Legge or Leg is Leigh, a meadow, and therefore local. John de Leg is found in the Hundred Rolls. The pedigree is shown in graphical format in the book. In text it is: Starting at Richard of Colton there are three descendents: Richard the Little, William atte Pound and Henry Whitehead. From William atte Pound there are two descendents: Bartholomew the Page and John Williamson. From Bartholomew the Page is descended Richard the Baker. From Henry Whitehead is descended Adam Hawkins and from him James Bentham and Alice Adams.—DP. Again, the pedigree is shown in the book in graphical format. In text it starts at William Belward of Malpas with descendents David le Clerke and Richard de Belward. From David le Clerke are descended William de Malpas, Philip Gough and David Golborne. From Richard de Belward are descended Thomas de Cotgrave, William de Overton and Richard Little. From Richard Little is descended John Richardson.—DP. I say there are 250 Aliens in London. But the Directory only gives the name of the head of the family. Hence in the aggregate there may be 2,000 Aliens dwelling in the metropolis. Dearn means secluded. Chaucer speaks of “derne love,” i.e. hidden, secret love. Since this appeared in The Fireside, I became vicar of a church on the borders of Cumberland. I find that there is an old hall with a celebrated “dobby” in it, within a few stones cast of my vicarage! It (i.e. the ghost) is always called the “dobby” here. After the appearance of this chapter as an article in The Fireside, I received several letters from the counties of Cambridge, Stafford, and Devon, testifying to the existence of the surname “Robinet” in several secluded villages. A servant of King Henry III. was called by the simple and only name of “Pentecostes” (Inquis., 13 Edit., No. 13). A curious instance in point will be found in the marginal reading of Malachi ii. 12, where “master, and scholar,” in the text, is marginally translated, “him that waketh, and him that answereth.” Now, we know the corresponding duties of master and scholar. The master asks his question, and then watches for the reply. “Him that watcheth, and him that replieth,” would be understood by all readers. “Him that waketh, and him that answereth,” will probably seem unmeaning to nineteen out of twenty average students. In this last record there is also a “Thomas le Sober.” I must not let this statement pass without saying that the termination “ster” is not admitted to be feminine by all philologists; in fact, it is the subject of much contention. It will be quite sufficient for my purpose simply to draw attention to the existence of this twofold desinence in “er” and “ster,” because it occurs more frequently in the directory than the dictionary. I have had the opportunity of proving this in “English Surnames” (2nd edition, p. 380 and elsewhere), so I will only add that very often where the dictionary has dropped one form the directory has preserved it, and vice versÂ. For instance, there are five Treachers and two Trickers in the London Directory. We do not now speak of a tricker but a “trickster.” Of course the meaning of a “treacher” or “tricker” has become forgotten or confused, otherwise our friends bearing that name would long ago have shuffled it off. Webster still has the word, but he adds that it is an obsoletism. We only talk of a beggar now, but “Joan Beggister” occurs in an old roll. It is curious to note how the weaving and dyeing of cloth have left the double forms. We only speak of a dyer now, but “Dyer” and “Dyster” figure in the London Directory. On the other hand, the dictionary has both “whiter” and “whitster,” and “thrower” and “throwster,” the directory only “Whiter” and “Thrower.” Again, the directory alone contains “Blaxter” (bleachster), the dictionary alone bleacher. A litter of cloth (i.e. dyer), or a kemper of wool seems never to have existed, for only “Lister” is a surname—once written “Litster”—and “Kempster.” I have already mentioned Webber and Webster. We should think it odd to hear people talk of a “bellringster,” or a “breadmongster,” or a “washster,” but so they did some generations ago. “Spinner” has never been a surname, nor “spinster,” but the latter had no chance on account of the secondary sense that so quickly attached to it. I cannot end this note without once more drawing the attention of philologists to the advantages of using the directory as a complement to the dictionary. We can readily understand why “Spooner” should be so common a name, when we reflect that not only were there no forks in use, but our forefathers were particularly fond of sauces and thick soups. The spoon was much more used than the knife at dinner. Our “Pottingers” are relics of the old potager, or pottinger, who made pottage—that is, soup well thickened with vegetables. Porridge is but a corruption of pottage. In all this the spoon played an important part. I see four Pottingers in the Directory. The same kind of wit was exercised on Camden and his book called “Remains,” and Walker, of Dictionary reputation. It was suggested that the epitaph of the one should be “Camden’s Remains,” and of the other “Walker’s Particles.” Another pet form of Cuthbert was “Crud,” or “Crowd,” and hence about Kendal and the Furness district of North Lancashire a familiar surname is Crewdson, and Croudson. It is a proof of the peculiar tenacity with which some names cling to the place of their origin, that there is no instance of this surname in the London Directory. The mother of Thomas Moore, the poet, bore the name of Anastasia Codd. I never see this conjunction of Christian name and surname without thinking of a very little man with a very big hat on. A much prettier selection of names, after a triple birth, is recorded by Mr. Lower in his “English Surnames,” where the three Christian graces of “Faith,” “Hope,” and “Charity,” were chosen. This is a bonÂ-fide instance: and I may observe here that I have among my manuscript copies of curious registrations, met with by myself, at least a dozen instances where either Faith, or Hope, or Charity have been imposed upon infants at baptism.
