'Twas Ever Thus: Victorian Name Poems

 

The following two articles appeared in the Leicester Chronicle. The first on Saturday 18 February, 1893 and the second on Saturday 12 February, 1898.  

NAMING THE BABY We searched the list from first to last    To find a name appropriate; To crown our curly-headed boy    We wanted something strong and great. First Leonard struck us lionlike —    A goodly name—alas! and when The owner reaches man's estate.    He'll thunder down old time as "Len." Philander troubled us awhile—    For man should love his fellow-man; But 'tis so easy to behead    To common "Phil," we never can.  Now Roderic is rich in fame—    We well; we won't. 'Twill never do To place out boy beneath the ban    Of common "Rod" his life all through. A charming name was Lancelot,   Or Valentine, Augustus—all; But "Lance" and "Val" and "Gus" are not    The names we wanted folks to bawl.  Then Constantine and Bertram shone.    But "Con" and "Bert" we didn't like; And "Sol" is easy cut from Saul—    It seemed a name we never strike.  My wife persued the novels strong,    While aunts and cousins entered in The list with names that should belong—    Of course each claim could never win. The baby grew, and found his tongue,    And set our fancies to his will, And yelled one night, with boyish din,    "Come off the roof, and call me 'Bill!'"                      Leicester Chronicle                           18 Feb 1893

.

THE BABY'S NAME "Mordaunt," she called him. In a novel book    His mother found the name she give to him; I didn't like it, for kinder took    A sort of notion favor'ble to "Jim." But when she looked up at me from the bed,    Half dead, but happy, an' she said: "I want That you shall name him, after all," I said:    "Why, blame it all, of course, it is Mordaunt." She knew the way I felt about such names    An' that this was a sacrifice, fer she Had often heard me say that honest "James"    Had just about the proper ring fer me; But though 'twas disapp'intment, still I thought    She was the one that had the right to choose, An' I—there wasn't any question—ought    To reconcile my wishes to her views. He was so delicate—so teeny small,    But smarter than the cracker of a whip; I don't believe he ever cried at all—    Sometimes he'd pucker up his little lip An' look at you until you was ashamed.    Of all the sins you knew he knew you'd done; I often thought he grieved because we'd named    By such a name a helpless little one.  An' thinking that, when we two was alone,    I called him by the name I liked so well, His mother would 'a grieved if she'd 'a known,    But neither Jim nor me would ever tell. We never told. He'd laugh and crow to hear    Me whisperin' so happ'ly to him; "Yer name's Mordaunt, old boy, when mother's near;     But when there's only me about, it's Jim." We never told our little secret, and    We never will—we never, never will; Somewhere off yonder, in a flow'ry land    A little baby's toddlin', toddlin' still, A-seeking in the sunshine all alone    The God that give an' then that sent for him— Mordaunt's the name carved on the little stone,    But in my heart the name is always Jim.                       Leicester Chronicle                           12 Feb 1898

.