THE use of signs as a means of distinguishing different houses of business, is a custom which has come down to us from times of great antiquity. Nevertheless, it is not at all difficult to discover the reasons which first led to their being employed. In days when only an infinitesimally small proportion of the population could read, it would obviously have been absurd for a tradesman to have inscribed above his door his name and occupation, or the number of his house, as is now done. Such inscriptions as “Sutton & Sons, Seedsmen,” or “Pears & Co., Soapmakers,” would then have been quite useless as a means of distinguishing the particular houses that bore them; but, if each dealer displayed conspicuously before his place of business a painted representation of the wares he sold, the arms of the Trade-Guild to which he belonged, or those of his landlord or patron, or some other device by which his house might be known, there would be little probability of mistake. If the sign thus displayed indicated the nature of the wares sold within, it would answer a double purpose. Signs, too, would be especially useful in distinguishing different establishments in times when many members of the same craft resided, as they used formerly to do, in one street or district. Although this habit has now largely disappeared in England, in the cities of the East each trade is still chiefly confined to its own special quarter.

In considering the subject of how signs originally came into use, it must never be forgotten that, in bygone times, they were not confined, as now, almost exclusively to “public-houses.” We have still, among others, the sign of the Pole for a barber, the Rod and Fish for a tackle-dealer, the Black Boy for a tobacconist, the Golden Balls for a pawnbroker; but formerly the proprietor of nearly every house of business, and even of private residences, displayed his own particular sign, just as the keepers of inns and taverns do now. For instance, an examination of the title-page of almost any book, published a couple of centuries or so ago, will show an imprint something like the following:—“Printed for Timothy Childe at the White Hart in St. Paul’s Churchyard; and for Thos. Varnam and John Osborn at the Oxford Arms in Lombard St. MDCCXII.” Again, Sir Richard Baker’s quaint Chronicles of the Kings of England was printed in 1684, “for H. Sawbridge at the Bible on Ludgate Hill, B. Tooke at the Ship in St. Paul’s Churchyard, and T. Sawbridge at the Three Flower-de-Luces in Little Brittain.” As a further example of the use of signs in former times by booksellers, in common with other tradesmen, it may be mentioned that, according to a writer in Frazer’s Magazine (1845, vol. xxxii. p. 676)—

Were announcements similar to these to appear on any modern book, it would certainly give many persons the impression that the work had been printed at a “public-house.” Again, on the cheques, and over the door of Messrs. Hoare, bankers, of Fleet Street, may still be seen a representation of the Leather Bottle which formed their sign in Cheapside at least as long ago as the year 1677. In Paris, to the present day, sellers of “bois et charbons” (wood and charcoal or coals) invariably have the fronts of their establishments, facing the street, painted in a manner intended to convey the impression that the house is built of rough logs of wood. This device, although not displayed upon a sign-board, forms, in every respect, a true trade-sign. In all parts of France, signs still retain much more of their ancient glory than they do in England. Though not common in the newer and more fashionable streets and boulevards, they are abundant in the older quarters of Paris, Rouen, and other large towns. They are much oftener pictorial or graven than with us, and it is notable that they are used almost, or quite, as frequently by shopkeepers and other tradesmen as by the keepers of wine-shops, inns, and taverns. The sign, too, very often represents the wares sold within.

Nowadays, however, the old custom of displaying a sign finds favour with very few English tradesmen, except the keepers of inns and taverns; and even they have allowed the custom to sink to such depths of degradation that the great majority of sign-boards now bear only the name of the house in print: consequently the reason which led originally to the use of signs—the necessity for pictorial representation when few could read—is no longer obvious. It may be truly said that the great spread of education among all classes during the present century has given a death-blow alike to the use of signs in trade and to the art of the sign-painter. This, to be sure, is hardly a matter to call for regret on its own account. Nevertheless, the great decline in the use of the old-fashioned pictorial sign-board is to be regretted for many reasons. The signs which our forefathers made use of have interwoven themselves with our whole domestic, and even, to some extent, with our political, history. In losing them we are losing one of the well-known landmarks of the past. Sign-boards of the real old sort have about them an amount of interest which is sufficient to surprise those who care to take trouble in studying them. Dr. Brewer very truly says, in his Dictionary of Phrase and Fable:—“Much of a nation’s history, and more of its manners and feelings, may be gleaned from its public-house signs.” The sign-boards themselves tell us (as has already been pointed out) of the habit our forefathers had of crowding together in one street or district all those who were of a like occupation or profession. They tell us also of the deep ignorance of the masses of the people in days when sign-boards were a necessity. And when it is remembered that it was only so lately as the beginning of the present century that the knowledge of reading and writing became sufficiently widespread to allow the numbering of houses to come into general use as a means of distinguishing one house from another, it will be easily seen that the sign-boards of (say) two centuries ago played a very important, and even an essential, part in the commercial world of those days.

But a study of the various devices that appear even on modern sign-boards will teach us still more of the doings of our ancestors. They tell us of the wares our forefathers made and dealt in, of the superstitious beliefs they held, of the party strifes in which they engaged, and of the great titled families which had so large a share in the making of English history—in short, the devices seen, even on modern sign-boards, afford, to those who can and care to read them, no mean picture both of mediÆval and more modern times. It was well remarked in an early number of the Gentleman’s Magazine (1738, vol. viii. p. 526), that “The People of England are a nation of Politicians, from the First Minister down to the cobbler, and peculiarly remarkable for hanging out their principles upon their sign-posts.” Some of our modern Essex signs, for instance, are relics (as will be more clearly pointed out hereafter) of what were once staple industries in the county, though now all but unknown in it. Thus the signs of the Woolpack (p. 79), the Shears (p. 41), and the Golden Fleece (p. 78) are all mementoes of the time when the woollen trade flourished in Essex. The sign of the Hop-poles (p. 111) reminds us of the time when hop-growing formed a considerable industry in the county. Our various Blue Boars (p. 68) speak to us of the noble and once mighty Essex family of De Vere, which formerly wielded a great power in England. These are but a few instances. Others will occur to every one who peruses the following pages. At the present day, too, there is scarcely a village in the county that has not some street, square, or lane named after an inn-sign, as, for instance, Sun Street, Eagle Lane, Swan Street, Falcon Square, Lion Walk, Greyhound Lane, &c. In London, or Paris, the connection is still closer. Surely, then, although signs are no longer of great or urgent importance to us in the daily routine of our ordinary business life, an inquiry into their past history will be a matter of much interest, especially as comparatively little has hitherto been written about them.

Nevertheless, although it is certain that (as has been stated) not a few of our present signs have been derived from emblems of industries now decayed and the armorial bearings of ancient county families, the fact cannot be overlooked that in a great many cases these particular signs, as now displayed by particular houses, have only very recently come into use. That is to say, they are only indirectly derived from the sources named, having been selected because, perhaps, some neighbouring and really ancient inn (which derived its sign directly) was known to have long borne that sign. There can be no doubt (as Mr. H. W. King writes) that—

The great decay in the use of inn-signs of the real old sort has, it is much to be feared, now gone too far to be arrested, however much it may be regretted. In Essex, probably not five per cent. of our sign-boards are now pictorial. Even in the remote and sleepy little town of Thaxted very few of the inns now possess pictorial signs. Here and there, however, throughout the county one may still come across a few such, and several excellent examples will be hereafter alluded to.

Probably no better idea can now be obtained in Essex of an old-fashioned thoroughfare than in the broad High Street at Epping. From one point no less than ten sign-boards may be seen, all swinging over the pavement in the ancient style. Only one, however, the White Lion, is now pictorial. The number of inns in Grays, too, is very large. It has been stated in print that “for its size, it contains more than any other town in England.” In the narrow Tindal Street at Chelmsford the sign-boards still swing across the street in the old style, and are hung upon the old supports. The best example is that which supports the sign of the Spotted Dog. Witham has many inns, nearly all of which have their sign-boards hanging over the pavement, but neither they nor their supports are of much interest. Colchester has hardly such a thing as a projecting sign-board, let alone pictorial signs. Castle Hedingham, for its size, probably has more pictorial signs than any other Essex town, the Bell, the Crown, the Three Crowns, and the Rising Sun being all thus represented. Except the sign-iron of the Six Bells (p. 168), Dunmow contains but little of sign-board interest. The only pictorial sign-board in Ongar is that of the Cock. Several signs and sign-irons in Bardfield are hereafter noticed (pp. 170 and 169). In the High Street at Romford are many very old inns, but their signs are all script. At Leigh there are many inns, the most ancient of which, in the opinion of Mr. H. W. King, are the Crown and the Hamboro’ Merchants’ Arms, though the George was originally the more important.

The following interesting list of inns in the Epping Division in September, 1789, has been kindly contributed by Mr. G. Creed of Epping:—

In the last edition of the London Directory, 82 firms are still described as “sign-painters,” and in the Essex Directory, 10; but it is certain that most of these follow also some other trade than sign-painting. In some cases artists of eminence have been known to paint signs for inns, but there does not appear to have been any notable instances of this in Essex. As a rule our pictorial sign-boards are not works of art. That this is a common failing elsewhere, is shown by the fact that the French say of a bad portrait or picture, “qu’il n’est bon qu’À faire une enseigne À biÈre.” Signs, it must be admitted, are among those things which the enlightenment of this go-ahead nineteenth century is rapidly improving off the face of the earth. Yet one cannot but agree with the writer in Frazer’s Magazine, already quoted, who aptly observes that it is a thousand pities the old signs were ever taken down. “Men might,” he says, “read something of history (to say nothing of a hash of heraldry) in their different devices.”

This decay in the use of inn-signs, however, is no greater than the decline in importance of the inns themselves. These have within quite recent years fallen from a position of great eminence and prosperity to one of comparative degradation. Up to about fifty years ago, inns were the centres round which most events of the time revolved. They combined within themselves, to a very large extent, the various uses to which modern clubs, reading-rooms, institutes, railway stations, restaurants, eating-houses, hotels, public-houses, livery-stables, and the like are now severally put. At present the majority of our inns are little more than tippling-houses or drinking-places for the poorer classes. The upper stratum of society has but little connection with them, beyond receiving their rents.

Nothing has done more to promote this lowering of the status of modern inns in general than the disuse of coaching. Inns were the starting-points and destinations of the old coaches, and travellers naturally put up and took their meals at them. Now people travel by rail, stop at railway stations, put up at the “Railway Hotel,” and get their meals in the station “refreshment rooms.” In days, too, when country inns formed the stopping-places of the coaches they naturally became important centres of information. In this they answered the purpose to which clubs, institutes, reading-rooms, and the like are now put. The cheap newspapers of to-day have given another serious shock to the old tavern life of last century. Then, too, the innumerable horses, needed for the many coaches on the great high-roads of fifty or a hundred years ago, were kept at the inns, to the great advantage of the latter. Now the various railway companies, of course, provide their own engines, and the old-fashioned inns have to content themselves with a very limited posting or omnibus business.

It is, indeed, not too much to say that in the old coaching days a small town or village on any main road often consisted largely or almost entirely of inns, and lived upon the traffic. Supplying the necessaries for this traffic may be said to have been “the local industry” by which the inhabitants of such places lived. Evidences of this may be gained from not a few old books. Thus in Ogilby’s Traveller’s Guide, a book of the roads published in 1699, Bow, near Stratford, is said to be “full of inns,” while Stratford and Kelvedon are both spoken of as “consisting chiefly of inns.” Again, in Daniel Defoe’s Tour through the whole Island of Great Britain, published in 1724 (vol. i. p. 52), it is said that—

Few persons of the present day have any adequate idea of the extent to which tavern life influenced thought and manners seventy, eighty, or one hundred years ago. Each man then had his tavern, much as we now have our clubs and reading-rooms. There he met his friends every evening, discussed the political questions of the day, talked over business topics, and heard the expensive and highly-valued London newspapers read aloud. Dickens, in Barnaby Rudge, has well sketched the select village company, which, for forty or fifty years, had met nightly in the bar of the old Maypole to tipple and debate. Ale was the universal beverage on these occasions, and the fame of any given tavern was great or small according to the skill of the landlord or his servants in producing this beverage. It was not then, as now, the product of colossal breweries at Burton, Romford, or elsewhere, but was entirely brewed upon the premises of those who retailed it. Such customs as these, however, are now almost entirely of the past.

We will now return once more to the discussion of sign-boards and their modern degeneration. When signs were in general use by all tradesmen, it was but natural that people should endeavour to outvie one another in the prominence and obtrusiveness of their sign-boards. Exactly the same thing may be seen at the present day on any hoarding which the bill-sticker has ornamented with his flaring posters. These are of all imaginable colours and designs, in order to advertise and draw attention to the wares of rival tradesmen, each of whom endeavours to obtain greater publicity and attract more attention than his neighbour. Many were the devices made use of a century or more ago to draw attention to the sign-boards of those times. Some of the boards were made of enormous size; others were painted in flaring colours; others bore striking or amusing devices, likely to be remembered by those who saw them; while others were projected far out into the street, or hung in elaborate and ornamental frameworks of iron. When each man endeavoured to outdo his neighbour in these particulars, it may well be imagined that no slight inconvenience was caused to the public. Complaints that the size and prominence of the sign-boards in the London streets prevented the access of sunlight and the free circulation of the air began to be heard, according to Messrs. Larwood and Hotten, as early as the beginning of the fifteenth century, and an order was made to do away with the nuisance. In the course of time, however, the evil grew again, till Charles II., in 1667, “ordered that in all the streets no sign-board shall hang across, but that the sign shall be fixed against the balconies, or some convenient part of the side of the house.” Again, however, the nuisance grew, and in 1762 large powers were once more granted for clearing away the too obtrusive sign-boards, and very many were taken down.

In France and other continental countries the same evil has had to be grappled with. Time after time, as reference to the works previously mentioned will show, the police of Paris and other large towns have issued orders concerning the pulling down and putting up of sign-boards. All Parisian signs are, consequently, now fastened to the fronts of the houses.

This regulation of sign-boards is not altogether unknown, even at the present day, in England. In the Sussex Daily News as lately as last October there appeared an account of the removal of two sign-boards that had recently been erected in two of the principal streets of Brighton. These boards, measuring respectively 48 inches by 30, and 48 inches by 18, were swung over the pavement at the respective heights of 15 feet and 12 feet; yet, although there are scores of more obstructive sign-boards and sun-blinds in the borough, the somewhat over-officious Works Committee of the Corporation ordered that they should be removed by the surveyor, and the cost of so doing recovered from their owners, because, in the opinion of the Committee, such boards were “public annoyances and nuisances, by reason of their projecting over the highways and annoying the public passage along the streets.” Presumably it is within the power of any Local Authority to remove, or direct the alteration of, any sign-boards which it regards as “nuisances.”

A writer, styling himself “Ambulator,” in the Gentleman’s Magazine (vol. xl. p. 403) observes, so long ago as the year 1770, that signs “were certainly the effect of a general want of literature, and therefore can no longer be thought necessary, without national disgrace.” He adds, though he must be guilty of exaggeration, that “there is, at present, scarce a child among the poorest of the people who, at seven or eight years old, cannot read a man’s name and trade upon his door or window-shutter; and therefore we want the sign-painter no more.” He also says that—

A good idea of how our Essex streets were obstructed by the huge dimensions of the signs of the various inns a century or more ago, may be obtained from an old print engraved by J. Ryland in 1762. It shows a view of the High Street of Chelmsford, taken from the point at which the fountain opposite the end of Springfield Lane now stands, and is entitled A Perspective View of the County Town of Chelmsford, in Essex, with the Judge’s Procession on the Day of Entrance, attended by the High Sheriff and his Officers. The judge’s carriage, drawn by six horses and preceded by the old “javelin men,” now dispensed with, is shown in its progress up the street, past the old Black Boy Inn, and going towards the church. The procession is passing under the great beam from which swings the sign of the Black Boy. This beam extends out from the house to the top of a post set up in the middle of the street for its support. If the height of this post may be estimated from the height of two persons shown standing near its base (who may be fairly set down as six feet in stature), it is not less than 28 feet high, while the beam it supports must project at least 33 feet from the house. Close to this structure, but nearer the other side of the street, though still not far from its middle, stands another sign-post of even more gigantic proportions. This post is very massive, and (if its height may be estimated in the same manner as before) it must be at least 24 feet high. Against the substantial shores supporting it in its upright position, leans a fiddler; while, close at hand, two mounted trumpeters are saluting the passing judge. But this is not all: upon the top of the post, supported by a fine iron framework, of an excellent flowing design, is the sign-board. This displays a lion rampant guardant (as the heralds say), which is evidently the sign of the large inn opposite to which it stands. This brings the height of the entire structure up to at least 45 feet, or nearly as high as the inn itself. This was probably the sign of the ancient Lion Inn mentioned hereafter (p. 59).

Mr. F. T. Veley of Chelmsford possesses a fine old oil painting from which this engraving was evidently made, though the two differ in some particulars. The figures and the houses are almost precisely alike in both, but the painting has not the signs and sign-posts shown in the engraving. In both the width of the street is much too great. The engraving has been reduced by the photographic process, and is herein made use of as a frontispiece,[7] whilst the design of the remarkably fine iron framework supporting the sign of the Lion has been reproduced upon the cover of the book. It is a remarkable fine example of the elaborate and ornamental sign-iron within which swung many sign-boards of a hundred years ago. Other examples, but less elegant, still remain here and there in the county, generally much rusted with age. Among these may be mentioned those of the Six Bells at Dunmow, which is dated 1778 (p. 168), the Bell at Bardfield (p. 170), and the Bell at Castle Hedingham (p. 150), all of which will be found depicted hereafter, though with other signs attached.

Leaving now the consideration of the origin of the use of signs, in order to discuss the origins of the various devices used as signs, we may well feel some surprise at first that the ancient and extremely entertaining, though now much decayed, art of Heraldry should have given us, at the present day, so many of our commonest signs as it obviously has done. A somewhat hasty examination of the list of Essex signs will show that something like 40 per cent. of the whole have probably been derived, either directly or indirectly, from Heraldry. The same statement would probably be found to hold good of the rest of England. So obvious is it that a very large number of inn-signs have been in some way derived from Heraldry, that it is surprising this connection has not received a much fuller recognition in the past than it has done. It is impossible, even for those most strongly inclined to disbelieve in the heraldic origin of a majority of our signs, to deny that very many of them, at least, have been so derived. Allusion is here made to such signs as the Griffin, the Blue Boar, the Green Dragon, the Blue Lion, the Red Lion, the Three Crowns, the White Hart, the Fleur-de-Lys, the Rose and Crown, the Cross Keys, and many others, the difficulty of ascribing which to any other than an heraldic origin will be at once apparent. Indeed, the fact that a very large proportion of our signs are of an heraldic derivation seems to require no stronger proof than will be found in the following pages. The next thing, therefore, will be to show how this came about.

It would probably early have suggested itself to the minds of tradesmen and others to use their own coats of arms (when they had any), or those of the Trade Guilds to which they belonged, or the arms, crest, or badge[8] of their landlord or some patron, as a sign. This convenient custom, once established, would be sure to be largely followed. There can be no doubt whatever that in this way arose the custom of calling a house the “So-and-So’s Arms.” At the present time, the custom itself remains, although its origin has been largely lost sight of; and many inns have now, in consequence, come to be known as the “Arms” of persons, trades, places, and things which never did bear, and never could have borne, a coat of arms. Clearly the origin of the sign of the King’s Arms had never presented itself to the mind of the “simple clodhopper” who, according to Messrs. Larwood and Hotten (p. 106), “once walked many miles to see King George IV. on one of his journeys, and came home mightily disgusted; for the king had arms just like any other man, while he had always understood that his Majesty’s right arm was a lion, and his left a unicorn!” In Essex no less than 8·5 per cent. of all the inn-signs are “Arms” of some kind. In Devonshire “Arms” actually form as much as 22 per cent. of the whole, according to Mr. Pengelly.

Although the custom of calling a house the “Somebody’s Arms” still survives, it is probable that, when the knowledge and ordinary use of Heraldry began to decline, many houses, formerly known as the “So-and-So’s Arms,” gradually came to be called after the most prominent charge in the coat, or after the “crest” or one of the “supporters,”[9] which might have been a lion gules, a boar azure, a white hart, or a rose crowned. The badge, again, has unquestionably given us not a few signs. Badges were used by the sovereign and by the higher nobility from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries inclusive. They must not be confounded with crests, which were personal emblems, worn on the crest or helm by leaders in the field. Badges, on the other hand, were household emblems, worn by all the followers and retainers of the lord. They were always of a simple nature, to be easily distinguishable in battle, and were placed on armour, standards, clothing, buildings, furniture, &c., &c. As a rule, therefore, it is the badge, rather than the crest, or even the coat of arms, which has given us our old heraldic signs. In some cases badges were adopted by parties, as, for instance, during the Wars of the Roses, so called because the Yorkists took the White Rose as their badge, while the Lancastrians took the Red. Shakespeare often alludes to the old custom of using badges. Mrs. Bury Palliser,[10] speaking of this subject, says, that “we still find the cognizance of many an illustrious family preserved as the sign of an inn. The White Hart of Richard II., the Antelope of Henry IV., the Beacon of Henry V., the Feathers of Henry VI., the Star of the Lords of Oxford (whose brilliancy decided the fate of the Battle of Barnet), the Lion of the Duke of Norfolk (which shone conspicuous on Bosworth field), and many others, too numerous to mention, may yet be seen as sign-boards to village inns contiguous to the former castles of families whose possessions have passed into other hands.” From the red shield (roth schild), above the door of the house of an honest old Hebrew, forming No. 148 in the Juden Gasse, or Jews’ Alley, at Frankfort, has been derived the name of the richest family in the world.

From these heraldic devices have unquestionably been derived many of the strangely-coloured animals, such as red and blue lions, blue boars, &c., which are quite unknown to men of science, and have never yet been seen except in Heraldry and upon sign-boards. A calculation will show that no less than 203 Essex signs, or about 15 per cent., are described as being of some particular colour, and that these coloured signs are animals in nearly all cases—one good proof of their heraldic origin. Black occurs 24 times, blue 7 times, golden 6 times, green 28 times (including dragons and men only), red 39 times (including 34 Red Lions, 3 Red Cows, 1 Red House, and 1 Red Tape Tavern), and white exactly 100 times (including 50 White Harts, 2 White Swans, 2 White Bears, White Lions, White Horses, &c.). In London the proportion of coloured signs is much smaller. There are 79 distinct devices, or about 4·5 per cent. of the entire number.

Another strong proof that many of our otherwise incomprehensible signs have been derived from Heraldry, is to be found in the frequency with which the number Three appears upon sign-boards. No less than 35 houses in Essex (having 15 distinct signs) are known as the three somethings, while other numbers only occur 12 times in all. The following is a complete list: There are 3 Two Brewers, a Four Ashes, 2 Five Bells, 3 Six Bells, and 4 Eight Bells. Many of our Essex Threes will be noticed hereafter. The list includes the signs of the Three Blackbirds, the Three Colts, the Three Compasses, the Three Crowns, the Three Cups, the Three Horseshoes, the Three Pigeons, the Three Tuns, and several others. Nor is this peculiarity confined to Essex signs only. In London the number Three gives twenty-nine distinct devices and sixty-five signs, including repetitions of the same device. All other numbers put together only give twenty-two distinct devices, or fifty-five signs. The author of a curious and interesting letter on the signs of Bury, which appeared in the Bury and Norwich Post on June 29 and July 6, 1791, noticed this prevalence of the number Three on sign-boards in his day, and was, he says, “inclined to account for it from a kind of predilection there is among sign-painters to the number Three, as we see in the Three Horse Shoes, before mentioned, also in the Three Bulls, the Three Tuns, the Three Crowns, and the Three Goats’ Heads.”

Now every one acquainted with Heraldry will know how very common it is to find three charges of some kind or other upon an escutcheon, either alone or with an “ordinary” or some other charge between them, such as Argent, three cinquefoils gules for D’Arcy, Gules, three eagles displayed or for Band, Gules, a fess between three bulls’ heads couped or for Torrel, &c., and there can be very little doubt that this striking abundance of the number three on our sign-boards is due, largely at least, to the frequent use of that number in Heraldry. It cannot be denied, however, that three was a favourite, or lucky, number long before the first appearance of the art of Heraldry. Messrs. Larwood and Hotten cite many instances of its use, even as far back as the time of the Assyrians and ancient Egyptians. But, in spite of this, there can be no reasonable doubt that many of our “threes” are derived directly from Heraldry; whilst others are probably derived from it indirectly. In the latter case the name has been bestowed recently upon his house by the landlord, because he knew it to be a very common custom to call a house the “Three Somethings,” although of the origin of that custom he probably knew absolutely nothing. Essex examples of the former class are given above. Among those of the latter are probably our signs of the Three Ashes, the Three Elms, the Three Jolly Wheelers, and the Three Mariners.

It is, of course, more than probable that some signs, which appear to be truly heraldic in their origin, are, in reality, not derived from Heraldry at all, but have been taken direct from Nature. At the same time, the evidence is overwhelming that very many of our signs have a truly heraldic origin. Messrs. Larwood and Hotten recognize this fact to a considerable extent, and devote their third chapter, comprising as much as a tenth part of their whole work, to “Heraldic and Emblematic Signs.” It appears, however, that they have in most cases erred on the side of caution, and have been too reluctant to ascribe to Heraldry the origin of any sign for which another derivation could possibly be found. There is, nevertheless, much truth in the opening sentences of their fourth chapter (p. 150), treating of “Animals and Monsters.” They say:

“It is, in many cases, impossible to draw a line of demarcation between signs borrowed from the animal kingdom and those taken from Heraldry: we cannot now determine, for instance, whether by the White Horse is meant simply an equus caballus, or the White Horse of the Saxons, and that of the House of Hanover; nor whether the White Greyhound represented originally the supporter of the arms of Henry VII., or simply the greyhound that courses ‘poor puss’ on our meadows in the hunting-season. For this reason this chapter has been placed as a sequel to the heraldic signs. As a rule, fantastically-coloured animals are unquestionably of heraldic origin: their number is limited to the Lion, the Boar, the Hart, the Dog, the Cat, the Bear, and, in a few instances, the Bull. All other animals were generally represented in what was meant for their natural colours.”