kind, ere wainscot came into use, were the ordinary decorations of the baronial apartment, covering as they generally did the entire length of the lower wall. In the ‘Boke of Curtasye’ we are told of the duties of one officer—

The name of ‘Tapiser,’ for one who wove this article, is familiarized to us as that of one of the immortal company who sat down together at the ‘Tabard’ in Southwark. Our modern ‘Tapsters,’ I doubt not, afford but another example of a surname engrossing what have been originally two separate and distinct titles. In an old sacred pageant given in York in 1415, amongst other trades represented we find coupled together the ‘Couchers’ and ‘Tapisers.’^[365] Our ‘Couchers’ and ‘Couchmans’ are thus explained. They were evidently engaged less in the wooden framework, as we might have supposed, than in the manufacture of the cushions that covered it, and doubtless, like the broiderer mentioned above, worked in gold and silver and coloured threads the raised figures thereon.^[366] Thus we must ally them with such names as ‘Robert le Dosier’ or ‘Richard le Dosyere,’ makers of the ‘doss,’ a technical term given at this time for cushions or stools worked in tapestry.^[367] Thus the same book which I have just quoted says of the groom’s duties—

As a specific name for productions of this class the word is now quite obsolete, though familiar enough in early days; tapestry indeed, in general, has ceased to be popular, and is now all but entirely confined professionally to the weaving of carpets, and as an amateur art among ladies to those figured screens so much in vogue not more than one or two generations ago, traces of which still remain in the framed embroideries yet lingering in many of our drawing-rooms—embroideries of cats with grizzly whiskers and tawny terriers—embroideries which as children we heard with bated breath had been worked by our grandmothers when they were little girls, and thus we realised for the first time, not so much that they had done these wonderful things as that they had once been small at all, like ourselves.

We have no surname to represent the weaving of carpets, as this was an introduction of much later date than most of our other household comforts in the way of furniture. In Brand’s ‘Popular Antiquities’ an interesting quotation is given from Hentzner’s ‘Itinerary,’ who, describing Queen Elizabeth’s Presence Chamber at Greenwich, says, ‘The floor, after the English fashion, was strewed with hay.’ The strewing of church pews with rushes was common until recent times, and in the North of England the peculiar customs attaching to the ‘Rush-bearing,’ a kind of ‘wakes,’ are not yet extinct. It is fair to add, however, that carpets were in course of introduction at the beginning of the sixteenth century; an old poem of that date mentions—

Before proceeding any further we had better introduce our ‘Lavenders,’ or washers, for be it linen or woollen stuff, be it garment for the back or covering for the bed, all needed washing then as now. The contracted feminine ‘laundress’ is still in common use. That the masculine form, however, was early applied to the other sex is proved in the ‘Legend of Good Women,’ where we are told—

The gradation from ‘lavenderie’ to ‘laundry’ is marked by Stowe, who in his ‘Chronicles’ writes it ‘laundery.’ By similar contractions our ‘Lavenders’ are now found also in the other forms of ‘Launder’ and ‘Lander.’ An old poem says—

‘Alicia la Lavendar’ figures in the Hundred Rolls. Doubtless, like our more Saxon ‘Washers,’ she was a professional washerwoman. The stiffening process, of infinitely more consequence then than now, has left its mark in such a name as ‘Ralph le Starkere,’ or even in that of ‘William Starcman,’ starch and stark being once but synonymous words. Whether it were the carefully pinched wimple or the kerchief, whether it were of silk or lawn, both alike required all the rigidity that could be imparted to them, would the head be befittingly adorned. Employed, therefore, either in the sale of the starch itself or in the work of stiffening the dress, we find men of such a title as the above. Doubtless they are referred to by the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote’ where he speaks of—

From the outer we may now naturally and fitly turn to the provision for the inner man. Nor are we without interesting relics also in this respect. We have already described the process by which the flour was provided. The agencies in the towns for the sale of this, and the uses to which it was put, are all more or less well defined, and well established also in our present directories. I do not know whether French rolls had obtained celebrity so early as this, but the name of ‘Richard Frenshbaker’ would seem at least to give some kind of credence to the supposition. There can be no doubt, however, that he dealt in a fancy way, for in solid bread-baking the Saxon ‘Baker’ has ever kept his hands in the kneading-trough, and need never fear, so far as our nomenclature is concerned, being ousted therefrom. The feminine form has become almost equally well established among us, ‘Bagster’ or ‘Baxter’^[369] or ‘Backster’ (the latter spelling found in Foxe’s Roll of Marian martyrs) being among other forms of the old female ‘bakester.’ Piers Plowman speaks of—

and such good folk as ‘Elias le Baxter’ or ‘Ralph le Bakster’ or ‘Giliana le Bacster’ are very plentifully represented in our olden registers.^[370] Still the foreigner did not give way without a struggle. We have ‘Pollinger,’ ‘Bullinger,’ ‘Bollinger,’ and ‘Ballinger,’ as corruptions of the ‘boulanger’ or ‘Richard le Bulenger,’ as he is recorded. In our ‘Furners’ we see the representatives of such a name as ‘William le Furner’ or ‘Walter le Fernier,’ he who looked to the oven, while in the all but unaltered form of ‘Pester’ we may still not uncommonly meet with the descendants of many an old ‘Richard le Pestour’ or ‘Herman le Pestur,’ who had spent the best of his days in the bakehouse. Such a name as ‘John Pastemakere’ or ‘Gregory le Pastemakere’ or ‘Andrew le Pyebakere,’ which once existed, reminds us of the pastrycook, a member, as he then was, no doubt, of a by no means unimportant fraternity—that of the ‘Pastelers’ or ‘Pie-bakers.’ An old poem speaks of—

Best known, however, to most people would he be under the simple professional name of ‘cook.’ I need not remind any student of olden English records how familiar is ‘Roger le Coke’ or ‘William le Cook’ or ‘John Cokeman,’ nor will he be astonished at his being so well represented in all those forms in the directories of the nineteenth century. I could give endless references to show that this term was not confined to the kitchen servitor. The ‘City Archives’ give us an ordinance passed 2 Rich. II. (A.D. 1378) by the ‘Cooks and Pastelers,’ as an associated company, and Piers Plowman speaks of

‘Cook’ or ‘Coke’ certainly holds a high position in the scale of frequency at present, and, as I have had occasion to notice in another chapter, is one of those few tradal names that have taken to them the filial desinence, ‘Cookson’ being by no means uncommon. Of all these we might have said much, but to mention them must suffice, and to pass on. Solid bread-baking, however, as I have just hinted, was not the sole employment of this nature in early days. A poem I have recently quoted speaks of ‘waferers.’ Our ‘Wafers,’ relics of the old ‘Simon’ or ‘Robert le Wafre,’ seem to have confined themselves all but entirely to the provision of eucharistic bread, though they were probably vendors also of those sweet and spiced cakes which, under the name of ‘marchpanes,’ were decidedly popular. Among other gifts that Absolom the clerk gave Alison, Chaucer hints of—

and the ‘Pardoner,’ in enumerating the company of lewd folks of Flanders, speaks of ‘fruitsters,’ ‘singers with harps,’ and ‘waferers.’ Piers Plowman puts them amid still more disreputable associates. No doubt, true to the old adage, ‘near the church, never in it,’ they were wont to hang about the sacred edifice abroad and at home, offering their traffic to the devouter worshippers as they entered in. We ourselves know how searing to heart and conscience is such a life as this. That all were not of this kind we are reminded by the will of an Archbishop of York of the thirteenth century, who therein bequeaths a certain sum to two ‘waferers,’ evidently on account of their exemplary conduct while conducting their trade at the Minster door.

Chaucer, describing the prioress, says that—

she fed her small hounds. Cakes of wastel were of the purest flour and most careful bake, and were only second to the simnel in quality. Wasteler, found in such an entry as ‘John Wasteler,’ is extinct, but the shorter ‘Wastel’ still exists in our midst. Probably, in the latter case, it was originally but a sobriquet affixed to a baker of this peculiar kind of bread. It is in a similar manner, I doubt not, arose such early nicknames as ‘William Wytebred,’ or ‘John Holibread,’ or ‘Roger Blancpain,’ or ‘Josce Barlibred,’ or ‘Matilda Havercake,’ or ‘Lambert Simnel,’ the latter a name familiarized to the youngest student of English history. Strange to say, ‘Barlibred’ is the only one of this list that has disappeared from our directories, although ‘Barleycorn’ was in existence, I believe, but a few years ago. But to keep more strictly to tradesmen: I have no doubt myself it is here we must place our ‘Mitcheners,’ as makers of the ‘mitche’ or ‘mitchkin.’ The diminutive was the modern cracknel, while the larger seems to have been a small loaf of mixed flour. Chaucer, in his praise of contentment, says—

I have, however, no proof of the connexion I deem exists, so I merely mention it and pass on. We are more certain about our rare ‘Flawners’ and ‘Flanners,’^[372] once the manufacturers of the ‘flaon’ or ‘flawn,’ so popular as to have left its mark in our ‘Pancake Tuesday.’ Caxton, in his ‘Boke for Travellers,’ says, ‘of mylke and of eggs men make flawnes.’ In the story of Havelok the Dane, too, mention is made of—

A ‘Roger le Flaoner’ comes in the London Corporation records, A.D. 1307, while much about the same time I find a ‘Walter le Flawner’ in the Parliamentary writs.

I have kept our ‘Panyers’ and ‘Panniers’ till the last, because there is just a shade of doubt as to whether they owe their name to the manufacture of the basket so called or to the hawking of bread, the very practice of which custom, so familiar as it was then, has given us the term. The original meaning of ‘pannier,’ the French ‘panier,’ was bread-basket, and the word seems to have acquired a peculiar prominence from the fact that in mediÆval times bakers, through being the subjects of a careful supervision, were forbidden to sell their bread anywhere but in the public market—nay, so particular were the authorities with regard to this that an officer was specially appointed to watch the ‘hutches,’ boxes, or baskets in which the loaves were exposed. A surname ‘Robert le Huchereve’ is even found in the Guildhall records as a relic of this. We can thus readily understand how hawkers of these portable covers or baskets would acquire the sobriquet of ‘panyers.’ Certain it is we find such entries as ‘Simon le Pannier,’ ‘Robert le Pannere,’ ‘Amiscus Panarius,’ or ‘Geoffrey Panyman,’ while in another register the occupation of ‘panyere’ is distinctly mentioned. We can equally readily understand how from this the term itself would, in course of time, obtain a wider and more general sense. That it has done so the donkey’s panniers are a proof. It is, however, somewhat strange, when we reflect upon it, that perhaps the last thing we should expect to see borne in this fashion in the present day would be that very article to which the receptacle itself owed its name.

It is somewhat remarkable that while our directories possess many records of the early manufacture of and traffic in cheese, yet there are no names whatever in the present day, I believe, and barely any in the past, which are associated with the most important of all country produce—butter.^[373] The most satisfactory clue to the difficulty will be to suppose that the cheese-merchant of that day, as often in the present, dealt in both articles. This is the more likely, as the many sobriquets given to dealers in cheese in the fourteenth century would appear to give that edible, important as it was and is, a greater prominence than singly it deserved. Thus we find such names as ‘Edward le Cheseman’ or ‘Robert le Chesemaker,’ ‘John le Chesewright,’ or ‘William le Cheswright,’ or ‘Alen le Chesmongere,’ as representatives of the Saxons, figuring somewhat conspicuously in the registers of the period.^[374] For the foreign element, too, cognomens were not wanting. ‘Benedict’ or ‘Michael le Casiere’ may even now be living in our ‘Cayzers,’ if they be not but another form of ‘Kaiser,’ and ‘Wilkin le Furmager’ or ‘William le Formager’ in our ‘Firmingers,’ is in no risk of immediate oblivion. The majority of the Saxon forms, I need scarcely add, are also thriving in our midst.

It may seem somewhat strange that ‘grocer,’ of all trades the most important, so far as the kitchen is concerned, should be so rarely represented in our nomenclature. But the reason is simple enough. To sell in the gross, or wholesale, was a second and later step in commercial practice. A ‘John Guter, Grossarius,’ appears in the London City Rolls so early as 1310, but it had scarcely become a familiar name of trade till the close of the fourteenth century.^[375] In 1363 a statute of Edward III. speaks concerning ‘Merchauntz nomez Grossers,’ so termed because they ‘engrossent totes maners des marchandises vendables,’ and then enhanced the price on each separate article. Before this they had been known as the Pepperers, or Spicers Guild, such names as ‘John le Espicer’ or ‘Nicholas le Espicer’ occurring not unfrequently at this period. Spice, indeed, was the then general term for all manner of drugs, aromatic and pungent, which were brought into England by foreign and especially Venetian merchants from the East. These were carried up and down the country again by the itinerant traders, so many of whom I have already referred to in a previous chapter. An old song, written against the mendicant friars, relates that, among other of their vagaries—

As I have just stated, however, the term ‘Grocer’ superseded that of ‘Spicer,’ and as such seems to have confined its dealings to the modernly received limit at an early date. As we must have already seen, each want had always hitherto been met by its own special dealer. With us now the Cutler would supply all the ‘Knifesmith’ and ‘Spooner’ then separately furnished; while our ‘Ironmongers’ or ‘Hosiers’ or ‘Upholdsters’ would each swallow up half-a-dozen of former occupations. Thus it was here. Our ‘John le Saucers’ or ‘Ada la Saucers’ provided salt pickle.^[376] As with the ‘Frankelein,’ so with many another there—

‘Peter le Salter’ or ‘Hugh Saltman’ furnished forth the chloride itself; ‘William le Mustarder’ or ‘Peter le Mustardman,’ or ‘Alice Mustard-maker,’ the mustard; ‘Thomas le Pepperer,’^[377] now spelt ‘Pepper,’ the pepper; ‘Ralph le Soper’ or ‘Adam le Savonier,’ the soap. Each set before his customers’ eyes those peculiar articles of household consumption their names severally represent. All these, having flourished in the earlier age, established for themselves a better place in our register than our rare ‘Grosers’ or ‘Grossers,’ who in this respect only appeared in time to save themselves from oblivion, though they have long ago revenged themselves on their humbler brethren by swallowing up entire the occupations they followed. It is curious to note that in later days, through the various accessions of luxury, the result in well-nigh every case of foreign discovery, even ‘Grocer’ has failed to comprehend all. In our country villages we all but invariably find added ‘and licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, snuff, &c.’ In our towns, however, this addendum has been dropped, and a ‘grocer’s shop’ is the place we turn to, without thought of refusal, for these modern introduced luxuries. What changes in our domestic resources are here presented for our notice! In my previous chapter it was the over-abundance of certain rural and primitive surnames which told the story of the times in which they sprang. The contrary is here the case. It is in the absence of particular names, some of which I have already noticed, we have the best guide to the extraordinary changes that have taken place in our household economy. Look at our tea-table. Already in the two short centuries from its introduction this article has given its name to a special meal, having thrown the once afternoon supper into a nocturnal repast. Even Shakespeare could only say—

How strangely would it have affected our nomenclature had this and other like novelties been brought in earlier. We should have had ‘William le Coffyer’ giving us endless anxiety in the endeavour to separate it from the actual ‘Godfrey le Coffrer.’ We should have had, too, such folk as ‘John le Riceman,’ ‘Walter le Snuffer,’ ‘Ralph le Tobacconer,’ shortened into ‘Bacconer,’ and the still more awkward ‘le Potatoman,’ almost as inconvenient as ‘Garlickmonger,’ though doubtless it would have been quickly curtailed into ‘Taterman’ or ‘Taterer’ or ‘Tatman’ and ‘Tatter,’ and later on again into other forms too obscure to contemplate. The very recounting of these changes, which are strictly on a par with other names of a less hypothetical character, serve to impress us with the difficulties we have to encounter in the task of deciphering many of our surnames after the wear and tear they have undergone through lapsing generations.

But I must not wander. The sale of vegetables and fruits left its mark in our former ‘John le Fruemongers’ and ‘Ralph le Frueters,’ and ‘Hugh le Fruters;’ ‘Richard le Graper’ testifying seemingly to a more specific dealing. Our ‘Butchers’ of course have been busy enough from the day that the Normans brought them in. The variety of spelling which is found in olden records of this name is so great that I dare not attempt a list, but I believe there still exist, sans the article, such of the old forms as ‘le Bouchier,’ ‘le Bowcher,’ and ‘le Bowsher,’ while ‘Botcher’ is at least not altered in sound from ‘le Bochere’ of the same period—‘Labouchere,’ which preserves this article, is of more modern introduction from the Gallic shore. But the Norman was not without his rivals. Such names as ‘Walter le Fleshmongere,’ or ‘Eudo le Flesshemongere,’ or ‘Richard le Flesmongere,’^[379] prove that the Saxon did not give up even this branch of daily occupation without a struggle, and in the two isolated cases of ‘William Fleschour’ and ‘John Fleshewer’ that I have lit upon we are reminded that Scotland, with its still flourishing ‘flesher,’ is but the asylum where this truly Saxon term found its latest retreat. Even yet in England with the country folk the butchers’ shambles are the ‘flesh-market.’ That ‘Fleshmonger’ was the colloquial term, we may prove from a list of tradesmen mentioned in ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ a poem I have already quoted several times; reference is there made to—

The ‘Pardoner,’ too, in the same poem, thus begins his roll—

But if not in the common mouth, yet in our rolls there were two other names of this craft, which we must not pass over unrecorded. They were those of ‘Carnifex’ and ‘Massacrer,’ both representing the slaughter-house, I doubt not. The existence of the former would lead us to suppose that the old Roman hangsman was settled in our midst, but it was merely a mediÆval Latinism for a butcher.^[380] After the fashion of the time nicknames were affixed upon everybody, and our ‘Butchers’ and ‘Slaughters’ did not escape. The Hundred Rolls alone register the names of ‘Reginald Cullebol,’ ‘Henry Cullebulloc,’ ‘William Cullehare,’ and ‘William Culle-hog,’ or in more modern parlance ‘Kill-bull,’ ‘Kill-bullock,’ Kill-hare,’ and ‘Kill-hog.’ The original and more correct ‘poulter,’ he who dealt in ‘poults’ or poultry, as we now term it, has bequeathed his name to our ‘Poulters’ and ‘Pulters.’ Such names as ‘Adam le Puleter,’ or ‘Bernard le Poleter,’ or ‘William le Pulter,’ by the frequency with which we come across them, show how much did the farmyard help to provide in these days for the supply of the dining-table.

says Langland, showing that in his time they were commonly exhibited for sale. Indeed, the fact that in the York Festival of 1415 the ‘bouchers’ and ‘pulterers’ walked in procession together clearly proves their importance at the period in which the surname arose.

We have already mentioned the fishmonger, or what was practically the fishmonger, the fisherman, in our last chapter while surveying rural occupations. Our rare ‘Pessoners’^[381] as representative of the Norman, and common ‘Fishers’ of the Saxon, lived in a day when under Roman ecclesiastic influences fish was of infinitely more importance than it is in this nineteenth century, when it is merely used as a go-between or mediator to soothe down the differences betwixt soup and beef. Then the year was dotted with days of abstinence, or strongly indented with seasons like Lent. Among the higher circles it mattered but little. So much had the culinary art excelled in respect of fish that such periods as they came round only brought to the epicurean mind visions of gastronomic skill that put the sterner and weightier joints utterly in the background for the time being. Pasties of herrings, congers, or lampreys were especially popular, and, judging from the lists of courses contained in some of our records, that only one of our mediÆval monarchs should have succumbed to the latter is simply an historic marvel! Dishes too were prepared from the whale, the porpoise, the grampus, and the sea-wolf. ‘It is lamentable,’ says, facetiously, a writer in ‘Chambers’s Book of Days,’ referring to these viands as Lent repasts, ‘to think how much sin they thus occasioned among our forefathers, before they were discovered to be mammalian.’

A curious name is found in the Hundred Rolls, that of ‘Symon Haryngbredere.’ In what particular way he carried on his occupation I do not know. ‘Richard le Harenger’ is more explicable. Our ‘Conders’ were partners in the fishing excursions of the above. A full account of their duties may be found in Cowel’s ‘Interpreter,’ published in 1658. The conder stood upon the higher cliffs by the sea coast in the time of herring fishing, and with a staff or branch of a tree made signs to the boatmen which way the shoal was going. It seems there is a certain discoloured aspect of the water as they pass along, which is more apparent from an elevation than from the level of the sea.^[382] In mediÆval times the plaice was a very favourite dish. The term it usually went by was that of ‘but.’ Thus it is, I doubt not, we meet with such entries, as ‘William le Butor’ or ‘Hugh Butmonger.’ From some fancied resemblance to this fish, too, it would be that such humorous sobriquets as ‘Walter le But’ or ‘John le But’ would arise.

But while good and solid food could thus be purchased on every hand, we must not forget drink, for our forefathers were great tipplers. I have already mentioned our ‘William le Viners’ or ‘Roger le Vinours,’ in most cases, I doubt not, strictly cultivators of that plant on English soil. None the less certain, however, is it that our many early ‘John le Vineturs’ or ‘Alexander le Vineters’ were also, as merchants, employed in the importation of the varied wines of the Continent into our land. How abundant and how diverse they were an old poem shall tell us—

The entry ‘Adam le Wyneter’ reminds us that in all probability it is to our early wine-merchants also we owe our ‘Winters.’ ‘Walter le Brewers,’ or ‘Emma le Brewsteres,’ or ‘Lawrence Beerbrewers,’^[383] abound on every hand. We are reminded of the last by ‘Cocke Lorelle’—

The Norman equivalent for our ‘brewer’ was ‘bracer,’ and thus it is we meet with such a name as ‘Stephen le Bracer’ or ‘Clarissa la Braceresse.’ Latinized forms are found in ‘Reginald Braciator’ or ‘Letitia Braciatrix.’ Brewing was at first entirely in the hands of women. We have here ‘brewster,’ ‘braceress,’ and ‘braciatrix,’ and such phrases as ‘alewife’ and the obsolete ‘brewife’ (though it lingered on till Shakespeare’s day) show the ale-making and ale-selling business to have been mainly hers. ‘Malter’^[384] and ‘Maltster’ or ‘Malster’ both exist, but the latter has ever denoted the avocation.^[385] ‘Tapper’ and ‘Tapster,’ too, are both occupants of our directories, but as a term of industry the latter has ever held its own.^[386] It is the same with several other occupations which we have already noticed. It is so with ‘bread-baking,’ manifesting a woman’s work. As we have already seen, the familiar expression in olden times was ‘bakester,’ now represented by our ‘Baxters.’ It is so with weaving. Our nomenclature, as I have previously shown, still preserves the ‘Webster’ and the ‘Kempster’ from being forgotten. In the winter evening, as the logfire crackled on the hearth, and while the good man was chopping wood, or tending his cattle, or mending his outdoor gear, who but his wife should be drawing woof and warp in the chimney nook? Whose work but hers should this be to clothe with her own thrifty fingers the backs of them who belonged to her? But, as with the others, her work in time became less a home occupation than a public craft, and thus it got into the hands of the male creation. While ‘Spinner’ still flourishes as a surname, the feminine ‘spinster’ never obtained a place in our nomenclature.^[387] This is no doubt to be attributed to that early position it took in regard to female relationship, which it still holds. This would naturally prevent it from losing its strictly feminine character.^[388]

A vintner went commonly by the name of a wine tunner, tunner itself being the ordinary term for one engaged in casking liquor. ‘Tun’ rather than ‘barrel’ was in use. In the ‘Confessio Amantis’ it is said of Jupiter that he—

Thus have arisen such words as ‘tunnel’ or ‘tun-dish,’ the vessel with broad rim and narrow neck, used for transferring the wine from cask to bottle. That our nomenclature should possess tokens of all this was inevitable. We find such names as ‘Edmund le Tonder’ (F.F.),^[389] ‘William Tunder’ (F.F.), ‘William le Toneleur’ (H.), ‘William le Tonier’ (H.), ‘Richard le Tundur’ (T.), ‘Hugh le Tunder’ (A.), or ‘Ralph le Toneler’ (A.) Till the close of the fifteenth century wine of home-production was the common drink, for, though beer was not by any means unknown to us, it was not till the Flemings brought us the hop that it became a familiar beverage. We all know the old couplet—

Previous to this various bitter ingredients had been admixtured, chiefly, however, wormwood. ‘John de la Bruere’ or ‘William de Bruario’ are the local surnames met with in early records.

But we have been wandering. The Mayor of York in 1273 was ‘John le Espicer, aut Apotecarius’^[390] (so the record is put), and while the two trades were distinct in character, there can be no doubt at the period referred to there would be much in common between them. The one would sell certain spices and drugs as ingredients for dishes, while the other disposed of the same for medicinal uses. Our ‘Potticarys,’ of course, represent the latter. The term itself, professionally speaking, is fast becoming obsolete, having been forced into the background by our ‘chemists’ and ‘druggists.’ But in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries it was the one name for all such. In the ‘Pardoner’s Tale’ the abbreviated form^[391] is familiarly used—

Such men as ‘John le Chirurgien’ or ‘Thomas le Surigien’ are occasionally found, but through the fact of the craft being all but entirely in the hands of the barber, they are rare, and I do not see that they have surnominally bequeathed us any descendants. Even so late as the reign of Elizabeth this connection seems to have commonly existed. In the orders and rules for an academy for her wards the following passage occurs with respect to the teaching of medicine:—‘The Phisition shall practize to reade Chirurgerie, because, thorough wante of learning therein, we have verie few good Chirurgions, yf any at all, by reason that Chirurgerie is not now to be learned in any other place than in a Barbor’s shoppe. And in that shoppe most dawngerous, especially in time of plague, when the ordinary trimming of men for clenlynes must be done by those which have to do with infected personnes.’^[392] That ‘Thomas Blodlettere’ and ‘William Blodlettere’ should be conspicuous by their absence in modern rolls is not surprising. Their former existence, however, reminds us how in the past the fleshy arms of our forefathers were constantly exposed to this once thought panacea for all physical ills. It has long ceased, however, to be the resortment it was, and science, by taking it out of the tonsor’s hands, has left it to the wiser discretion of a more cultivated and strictly professional class. We have no traces of the dentist, as he too was absorbed in the barbitonsorial craft. Some lines, quoted by Mr. Hotten in his interesting book on ‘Signboards,’ remind us of this—

Here, therefore, we see one more explanation of the plentifulness of our ‘Barbers,’ ‘Barbours,’ ‘Barbors,’ and more uncouth-seeming ‘Barbars.’ The old records give us an equal or even greater variety in such registrations as ‘John le Barber,’ ‘Richard le Barbour,’ ‘Nicholas le Barbur,’ ‘Thomas le Barbitonsor,’ or ‘Ralph Tonsor;’^[393] while feminine skill in operating upon the chins of our forefathers is commemorated in such an entry as ‘Matilda la Barbaresse.’ It is just possible, however, that she kept an apprentice, although such things are still to be seen, I believe, as women-shavers. But the one chief sobriquet for the medical craft, and the one which, excepting our ‘Barbers,’ has made the deepest indenture upon our nomenclature, was that of ‘Leech’—was, I say, for saving in our cow-leeches it is now, professionally speaking, obsolete. In our many ‘Leeches,’ ‘Leaches,’ and ‘Leachmans,’ however, its reputation is not likely soon to be forgotten. With the country folk it was the one familiar term in use. Langland, while speaking of—

makes mention also of—

‘Le Leche’ is the general spelling of earlier times, and it is that of the lines just quoted.^[394] The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘Hugh le Leche,’ while ‘Robert le Leche’ figures in the Parliamentary Writs.

Having just referred to the barber, we may here introduce an obsolete surname somewhat connected with his craft, that of ‘le Loveloker.’ In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the lovelock was as familiar as the chignon is in the nineteenth, only that the former was worn alike by men and women. They wore curls or plaits of hair, oftentimes adorned with bows or ribbons, and hung in front of the ear and about the temples. If false, the hair was fastened by means of adhesive plaster. In the ‘Affectionate Shepherd’ it is thus alluded to—

How long this custom existed, and how commonly the exquisites of the period wore these pendants, we may judge by the fact of a ‘Walter le Loveloker’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls of the fourteenth century. Probably he added to this the craft of peruke-maker, and between the two, I doubt not, throve and grew fat—for wigs too were an early institution. The surname of occupation has been long obsolete, but the simpler ‘Lovelock’ is firmly set in our registers.

In a day when the luxury of gas was unknown, and the hearth, burning more generally with wood than coal, would throw but a chequered light athwart the room, we ought not to be surprised to find the chandlery business to be somewhat demonstrative, and so it is. In such a name as ‘Michel le Oyneter’ or ‘Hointer,’ we are reminded of the old melter of grease, and of the equally old English term ‘to oint,’ for to ‘anoint.’ With him, therefore, we may associate such of his confrÈres as ‘William le Candelmaker,’ ‘Roger le Chaundeler,’ ‘Richard le Chaundler,’ ‘William le Candeler,’^[395] or ‘Thomas le Candleman,’ names all in existence formerly, some of which still abide with us. In ‘William le Cirgier’ we are once more reminded of the earlier religious rites of our Church and its many vigils, from a performance of which he who dealt in wax tapers, or cierges, as they were then styled, would derive no doubt a steady gain. In the ‘Romance of the Rose’ we are told—

With these latter then it is we must associate such a name as ‘John Wexmaker.’

While, however, we are dwelling upon such and similar wants in the domestic consumption, we are naturally led to make inquiry concerning the utensils in fashion at this period, and of those who provided them. Of drinking vessels we have many, for, as we have previously hinted, this was a decidedly drinking age. Chief of all was the ‘Mazerer.’ No word could be in more familiar use in the day we are speaking of than the ‘macer’ or ‘maslin,’ carved from the maple. It was the favourite bowl of all classes of society. By the rich it was valued according as it was made from the knotted grain, or chased and rimmed with gold and silver and precious gems. We are told of Sire Thopas how that—

There is scarce a record of any magnitude or importance which has not its several surnames derived from the occupation of carving this cup, and as the term itself was variously pronounced and spelt, so did the name vary. For instances the Hundred Rolls give us ‘Adam le Mazerer;’ the Close Rolls, ‘William le Macerer;’ the Warranty Rolls, ‘William le Mazeliner;’ and the London Records give us again a ‘John le Mazerer.’ Besides these we have ‘Mazelyn,’ ‘Maselyn,’ and ‘Mazarin,’ probably sign-names, the latter familiarised to us in the celebrated Cardinal of that name. Strange to say, ‘Maslin’ and ‘Masser,’ or ‘Macer,’ all rare, are now the only relics we possess of this once well-known surname and occupation. No instance I can furnish more clearly demonstrates the uncertainty of descent in our personal nomenclature. Such a name as ‘Geoffrey le Hanaper’ or ‘William Hampermaker’ bequeaths us a strange story of changed circumstance. The shorter appellation, common enough at this time, still lives in our ‘Hampers.’ While the macer was invariably of maple, the ‘hanap,’ or two-handed goblet, might be of wood or metal. From the fact of a ‘hanaper,’ Latinized in our archives into ‘hanaperium,’ being the crate where these hanaps were kept, it acquired a secondary sense of a repository for things of a more general character. Thus has arisen the ‘Hanaper Office’^[396] in Chancery, where writs were treasured up in a basket; and thus also it is that we now talk of a ‘hamper,’ a term so delightfully familiar to schoolboys about Christmas time. Our common ‘Bowlers’ represent such olden personages as ‘Robert le Bollere’ or ‘Adam le Boloure,’ they who made the cheap wooden ‘bowl’ or ‘boll.’ The old spelling still survives botanically in such a phrase as we find in the Authorized Version, where it speaks of the ‘flax being bolled,’ that is, the seed vessel was forming. It is always so spelt with our mediÆval writers. Thus Glutton, in the ‘Plowman’s Vision,’ after sleeping away his last drunken bout, wakes, and—

‘William le Cuppere’ and ‘Richard le Kuppere,’ while engaged in the same occupation, are, speaking surnominally, absorbed, I doubt not, by our ‘Coopers’ and ‘Cowpers.’ ‘Copper’ may be but another antique form of the same. Langland speaks of—

I shall have occasion almost immediately to mention Chaucer, as speaking of ‘turning cups,’ which would seem to infer that they too were often made of wood.

Another name once existing was that of ‘Doubler,’ a maker or seller of the ‘doubler’ or ‘dobeler,’ or dish; a term derived from the French ‘doublier.’ The word is still in use in the North of England,^[397] and both ‘Doubler’ and ‘Doubleman’ are in our directories of to-day. The name of ‘Scutelaire’ must be set here also, though when we think of our modern coalscuttle we might imagine it somewhat of an interloper. A change, however, has come over the stricter meaning of the word. A ‘scutel’ was formerly nothing more nor less than a wooden or metallic dish or platter used on our early dressoirs for culinary purposes. It seems ever to have had its place in the dining-hall, for in the household expenses of Bishop Swinfield (Camden Soc.) we find the entry, ‘xv. scutellis, xvii. salsariis.’ The learned editor of this book, commenting upon this passage, says, ‘“scutella” is a word of somewhat extensive application to dishes or platters, saucers or salvers, and it is retained in our present English “scuttle.”’ I doubt not with him that while ‘scutum,’ a shield, is the root, the term is here intended to refer to the large flat spoons or plates used for the sauce-dishes. It is from his resemblance to these that some wide-mouthed country bumpkin is set down in the Hundred Rolls as ‘Arnold Scutelmuth,’ while the occupation of making them finds its memorial in the Rolls of Parliament in such a sobriquet as ‘James le Scutelaire.’ Speaking, however, of the dining table, we may here mention the cutler. Of such a name as ‘Henry Knyfesmythe’ I have already had occasion to hint. The cutler enjoyed, or perhaps I ought to say was the victim of, a very uncertain orthography in mediÆval times, and some of the forms found are extremely curious. I may cite such personages as ‘Richard le Cutyler,’ ‘John le Cotiler,’ ‘Peter le Cotyler,’ ‘Henry le Coteler,’ or ‘Solomon le Cotiller’ as representative of those which were then most in vogue. All are now content, it would seem, to be absorbed in the simple ‘Cutler.’ Strange to say, I cannot find a single ancestor of our familiar ‘Spooner.’ A mediÆval rhymester, however, speaks of ‘sponers, turners, and hatters.’ With many of these names I have just mentioned the ironmonger would have much to do. The uncertain form of the term used for this material gave rise to three familiar words, those of ‘iron,’ ‘ise,’ or ‘ire.’ Trevisa speaks of England as being plenteous in ‘veynes of metayls, of bras, of yre, of leed, of tyn, of selver.’^[398] Thus while ‘Henry le Ironmonger’ dealt, as no one of my readers will doubt, in vessels and utensils of the material his name suggests, it is not to be supposed that ‘Geoffrey le Iremonger’ or ‘William le Irremongere’ was but a cant nickname for one of splenetic temperament; or that in ‘Isabel le Isemonger’ or ‘Agnes la Ismongere’ we have traces of any disposition for those frozen creams which in the hot summer time we of the nineteenth century are so glad to seek on the confectioner’s counter. All alike were hardware manufacturers. The present forms are ‘Iremonger,’ ‘Irmonger,’ and ‘Ironmonger.’

It may seem strange that wood should hold such a conspicuous position in work of a culinary nature, but it is with good reason. We must remember all our ornamental fictile vessels were unknown to our forefathers. It was not till the close of the sixteenth century they came into any settled use. It is to this circumstance we must doubtless refer the extraordinary prevalence of our ‘Turners.’ Not the least important articles of their workmanship would be the vessels they turned off from the lathe. That Jack-of-all-trades, the Miller of Trumpington, could, according to Chaucer, amongst his many other achievements, ‘turn cuppes.’^[399] When wood, however, was not used, the utensils were of the roughest character—mugs, jars, and such like vessels, formed of the common baked and glazed clay, and reserved for the ruder requirements of the household. Our ‘Stephen le Crockers’ and ‘John le Crokers’ (P. W.)—for both forms then as now are found—made simply the glazed crock, or ‘crouke,’ as Chaucer has it, used for holding butter or milk or such like store—vessels, in fact, reserved for the scullery or the pantry rather than the parlour or hall. John de Trevisa, writing in 1387, says in his description of Britain: ‘There is also white clay, and red for to make of crokkes, and steenes (stone jars) and other vessels.’ The same may be said of our ‘Jarmans.’ Most of our domestic utensils, therefore, if not of wood or clay, were made of metal, and this generally of a mixed kind. ‘Henry le Brasour’ or ‘Robert le Brazur,’ now ‘Brazier’ or ‘Brasher,’ worked in brass; ‘Thomas le Latoner,’ or ‘William le Latoner,’ in latten or bronze;^[400] while a mixture of lead and tin fully employed the wits and hands of our ‘Pewters,’ ‘Pewtrers,’ and ‘Founders.’^[401] We must not suppose therefore, that ‘John le Discher’ or ‘Robert le Disshere’ (with their once feminine partner, ‘Margaret la Disheress’), and ‘Ranulf le Poter’ or ‘Adam le Potter’ or ‘Thomas Potman,’^[402] laboured after the modern style. The ‘disher’ all but invariably worked in pewter,^[403] and the ‘potter,’ if not in the same, could only resort to common clay as an alternative. ‘Calisher’ is probably the old ‘le Calicer’ or ‘Chalicer.’ The more modern spelling is found in the London Records, in 1310, where mention is made of ‘Ralph de Chichestre, Chalicer.’ The ‘chalice’ has now, however, allied itself so entirely with the sacramental office of our Church that it is hard to regard it in the light of an ordinary utensil. As a trade-sign a chalice would be readily conspicuous, and to this we owe, no doubt, our ‘Challis’s’ and ‘Challices.’

While speaking, however, of drinking vessels, I must perforce allude to the horner. I need not remind my reader how many are the descendants of such a man as ‘Richard le Horner’ or ‘John le Horner,’ but it may not equally have struck him how all-important would be his trade at such a period as this. That his chief manufacture was that of the musical horn I cannot doubt, so used as it was officially or ordinarily, at fair and festival, at dance and revelry, in time of peace and in time of war. The ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ describes it as ‘hornare, or horne-maker.’ Still this would not be all—far from it. Windows were commonly made of this material, frames were constructed of it, the child’s horn-book being but a memory of this; lanterns were formed of it, cups of all sizes were fashioned from it, chessmen were manufactured out of it. In the ‘Franklin’s Tale’ descriptive of Winter it is said—

As a sign-name ‘at the horn’ would be a common expression, and certainly we have had plenty of ‘Horns,’ if not the ‘horn of plenty,’ at all times during the last six hundred years.

Turning for a moment to vessels of a more general character, our ‘Coopers’ or ‘Cowpers’^[404] or ‘Coupers’ have ever flourished extensively. Such forms as ‘Thomas le Cuper,’ ‘Warin le Couper,’ or ‘Richard le Cupare’ are found on every side; while even such entries as ‘Richard Cowpeman’ or ‘Roger Cowperese’ may be occasionally alighted upon. The term ‘coop’ is not in itself in common use now—indeed, saving in composition, as in hencoop, for instance, it is all but obsolete. The Norman and more correct ‘cuve’ gave us such early names as ‘Ralph le Cuver’ or ‘John le Cover,’ or ‘Adam le Covreur’ or ‘Robert le Coverur,’ the latter being one more example of a reduplicated termination.^[405] Our modern ‘Covers,’ however, preserve the earlier and more simple form. Our ‘Cadmans,’ once written ‘Cademans,’ framed the cade or barrel, the sign-name of which gave us the notorious Jack Cade of early insurrectionary times. Shakespeare facetiously suggests a different origin when he makes Dick the butcher to insinuate that it was for—

In either case the same word is used, and the derivation in no way impeached. Our ‘Barrells’ are either sign-names also, or but corruptions of such an old entry as ‘Stephen le Bariller.’ ‘Alexander le Hopere’ and ‘Andrew le Hopere,’ now ‘Hooper,’ explain themselves.^[406] Doubtless they would be busy enough at this time in strengthening these several barrels, cuves, coops, and cades with pliant bands, whether of wood or metal. Speaking, however, of wooden bands, reminds us of our ‘Leapers,’ ‘Leapmans,’ and ‘Lipmans.’ A ‘leap’ was a basket of flexible, but strong, materials, its occurrence in our old writers being so frequent as to need no example.^[407] The ‘maund’ was similar in character, but made of more pliant bands, probably of rushes, for we find it in common use by our early fishermen. Our ‘Maunders’ and ‘Manders’ are, I think, to be set here, therefore, either as manufacturers or as wayside beggars, who bore them as the receptacles of the doles they got. Another supposition is that they were beggars who acquired the sobriquet because they maundered out their petition for alms. I cannot but think the former is the more likely derivation, our Maundy Thursday itself having got its name from the practice of doling out the gifts for the poor from the basket then so named.

But we have not even yet completed our list of surnames derivable from manufactures of this class. Our ‘Coffers’ represent seemingly the same word in a twofold capacity. We find occasional records where the cofferer was undoubtedly an official servant, a treasurer, one who carried the money of his lord in his journeys up and down.^[408] More often, however, he was a tradesman, a maker or dealer in coffers or coffins, the two words being once used altogether indiscriminately.^[409] Many of my readers who are familiar with Greek will recognise the more literal translation and meaning of the word in Wicklyffe’s rendering of Mark vi. 43. ‘And they token the relyves of broken mete, twelve coffyns full.’ Lacking any other name to represent the undertaker’s business, I doubt not our early ‘William le Cofferers’ and ‘Godfrey le Coffrers’ were quite able and willing to furnish forth this portion of the funeral outfit. These early surnames, then, must be set beside our already explained ‘Arkwrights,’ while, as sign-names, our ‘Coffins’ and ‘Coffers’ (supposing the latter not to be a curter form of ‘Coffrer’) will be as readily recognisable.

While, however, wood, clay, and the various cheaper metals were thus brought into requisition to provide the utensils of the household and the means of carriage, we must not forget that leather, too, had its uses in these respects. It is this lets us into the secret of the numerosity of our ‘Butlers.’ Important as undoubtedly was the ‘Boteler’ to the feudal residence, that fact alone would scarcely account for the large number of ‘le Botillers’ or ‘le Botelers’ we find in every considerable roll. The fact is, the name was both official and occupative. Of this there can be no doubt. In the York Pageant of 1415 we find walking in procession together with the ‘Pouchmakers’ the ‘Botillers’ and the ‘Cap-makers,’ all obviously engaged in the leather manufacture. The phrase ‘like finding a needle in a bottle of hay’ still preserves the idea of a bottle as understood by our forefathers four hundred years ago—that of a leathern case, whether for holding liquid or solids.^[410] The hay-bottle was doubtless the bag that hung at the girth, from which, as is still the case, the driver baited his horse. Bottles for liquids were commonly of leather. The ‘black-jack’ was always such. It is of this an old ballad sings—

Thus we see that the ‘Botiller’ was, after all, in some cases but identical with the old pouch-maker, represented in our old rolls by such folk as ‘Henry Poucher’ or ‘Agnes Pouchmaker.’ Another and more Norman term for this latter was that of ‘Burser’ or ‘Purser,’ though in later days both forms have come to occupy a more official position. Such names as ‘Alard le Burser’ or ‘Robert le Pursere’ are of frequent occurrence. Nor, again, while speaking of leather, can we omit a reference to the old ‘Henry Male-maker,’ who made up travelling bags. ‘Cocke Lorelle’ mentions—

The modern postal mail has but extended its earlier use. We may remember in the ‘Canterbury Tales’ so pleased were the company at the end of the first story, that the host said—

We must not forget, however, that many of these baskets and boxes would require cordage then as now. Piers Plowman mentions ‘Robyn the Ropere,’ and both name and occupation are still familiar amongst us. In the Fabric Roll of York Minster is mentioned a ‘William Raper,’ 1446; and again in 1457, under the head of ‘Custos canabi,’ one ‘Thomas Kylwake, rapor.’ Both forms are equally common in our directories. As representative of the more technical part of the industry we may cite ‘Thomas le Winder’ and ‘Richard le Windere,’ whose progeny still dwell among us. ‘Adam le Corder’ or ‘Peter le Corder,’ or ‘George le Stringer’ or ‘Thomas Strengfellowe,’ carry us back to names of the commonest import in the fourteenth century. The—

are set together by an old rhymer. But I have already said something about them in connection with our ‘Bowyers’ and ‘Fletchers,’ so I will pass on.

There are but few traces in our nomenclature of more delicate workmanship. Much of our jewellery came from abroad. Most of that fashioned in England was under the skilled eye of the Jew. Still ‘Robert le Goldbeter’ or ‘Henry le Goldsmith’ is not an uncommon entry at this time. The Norman equivalent was met by such a name as ‘Roger le Orfevre’ or ‘Peter le Orfeure,’ and these lingered on in a more or less full form till the seventeenth century. Their memorial, too, still survives in our ‘Offers’ and ‘Offors.’^[411] Ivory was much used, too, and our ‘Turners’ here also were doubtless very busy. A pretty little casket of this material, called a ‘forcer,’ small and delicately carved, used in general for storing away jewellery and other precious gems, was decidedly popular among the richer ranks of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In an old poem, sometimes set down to Chaucer, it is said—

Our present ‘Forcers’ and early ‘Nicholas le Forcers’ and ‘Henry le Forcers’ represent this. Our use of ivory tablets is not yet obsolete, though of late years the wondrous cheapness of paper and the issue of pocketbooks and annuals have threatened to absorb their existence. Of somewhat larger size were the ‘tables’ of this time. Chaucer, in portraying the Limitour, speaks of him as followed by an attendant, bearing—

It is in a yet larger sense of this same word our early translators introduced the phrase ‘tables of stone,’ found in the Mosaic record—not, however, that the smaller ‘tablet’ was unknown. Apart from such a registration as ‘Bartholomew le Tabler,’ found in the London Rolls (1320), we have mentioned as living in Cambridge in 1322 one ‘Richard le Tableter.’^[412] We can readily understand how useful would be his occupation to the students, who were thus provided with a writing material capable of erasure, at a time when paper was infinitely too expensive to be simply scribbled upon.^[413] The pointel, or pencil, mentioned above, seems to have required also a separate manufacture, as we find the surnames ‘Roger Poyntel’ and ‘John Poyntel’ occurring in 1315 and 1319, the latter the same date within a year as the ‘Tabler’ just referred to. These tablets, I need not say, were, whether the framework were ivory, or box, or cyprus, overlaid with smeared wax, the pointel being, as its name more literally implies, the stile with which the characters were impressed. The pointel was a common ornament and hung pendent from the neck.

Two surnames far from being uninteresting must be mentioned here. They are those of ‘Walter Orlogyr’^[414] and ‘Thomas Clokmaker,’ the one being found in the ‘Guild of St. George, Norwich’ (1385), the other in the ‘Proceedings and Ordinances of the Privy Council.’^[415] It is just possible also that ‘Clerkwright,’ set down in the former record, may be but a misspelling or misreading for ‘Clockwright.’ The two first-mentioned names remind us that if not of clocks, as now understood, yet the manufacture of dials did make a transient mark upon our English nomenclature. I say transient, for I find no trace of either being handed down even to the second generation by those who took these sobriquets. The ‘horologe’ seems to have become a pretty familiar term in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, for we find Wicklyffe translating 2 Kings xx. 11, ‘Isaye the profete clepide ynwardly the Lord, and browgte agen bacward by x degrees the schadewe bi lynes, bi whiche it hadde gone down thanne in the orologie of Achaz.’ The transition from clocks to bells is not a great one, as both have to do with the marking of time. I will here therefore refer to the old bellfounder, and then pass on. The ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ gives us ‘Bellezeter’ as the then usual term for the trade, and from the occurrence of such entries as ‘Robert le Belzetere’ or ‘William le Belzetere’ we cannot doubt but that it was so. Of course a corruption of so awkward a word was inevitable, and Stow, by informing us that ‘Billiter Lane’ was formerly nothing more nor less than ‘Belzetars Lane,’ has prevented dispute from arising regarding the origin of our ‘Billiters.’^[416] If, however, further proof were necessary, we could bring forward ‘Esmon Belleyeter’ from the Privy Council Ordinances.^[417] Stripped of its uncouth orthography, we are here shown the process by which the changed pronunciation gradually came into use.

We must say a word or two about former coinage, and weights and measures, for all are more or less carefully memorialized in our directories of to-day. The two chief names, however, by which the early scale was represented, ‘le Aunserer’ and ‘le Balancer,’ are, I am sorry to say, either wholly, or all but wholly, extinct. Such entries as ‘Rauf le Balancer’^[418] or ‘John Balauncer’ or ‘Thomas le Aunseremaker’ were perfectly familiar with our forefathers. The ‘balance’ was of the simplest character, a scale poised by the hand. The manufacture of such is mentioned by the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ when he includes—

By its repeated occurrence in our present Authorized Version this word is sure of preservation from obsoletism. The ‘auncel’ or ‘auncer’ was strictly the vessel in which the provisions were weighed. Piers Plowman says—

In an appraisement of goods in 1356 mention is made, among other chattels, of ‘one balance called an auncer.’^[419] Thus our somewhat rare ‘Ansers’ are not such geese as they look! Our modern notion of the Mint is that of a place where with a certain amount of State secrecy our money is coined and sent forth. Nothing of this kind existed formerly: each considerable town had its own mint, and even barons and bishops, subject to royal superintendence, could issue coin. Thus it is that we meet with more or less frequency such a name as ‘Nicholas le Cuner,’ from the old ‘cune’ or ‘coin;’ or ‘John le Meneter,’ or ‘John Monemakere,’ or ‘William le Moneur,’ or ‘William le Mynsmith,’ mint-smith, that is; and thus it is our present ‘Moniers’ or ‘Moneyers’ and ‘Minters’ have arisen. Our ‘Stampers’ remind us of the chief feature of coinage, the die. The system being thus general, and subject to but an uncertain and irregular supervision, abuse of alloy crept in, and it was to remedy this, it is said, our ‘Testers’ and ‘Sayers,’ corrupted from assayers, were appointed. ‘Sayer’ or ‘Sayers,’ however, I have elsewhere derived differently, and in most cases I feel confident the account there given is more approximate to the truth.

Literature and art in regard to the market are not without their relics. So far as the outside of books was concerned, our former ‘John le Bokbinders’ or ‘Dionisia le Bokebynders’ are sufficiently explicit. These, judging from their date, we must suppose to have bound together leathern documents and parchments of value, or books of manuscript. Speaking of parchment, however, we are reminded of the importance of this for testamentary and other legal purposes. Thus we find such names as ‘Stephen le Parchemyner’ or ‘William le Parchemynere’ to be common at this time. They afford but one more instance of an important and familiar name failing of descent. In the York Pageant, mentioned elsewhere, the ‘Parchemyners’^[420] and ‘Bukbynders’ marched together.^[421]

The old sealmaker, an important tradesman in a day when men were much better known by their crests than now, left its mark in the early ‘Seler.’ In the ‘Issues of the Exchequer’ we find a certain ‘Hugh le Seler’ commissioned to make a new seal for the See of Durham. The modern form is ‘Sealer.’ Professional writers and copiers were common. The calling of scribe has given us our many ‘Scrivens’ and ‘Scriveners,’ descendants of the numerous ‘William le Scrivayns’ and ‘John le Scrivryns’ of our mediÆval rolls. Piers Plowman employs the word—

Our ‘Writers’ are but the Saxon form of the same, while ‘le Cirograffer’ would seem to represent the Greek. A ‘William le Cirograffer’ occurs in the Hundred Rolls. As a writer of indentures he is frequently mentioned. An act passed in the first year of Edward IV. speaks of such officers as ‘clerk of our council, clerk or keeper of oure Hanaper, office of cirograffer, and keeper of oure Wills.’^[422] Employed in the skilled art of text-letter we may next mention such men as ‘Godfrey le Lomynour’ or ‘Ralph Illuminator’ or ‘Thomas Liminer.’ A poem, already quoted more than once, makes reference to—

How beautiful were the decorations and devices upon which they spent their care, some of the missals and other service books of this early period show.^[424] This, I need scarcely add, was a favourite monastic pursuit. I do not know that ‘Limner’ still exists as a surname, unless it be in our ‘Limmers.’ That it lingered on in its more correct form till the beginning of the eighteenth century is certain, as the Tostock register serves to show, for it is there recorded that ‘John Limner of Chevington, and Eliz. Sibbes of this town, were married, August 22nd, 1700.’ (Sibbes’ ‘Works,’ vol. i. p. cxlii.)

Before closing this necessarily hurried rÉsumÉ of mediÆval trade, we must say a word or two about early shipping. We have mentioned certain articles, especially those of spicery and wines, which were then used, as the result of foreign merchant enterprise. Much of all this came as the growth and produce of the opposite Continent. Much again reached our shore brought hither from Eastern lands in caravan and caravel by Venetian traders. Our ‘Marchants,’ ‘Merchants,’ or ‘le Marchants,’ we doubtless owe to this more extended commerce. Apart from these, however, we are far from being without names of a more seafaring nature. It is a strange circumstance that our now one general term of ‘sailor’ had in the days we are considering but the barest existence surnominally or colloquially. In the former respect I only find it twice, the instances being those of ‘John le Saillur’ and ‘Nicholas le Saler,’ both to be found in the Hundred Rolls. It may be said to be a word of entirely modern growth. The expression then in familiar use was ‘Shipman,’^[425] and ‘Shipman’ is the surname best represented in our nomenclature. It is by this name one of Chaucer’s company at the Tabard is pictured forth—

This, intended doubtless to set forth the wide extent of his adventure, would seem cramped enough for the seafarer of the nineteenth century. The word itself lingered on for some length of time, being found both in our Homilies and in the Authorized Version, but seems to have declined towards the end of the seventeenth century. ‘Henry le Mariner’s’ name still lives among us, sometimes being found in the abbreviated form of ‘Marner,’ and ‘Shipper’ or ‘Skipper’ is not as yet obsolete. The strictly speaking feminine ‘Shipster’ comes in the quaint old poem of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ where mention is made among others of—

‘Cogger,’ found in such an entry as ‘Hamond le Cogger’ or ‘Henry le Cogger,’ carries us back to the old ‘cogge’ or fishing smack, a term very familiar on the east coast, and one not yet altogether obsolete. It seems to have been often used to carry the soldiery across the Channel to France and the Low Country border, or even further.^[426] Our cockswain was, I doubt not, he who attended to the tiller of the boat. We still speak also of a cock-boat, written in the ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ as ‘cog bote,’ and doubtless it was originally some smaller craft that waited upon and attended the other. Thus it is highly probable that ‘le Cockere’ may in some instances have been but equivalent to ‘le Cogger.’^[427] ‘Richard le Botsweyn,’ ‘Edward Botswine,’ ‘Peter Boatman,’ ‘Jacob Boatman,’ or the more local ‘Gerard de la Barge,’ are all still familiar enough in an occupative sense, but surnominally have been long extinct, with the exception of the last.^[428]

Coming to port, whether it were York, or Kingston, or Chester, or London, we find ‘Adam le Waterman,’ or ‘Richard Waterbearer,’ or ‘William le Water-leder’ busy enough by the waterside.^[429] The latter term, however, was far the commonest in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. I have already mentioned the sense of ‘lead’ at this time, that of carrying. Piers Plowman, to quote but one more instance, says in one place—

In the York Pageant of 1415 we find two separate detachments of these water-leaders in procession, one in conjunction with the bakers, the other with the cooks. It would be doubtless these two classes of shopkeepers their duties of carrying stores, especially flour, to and from the different vessels would bring them in contact with most. Our ‘Leaders,’ ‘Leeders,’ ‘Leders,’ and ‘Loders’ are either the more general carrier or an abbreviated form of the above.^[430] ‘Gager,’ though rarely met with now, is a descendant of ‘William le Gageour,’ or ‘Alexander le Gauger,’ or ‘Henry le Gaugeour,’ of many a mediÆval record. His office was to attend to the King’s revenue at our seaports, and though not strictly so confined, yet his duties were all but entirely concerned in the measurement of liquids, such as oil, wine, honey.^[431] The tun, the pipe, the tierce, the puncheon, casks and barrels of a specified size—these came under his immediate supervision, and the royal fee was accordingly. Such a name as ‘Josceus le Peisur,’ now found as ‘Poyser’ or ‘Henry le Waiur,’ that is, ‘Weigher,’^[432] met with now also in the form of ‘Weightman,’ represented the passage of more solid merchandise. The old form of ‘poise’ was ‘peise.’ Piers Plowman makes Covetousness to confess—

Richard in ‘Richard the III.’ finely says—

With the above, therefore, we must associate our ‘Tollers,’ once registered as ‘Bartholomew le Tollere’ or ‘Ralph le Toller,’ together with our ‘Tolemans’ and ‘Tolmans,’ they who took the King’s levy at fair and market—by the roadside and the wharf.^[433] Piers Plowman, in a list of other decent folk, includes—

Cocke Lorelle is not so complimentary. He says—

In concluding this chapter, and our survey of trade generally, it will be necessary to the completion thereof that we should say a word or two about the money trading of four hundred years ago or more. Banks, bank-notes, bills of exchange, drafts to order—all these are as familiar to the tongues of the nineteenth century as if the great car of commerce had ever gone along on such greased and comfortable wheels. But I need not say it is not so. Very little money in the present day is practically coin. Our banks have it all. It was different with our ancestors. As a rule it was stored up in some secret cupboard or chest. Hence it is, as I have shown, the trade of ‘le Coffer’ and the office of ‘le Cofferer’ are so much thrust before our notice in surveying mediÆval records. Still, trading in money was largely carried on, so far, at any rate, as loans were concerned. The Jew, true to his national precedents, was then, I need not say, the pawnbroker of Europe, and as his disciple, the Lumbard soon bid fair to outstrip his master. Under the Plantagenet dynasty both found a prosperous field for their peculiar business in England, and, as I have elsewhere said, Lombard Street^[435] to this day is a memorial of the settlement of the latter. In such uncertain and changeful times as these, kings, and in their train courtiers and nobles, soon learnt the art, not difficult in initiation, of pawning jewels and lands for coin. The Malvern Dreamer speaks familiarly of this—

This species of commerce is early marked by such names as ‘Henry le Chaunger’ or ‘Adam le Chevestier,’^[436] while still better-known terms are brought to our notice by entries like ‘John le Banckere,’ ‘Roger le Bencher,’ ‘Thomas le Brokur,’ or ‘Simon le Brokour.’ Holinshed, in the form of ‘brogger,’ has the latter to denote one who negotiated for coin. As ‘Broggers,’ too, we met them in the York Pageant. There, probably, they would transact much of the business carried on between ourselves and the Dutch in the shipping off of fleeces, or the introduction of the cloth again from the Flemish manufacturers.^[437] The pawnbroker of modern days, dealing in petty articles of ware, was evidently an unknown personage at the date we are considering. The first distinctive notice of him I can light upon is in the ‘Statutes of the Realm’ of the Stuart period. It will be there found that (chapter xxi.) James I., speaking of the change from the old broker into the more modern pawnbroker, refers to the former as one who went ‘betweene Merchant Englishe and Merchant Strangers, and Tradesmen in the contrivinge, makinge and concluding Bargaines and Contractes to be made betweene them concerning their wares and merchandises,’ and then adds that he ‘never of any ancient tyme used to buy and sell garments, household stuffe, or to take pawnes and bills of sale of garments and apparele, and all things that come to hand for money, laide out and lent upon usury, or to keepe open shoppes, and to make open shewes, and open trade, as now of late yeeres hathe and is used by a number of citizens, etc.’

---

Appendix to Chapters IV. and V.

It will perchance help to familiarize the reader with the manner in which the occupative names contained in the two preceding chapters arose, if I transcribe several lists of tradesmen which have come across my notice while engaged in the work of collecting surnames for my index. The first is found in most of the Yorkshire County Histories, and is a record of the order of the Pageant for the City of York in 1415. The second is the order of the Procession of the Craftsmen and Companies of Norwich from the Common Hall in 1533. This list will be found in Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ vol. ii. p. 148. The third is the order of the Chester Play, inaugurated 1339, and discontinued 1574. This list will be found in Ormerod’s ‘Cheshire,’ vol. i. p. 300. These records possess an intrinsic value, apart from other matters, as proving to the reader the leading position which these several cities held as centres of industry in the thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. The last list I would furnish is that met with in the quaint poem entitled ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ published about the beginning of the reign of Henry VIII., and purporting to give a list of the tradesmen and manufacturers of the metropolis at that time. I have quoted merely the portion that concerns my purpose, and it is taken from the edition published by the Percy Society. Though not perfect, that edition is undoubtedly the best.

The Order for the Pageants of the Play of Corpus Christi, in the time of the Mayoralty of William Alne, in the third Year of the Reign of King Henry V. Anno 1415, compiled by Roger Burton, Town Clerk.

It is ordained that the Porters and Coblers should go first; then, of the Right, the Wevers and Cordwaners; on the Left, the Fullors, Cutlers, Girdellers, Chaloners, Carpenters, and Taillyoures; then the better sort of Citizens; and after the Twenty-four, the Twelve, the Mayor, and four Torches of Mr. Thomas Buckton.

The Order of the Procession of the Occupations, Crafts, or Companies (Norwich) to be made on Corpus Christi Day, from the Common Hall. (1533 A.D.)

1. The Company of Masons, Tilers, Limeburners, and Smiths.

2. The Carpenters, Gravours, Joiners, Sawers, Seivemakers, Wheelwrights, Fletchers, Bowers, and Turners.

3. The Reders, Thaxters, Rede-sellers, Cleymen, and Carriers.

4. The Butchers, Glovers, and Parchment-makers.

5. The Tanners.

6. The Cordwaners, Coblers, Curriers, and Collarmakers.

7. The Shermen, Fullers, Woolen and Linnen Weavers, and Wool-chapmen.

8. The Coverlet-weavers, Darnick-weavers, and Girdlers.

9. The Combers, Tinmen.

10. The Vintners, Bakers, Brewers, Inn-keepers, Tiplers, Coopers, and Cooks.

11. The Fishmongers, Freshwater-fishers, and Keelmen.

12. The Waxchandlers, Barbers, and Surgeons.

13. The Cappers, Hatters, Bagmakers, Paintmakers, Wier-drawers and Armourers.

14. The Pewterers, Brasiers, Plombers, Bellfounders, Glaziers, Steynors.

15. The Tailors, Broiderers, Hosiers, and Skinners.

16. The Goldsmiths, Diers, Calanderers, and Sadlers.

17. The Worsted-weavers and Irlonderes.

18. The Grocers and Raffmen.

19. The Mercers, Drapers, Scriveners, and Hardwaremen.

20. The Parish Clerks and Sextons, with their bannerwayts, and minstrals.

The Chester Play was inaugurated 1339. The following trades, guilds, and companies took part in it:—

1. The Barkers and Tanners.

2. Drapers and Hosiers.

3. Drawers of Dee and Water Leaders.

4. Barbers, Waxchandlers, Leeches.

5. Cappers, Wyerdrawers, Pynners.

6. Wrightes, Slaters, Tylers, Daubers, Thatchers.

7. Paynters, Brotherers (i.e. embroiderers), Glasiers.

8. Vintners and Marchants.

9. Mercers, Spicers.

1. Gouldsmithes, Masons.

2. Smiths, Forbers, Pewterers.

3. Butchers.

4. Glovers, Parchment-makers.

5. Corvesters and Shoemakers.

6. Bakers, Mylners.

7. Boyeres, Flechers, Stringeres, Cowpers, Turners.

8. Irnemongers, Ropers.

9. Cookes, Tapsters, Hostlers, Inkeapers.

1. Skinners, Cardemakers, Hatters, Poynters, Girdlers.

2. Sadlers, Fusters.

3. Taylors.

4. Fishmongers.

5. Sheremen.

6. Hewsters and Bellfounders.

7. Weavers and Walkers.

The last procession occurred in 1574.