WHAT’S IN A NAME?—When we are told that “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” the fact appears to be self-evident. Yet there was a time when there was something in a name. We have abundant evidence from the history of the ancients, and from observations of savage tribes, to show that they believed in some inseparable and mysterious connection between a name and the object bearing it, which has given rise to a remarkable series of superstitions, some of which have left traces even amongst ourselves. The Jews believed that the name of a child would have a great influence in shaping its career; and we have a remarkable instance of this sort of superstition in quite a different quarter of the world. Catlin, the historian of the Canadian Indians, tells us that when he was among the Mohawks, an old chief, by way of paying him a great compliment, insisted on conferring upon him his own name, _Cayendorongue_. “He had been,” Catlin explains, “a noted warrior; and told me that now I had a right to assume to myself all the acts of valor he had performed, and that now my name would echo from hill to hill over all the Five Nations.” A well-known writer points out that the Indians of British Columbia have a strange prejudice against telling their own names, and his observation is confirmed by travellers all over the world. In many tribes, if the indiscreet question is asked them, they will nudge their neighbor and get him to answer for them. The mention of a name by the unwary has sometimes been followed by unpleasant results. We are told, for instance, by Mr. Blackhouse, of a native lady of Van Diemen’s Land who stoned an English gentleman for having, in his ignorance of Tasmanian etiquette, casually mentioned the name of one of her sons. Nothing will induce a Hindu woman to mention the name of her husband; in alluding to him she uses a variety of descriptive epithets, such as “the master,” etc., but avoids his name with a scrupulous care. To such an extent is this superstition carried among some savage tribes that the real names of children are concealed from their birth upwards, and they are known by fictitious names until their death. The fear of witchcraft probably is the explanation of all those superstitions. If a name gets known to a sorcerer, he can use it as a handle wherewith to work his spells upon the bearer. When the Romans laid siege to a town, they set about at once to discover the name of its tutelary deity, so that they might coax the god into surrendering his charge. In order to prevent their receiving the same treatment at the hands of their enemies, they carefully concealed the name of the tutelary deity of Rome, and are said to have killed Valerius Soranus for divulging it. Reluctance to mention names reaches its height in the case of dangerous or mysterious agencies. In Borneo the natives avoid naming the small-pox. In Germany the hare must not be named, or the rye-crop will be destroyed; and to mention the