But it was then far different. The times, as I have said, were rougher and coarser, and the delicacy of feeling which would have shrunk from so addressing those with whom we had to deal, or from making them the object of our banter, would have been perfectly misunderstood. Apart from this, too, the bearer, after all, had little to do with the question. He did not give himself the nickname he received it; pleasant or unpleasant, as he had no voice in the acquisition, so had he none in its retention. There was nothing for it but good-tempered acquiescence. We know to this very day how difficult was the task of getting rid of our school nicknames, how they clung to us from the unhappy hour in which some sharp-witted, quick, discerning youngster found out our weak part, and dubbed us by a sobriquet, which, while it perhaps exaggerated the characteristic to which it had reference, had the effect which a hundred admonitions from paternal or magisterial head-quarters had not, to make us see our folly and mend our ways. None the less, however, did the affix remain, and this was our punishment. How often, when in after years we come accidentally across some quondam schoolfellow, each staring strangely at the other’s grizzly beard or beetled brow, the old sobriquet will crop up to the lips, and in the very naturalness with which the expression is uttered all the separation of years of thought and feeling is forgotten, and we are instantly back to the old days and the old haunts, and pell-mell in the thick of old boyish scrapes again. Yet perchance these names were offensive. But they have wholly lost their force. We had ceased to feel hurt by them long before we parted in early days. See how this, too, is illustrated in the present day in the names of certain sects and parties. We talk calmly of ‘Capuchins,’ ‘Quakers,’ ‘Ranters,’ ‘Whigs’ and ‘Tories,’ and yet some of these taken literally are offensive enough, especially the political ones. But, as we know, all that attached to them of odium has long ago become clouded, obscured, and forgotten, and now they are the accepted, nay, proudly owned, titles of the party they represent. Were it not for this we might be puzzled to conceive why in these early times such a name as ‘le Bonde,’ significant of nothing but personal servitude and galling oppression, was allowed to remain. That ‘le Free’ and ‘le Freman’ and ‘le Franch-homme’ should survive the ravages of time is natural enough. But with ‘Bond’ it is different. It bespoke slavery. Yet it is one of our most familiar names of to-day. How is this? The explanation is easy. The term was used to denote personality, not position; the notion of condition was lost in that of identity. It was just the same with sobriquets of a more humorous and broad character, with nicknames in fact. The roughest humour of those rough days is oftentimes found in these early records, and the surnames which, putting complimentary and objectionable and