One frere Flaterie, Physicien and surgien, makes mention also of— Conscience called a Leche That could well shryve, To go salve those that sike ben, And through synne y-wounded. ‘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— Why should thy sweete love-locke hang dangling downe, Kissing thy girdle-stud with falling pride? Although thy skin be white, thy hair is browne; Oh let not then thy haire thy beautie hide. 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— The nine thousand maidens dere, That beren in Heaven their cierges clere, Of which men rede in church and sing, Were take in secular clothing.