SHINGLES FROM AN OLD ROOF.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume IV, Issue 188, 19 August 1864, Page 3

SHINGLES FROM AN OLD ROOF.

BY A FREE AND EASY SHINGLER. ’Tis strange how in this nineteenth century of ours, when the “ Society for the Diffusion of Christian Knowledge,” with my Lord Brougham at its head, lias so thoroughly enlightened the world, as to be enabled to rest from its labors, and cease the issue of Penny Magazines—how wonderfully mankind are put about to find proper names for the use of the “ million.” When Buster and Buncombe launch a new ship, or Catchem and Fleecera start a new company for the making of everybody’s fortune except those who take shares in it; how they ponder and cogitate for a name—a good, fine, attractive name, which shall ring resonantly in the ears of the British public. So too, when a new craft is launched from Babbicome Bay, many solemn family councils are held, and there is much careful consideration given to the task of naming the stranger. And not unwisely either. It was all very well for love-sick Juliet—a forward chit, who had not “ seen the change of fourteen years,” and ought to have been working her sampler, instead of talking nonsense by moonlight —to answer us that “ a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” and that a mere name is “ neither hand nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man.” Alez vous couches. Miss Juliet, and put on your nightcap before you catch a cold. Men and women have a truer appreciation of a name. Very touching was the complaint of the Scotch mother, who, desiring that her child should be called Obadiah, was thrown -into a ferment of agony when the minister, mistaking the sound of the word, solemnly named it Goliah. “ Oh ! man!” she cried, “ I gave my bairn into yodr arras, a holy man of God, and ye’ve returned him to me, an uncircumcised Philistine !” I cannot say whether an individidual to whom I was once introduced was the identical bairn in question ; but his name expressed a physical impossibility, for he strutted through creation with the absurd

cognomen of Goliah Golightly. There is a firm is Victoria whose combined names are Hogg & Hogg, and they own a station on the Pig-faced Plains. But perhaps the most curious instance of the apt coincidence of names that ever came under my notice was that of two sisters—Grace and Mercy—who were wooed and won by suitors rejoicing in the respective names of Veal and Bull. Grace melted on the breast of Veal, and Mercy had compassion on the love-lorn Bull. Yes, my sweet Mrs. Tippitywitchet, there is a great deal in a name, as you know right well, when in the exercise of your maternalprerogative, you rejected the barbaric name of Abel (for proposing which, as you truly observed, your male appendage deserved to be caned) and presented your last contribution to the Infant Miscellancy as Cecil Gustavus. “ Bob only sounds like a page of prose. Till turned into Rupertino and Matene is but a heathen “ eater of brains,” whilst Heremiah is an excellent Christian. When Cinna the poet declared his vocation, in the hope of escaping the punishment intended for Cinna the conspirator, the many-headed protested, “ It’s no matter, his name is Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart.” Thanks to his name, you see, he was still a sinner in the eyes, or lather the ears, of his captors—an historical fact, wherewith Miss Capulet was probably unacquainted. Brown, Jones, and Robinson are historical names, and to be respected accordingly. But I should like to see the man who, if he had any choice, would willingly go through life as John Smith, even with the interpolation of a Thomas, by way of variety. Sydney Smith was somebody—a very lion of the tribe—and Albert Smith soared above the crowd by virtue of his various ascents of Mont Blanc. But John is a common name to all men, and taken in connexion with Smith, is proof against all identification. No wonder the numerous family of Smith—(there are twelve thousand six hundred and thirty-seven of them in the mother country, and heaven knows how many in the colonies) resort to all manner of ingenious devices to disguise that truly Catholic patronymic. The final “e” is in great favour, and so is the “ yand I knew one of them who fairly set pronunciation at defiance, by spelling his name thus—S-m-y-j-t-h-e. But thendie ■was a Welshman. The Smith fraternity are not singular in the adoption of nominal metamorphoses. Even our old friend Jones will sometimes write himself down—Johnes ; and Edwards ingeniously smuggles a contraband “e” into his family name. There was once a gentleman named Dewes, who figu ed somewhat conspicuously in Ballaarat about the time of the Eureka riots. I have never heard anything of him since, but strange to say a book was published by acertain Mr. D’Ewes, which gave a very different account of the Bentley tragedy to the commonly received version of that affair. Was there any relationship between the two, think you? Names have a tendency to change in the progress of descent too. How otherwise did old Martin’s son acquire the name of Lamartine ? Or why did my friend Court’s fashionable dauShter inscribe “ Miss A’Court” on the enamelled card which she left on my table tne other day ? But the most triumphant discovery that has yet been made in this way is the art of dropping all the customary handles of a name,—leaving nothing for the mental grasp but an inflexible surname. If a few alphatical characters are added, so much the better. Thus—Johnson, by itself, is not a very remarkable cognoman; but, Johnson, A.A.D.C.G., is certainly very imposing. There was an adept of this school in the Civil Service of a neighbouring colony, of whom rather a good story is told. His name wms —let us say —Lacey. One day, a letter bearing his usual signature—Lacey—came under the cognizance of a newly-fledged Minister, who forthwith penned an official minute, inquiring whether Mr. Lacy was a member of the British peerage. In the course of time the minute came back to the Minister, with the following brief replication : Not at present—cannot say how soon I may be—Lacet. A great stir was lately made anent a Mr. Bugg, who discarded his obnoxious name, and assumed the aristocratic appellation of Norfolk Howard. For my part, I think the poor man could plead ample justification ; for, as Tom Hood quaintly asks— What mortal would be a Bugg by choice ? Asji Hogg, a Grubb, or a Chubb rejoice ? kjt any such nauseous blazon ? Not to mention many a vulgar name, That would make a door plate blush for shame ? If door-plates were not so brazen !

One of the direst consequences of being compelled to wear any peculiar name, is the lamentable infliction of absurd jests by. every wretched word-torturer with whom the unfortunate victim comes into contact, v How often Boulter must have have been cautioned not to run away; and Gutten advised to cut and come again; a Riddell asked if anybody had found him out. With what impatience must Hill receive reiterated assurances that he will be ill if he persists in his “ h’s and Wright submit to the impertinence of some funny friend who thwacks him on the shoulder and declares that it is all right—which it is not. To what a multiplicity of stale fishy jokes must Pike be subjected ; and how much superfluous attic salt must have been wasted upon Ham. How disgusted Carr must be by the -perpetually recurring query whether he is full inside; and how Webb must dislike to be asked for a yarn. Oh ! the weariness—the inspidity of such baby-witticism ! —the contemptible' imbecility of such puny shafts of humour! We, who, thanks to our forefathers, rejoice in names beyond the reach of cavil, may hug ourselves in the mantle of security. But let us have compassion on our fellows, and put down the dastardly practice with a loud voice and strong hand. The old Slangier is specially bound to offer battle in this cause ; since nbne can cast dirt on his own name, which, like Taffy’s pedigree, has a hundred terminations.