“In the cyte of Exeter by West away
 The time not passed hence many a day,
 There dwelled a yoman discret and wise,
 At the siggne of the Flower de lyse
 Which had to name John Hawkyn.”

Tokens are extant of an inn at Dover, in the seventeenth century, with the sign of the French Arms, a tavern name sufficiently common also in London at that period to attract the travellers from across the Channel. Thus James Johnson was a goldsmith, “that kept running cash,”—i.e., a banker,—in Cheapside, in 1677, living at the sign of the Three Flower de Luces.[158] In the fifteenth century, Gascon merchants and other strangers in London were allowed to keep hostels for their countrymen, and, in order to get known, they most likely put up the arms of those countries as their signs. No doubt the Three Frogs, London Road, Wokingham, is a travesty of Johnny Crapaud’s Arms.

PLATE VII.
HEDGEHOG.
(Bynneman’s sign, 1560.)		 BLUE BOAR.
(Banks’s Collection, 1765.)
THE VALIANT LONDON APPRENTICE.
(From an old chapbook, 17th cent.)
THE SUN.
(Sign of Wynkyn de Worde, 1497.)		 THREE PHEASANTS AND SCEPTRE.
(Banks’s Bills, 1795.)

Boursault,[159] in his letter to Bizotin, has a burst of indignation at a “fournisseur” of something or other to the royal family, who had adopted as his sign the English Arms, with the arms of France in the first quarter, and endeavours to call down the ire of the Parisian police upon the head of the unfortunate shopkeeper who had committed this act of treason:—

“Laissons l’Angleterre se repaître de chimères,” saith he, “et s’imaginer que ses souverains sont Rois de France, mais que des Français soyent assez ignorants, ou assez mauvais sujets, pour mettre les armes de France écartelés dans celles d’Angleterre, c’est ce que des sujets aussi zélez que Monsieur d’Argenson et les autres officiers préposez pour la police ne doivent nullement souffrir.”[160]

He next, in a threatening manner, reminds the poor shopkeeper how, according to “Candem [sic] Historien Angloys,” Queen Mary Stuart was beheaded for having quartered the English arms with those of Scotland, though she was the heir-presumptive of the English throne; and if such was the fate of that queen, what then did the man deserve who quartered the arms of his sovereign with those of a foreign king? Indeed he deserved the same fate as the arms.

Another sign, apparently of French origin, is the Dolphin and Crown, the armorial bearing of the French Dauphin, and the sign of R. Willington, a bookseller in St Paul’s Churchyard circa 1700. Some years after, this house seems to have been occupied by James Young, a famous maker of violins and other musical instruments, who lived at the west corner of London House Yard, St Paul’s Churchyard. On this man the following catch appeared in the Pleasant Musicall Companion, 1726:—

“You scrapers that want a good fiddle well strung,
 You must go to the man that is old while he’s Young;
 But if this same fiddle you fain would play bold,
 You must go to his son, who’s Young when he’s old.
 There’s old Young and young Young, both men of renown:
 Old sells and young plays the best fiddle in town.
 Young and old live together, and may they live long—
 Young to play an old fiddle, old to sell a new song.”

This Young family afterwards removed to the Queen’s Head Tavern in Paternoster Row, where in a few years they grew rich by giving concerts, when they removed to the Castle in the same street. The Castle concerts continued a long time to be celebrated.

Many signs are exceedingly puzzling under the name by which they pass with the public. Such was that of “Rowland Hall, dwelling in Guttur Lane, at the sygne of the Half Eagle and Key.” This quaint sign is no other than the arms of Geneva, described in the non-heraldic language of the mob. Rowland Hall, a bookseller and printer, lived as a refugee in Geneva during the reign of Queen Mary; hence on his return to London he set up the arms of that town for his sign, as a graceful compliment to the hospitality he had received, and as a tribute of admiration to stanch Protestantism. Hall, at other periods of his life, lived at the Cradle in Lombard Street, and at the Three Arrows in Golden Lane, Cripplegate. In 1769 there was again the Geneva Arms among the London signs, before the shop of Le Grand, a “pastery-cook and cook,” as he styled himself, in Church Street, Soho. Formerly most pastry-cooks and confectioners were Swiss, and many from that country still follow those professions in Italy, Spain, and recently in England. This last sign has found imitators in Soho; for at the present day it figures at a public-house in Hayes Court, where it is put up, no doubt, in honour of the spirit which many call Geneva, but which we may name Gin. The origin of this name, as applied by publicans, is not a little curious. In Holland the juniper-berry is used for flavouring the gin or hollands which they distil there, and this, with the vulgar in that country, has gradually become corrupted from Juniper to Jenever, the latter term being still further corrupted here to Geneva, and Gin.

The Cross Keys are the arms of the Papal See, the emblem of St Peter and his successors:—

“Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain;
 The golden opes, the iron shuts amaine.”

Milton.

This sign was frequently adopted by innkeepers and other tenants of religious houses, even after the Reformation; for the Cross Keys figure in the arms of the Bishops of York, Cashel, Exeter, Gloster, and Peterborough. At the Cross Keys in Gracechurch Street, where Tarlton, the comic actor, went to see fashions, Banks used to perform with his wonderful bay horse before a crowded house. This was in the days of Queen Elizabeth, when the inn consisted of a large court with galleries all round, which, like many other old London inns, was often used as an extempore theatre by our ancestors. It is named in 1681[161] amongst the carriers’ inns, and is in existence at the present day. The Cross Keys was the sign of a tavern near Thavies Inn in 1712:—

“May the Cross Keys near Thavies Inn succeed,
 And famous grow for choicest white and red;
 That all may know, who view that costly sign,
 Those golden keys command celestial wine.”

The Quack Vintners. A Satire. 1712.

Besides, it is famous as the sign of Bernard Lintot, 1736, the publisher of Gay’s works, and many other popular books of that day. His shop was situated between the Temple Gates, in Fleet Street. The Cross Keys and Bible was the sign of J. Bell, in Cornhill, 1711.

Most numerous among heraldic signs were the crests, arms, and badges[162] of private families. The causes which dictated the choice of such subjects were various. One of the earliest was this:—

“In towns the hospitality of the burghers was not always given gratis, for it was a common custom even amongst the richer merchants to make a profit by receiving guests. These letters of lodgings were distinguished from the innkeepers or hostelers by the name of herbergeors, or people who gave harbour to strangers, and in large towns they were submitted to municipal regulations. The great barons and knights were in the custom of taking up their lodgings with those herbergeors rather than going to the public hostel, and thus a sort of relationship was formed between particular nobles or kings and particular burghers, on the strength of which the latter adopted the arms of their habitual lodgers as their sign.”[164]

This, again, led to the custom of prefixing to inns the arms of men of note who had sojourned in the house, as may be seen in Machyn’s Diary:—“The xxv day of January [1560] toke ys gorney into Franse, inbassadur to the Frenche kyng, the yerle of Bedford and he had iij dozen of logyng skochyons,” (lodging escutcheons). Thus, on the road from London to Westchester the coats of arms of several of the lord-lieutenants of Ireland might formerly have been observed, either as signs to inns or else framed and hung in the best rooms. That this was a general custom with ambassadors appears from Sir Dudley Digge’s “Compleat Ambassador,” 1654; who, alluding in his preface to the reserve of English ambassadors, observes:—“We have hardly any notion of them but their arms, which are hung up in inns where they passed.” Montaigne also mentions this practice as usual in France:—“A Plombières il me commanda à la faveur de son hostesse, selon l’humeur de la nation, de laisser un escusson de ses armes en bois, qu’un peintre dudict lieu fist pour un escu; et le fist l’hostesse curieusement attacher à la muraille pas dehors.”[165]

But the feudal relations between the higher and lower classes contributed above all to the adoption of this description of signs. A vassal, for instance, would set up the arms or crest of his feudal lord; a retired soldier the arms of the knight under whose banneret he had gathered both glory and plunder; an old servant the badge he had worn when he stood at the trencher, or followed his master in the chase; and, doubtless, many publicans adopted for their sign the badge of the neighbouring wealthy noble, in order to court the custom of his household and servants.

Bagford, in his MS. notes about the art of printing,[166] has jotted down a list of signs originated from badges, which we will transcribe in all the unrestrained freedom of Bagford’s spelling, in which, as well as in bad writing, he surpassed all his contemporaries, (see note, p. 102:)—

“Then for ye original of signes used to be set over ye douers of tradesmen, as Inkepers, Taverns, etc., thay hauing been domestic saruants to some nobleman, thay leauing ther Masters saruis toke to themselves for ther signes ye crest, bag,[167] or ye arms of ther Ld., and thes was a destincsion or Mark of one Mannes house from anouther, and [not] only by printers but all outher trades: and these seruants of kinges, queenes, or noblemen, being ther domestick saruants, and wor ther Leuirs[168] and Bages, as may be sene these day ye maner of the Leuirs and Bagges by ye wattermen:—

The arms of the lord of the manor were often put up as a sign,—a custom that has continued to our day, particularly in villages, where the inn invariably displays the name or coat-armour of the ground-landlord, whose steward once or twice in the year meets at the house the tenantry with their rents and land dues. Should the estate pass into other hands, the inn will most probably change its sign for the arms of the new purchaser. The house, as it were, wears the livery of the master, although, so far as heralds’ visitations are concerned, this may be as unauthorised as many other advertisements of noble descent, or gentle extraction, in use amongst the wealthy and the proud.

In ancient times, as we have seen, the great landowners performed the duties of innkeepers, and their arms were hung or carved at the entrances to the castles, as indications to wayfarers who was the lord and master in those parts. The keep in those days was rarely without a stranger or two, either travelling mechanics or persons acquainted with mysteries,—as trades and professions were termed in those days,—or vagabond soldiers on the tramp for a new master to fight under. Greater people were admitted further in the castle, but the common sort fared with the servants. According to the good-nature of the all-powerful lord was the fare good or bad, plentiful or meagre. It was, however, generally the custom in those early times to be profuse in all matters of food-bounty. The house-steward made charges for any extras, and the comfort obtainable generally depended on the liberality or greediness of these personages. As population increased, travellers became too numerous for the accommodation provided. Stewards also became old, and detached premises were given or built for them to carry on the business away from the castle or great house. The arms of the landlord were of course put up outside the house, and on occasion of predatory excursions or family fights, when other nobles joined their troops with those of the landlord, the soldiers were usually quartered at the inn outside the castle. As in all cases of public resort, people soon began to have fancies, and this Red Lion and that Greyhound became famous through the country for the good entertainment to be had there. In this manner Red Lions and Greyhounds found their way on to the signboards of the inns within the walled cities. The men of the castle, too, used those houses bearing their master’s arms when they visited the town. It will be readily seen that the name of a favourite tavern would quickly suggest its adoption elsewhere, and in this way the heraldic emblem of a family might be carried where that family was neither known nor feared.

Latterly, however, as all traces of the origin and meaning of these “Arms” have died out, or become removed from the understanding of publicans and brewers, the uses to which the word has been applied are most absurd and ridiculous. Not only do we meet constantly with arms of families nobody ever heard of, nor cares to hear about, but all sorts of impossible “Arms” are invented, as Junction Arms, Griffin’s Arms, Chaffcutter’s Arms, Union Arms,[177] General’s Arms, Antigallican Arms, Farmers’ Arms, Drovers’ Arms, &c., (see Introduction.)

In tavern heraldry the Adam’s Arms ought certainly to have the precedence: the publicans generally represent these by a pewter pot and a couple of crossed tobacco pipes, differing in this from Sylvanus Morgan, a writer on heraldry, who says that Adam’s arms were “Paly Tranchy divided every way and tinctured of every colour,”[178] The shield was in the shape of a spade, which was used

“When Adam delved and Eve span,”

whilst from the spindle of our first mother the female lozenge-shaped shield is said to be derived.

One of the most popular heraldic signs is the Bear and Ragged Staff, the crest of the Warwick family:—

“War. Now, by my father’s badge, old Nevil’s crest,
 The rampant bear chain’d to the ragged staff,
 This day I’ll wear aloft my burgonet.”

Henry VI., Part II. a. v. s. 1.

Arthgal, the first Earl of Warwick, in the time of King Arthur, was called by the ancient British the Bear, for having strangled such an animal in his arms; and Morvidius, another ancestor of this house, slew a giant with a club made out of a young tree; hence the family bore the Bear and Ragged Staff.

“When Robert Dudley was governor in the Low Countries with the high title of his Excellencie, disusing his own coat of the Green Lion[179] with two tails, he signed all instruments with the crest of the Bear and Ragged Staff. He was then suspected by many of his jealous adversaries to hatch an ambitious design to make himself absolute commander (as the lion is king of beasts) over the Low Countries. Whereupon some—foes to his faction and friends to the Dutch freedom—wrote under his crest set up in public places:—

‘Ursa caret cauda, non queat esse leo.’
 ‘The Bear he never can prevail
 To lion it for lack of tail.’

Which gave rise to a Warwickshire proverb, in use at this day,—The Bear wants a tail and cannot be a Lion.”[180]

The Bear and Ragged Staff is still the sign of an inn at Cumnor, to which an historic interest is attached owing to its connexion with the dark tragedy of poor Amy Robsart, who in this very house fell a victim to that stony-hearted adventurer, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. Sir Walter Scott has introduced the house in the first chapter of “Kenilworth.” The power the Warwick family once enjoyed gave this sign a popularity which has existed to the present day, though the race of old Nevil, and the kings he made and unmade, have each and all passed away. Its heraldic designation has been better preserved than is the case of some other signs; only in one instance, at Lower Bridge Street, Chester, it has been altered into the Bear and Billet. Sometimes the sign of the Bear and Ragged Staff, we may inform the reader, is jocularly spoken of as the Angel and Flute.

The Ragged Staff figures also in single blessedness. A carriers’ inn in West Smithfield possessed this sign in 1682.[181] In the wall of a house at the corner of Little St Andrew Street and West Street, St Giles, there is still a stone bas-relief sign of two ragged staves placed salterwise, with the initials S. F. G., and the date 1691. It was doubtless put there as a compliment to Robert Sydney, Earl of Leicester, who in the reign of Charles II. built Leicester House, which gave a name to Leicester Fields, now the site of Leicester Square. Stow mentions that the king-maker, Richard Warwick, came to town for the convention of 1458, accompanied by 600 men, all in red jackets, “embroidered with ragged staves before and behind.”

Equally well known with the last sign is that of the Eagle and Child, occasionally called the Bird and Bantling, to obtain the favourite alliteration. It represents the crest of the Stanley family, and the following legend is told to account for its origin:—In the reign of Edward III., Sir Thomas Latham, ancestor of the house of Stanley and Derby, had only one legitimate child, a daughter named Isabel, but at the same time he had an illegitimate son by a certain Mary Oscatell. This child he ordered to be laid at the foot of a tree on which an eagle had built its nest. Taking a walk with his lady over the estate, he contrived to bring her past this place, pretended to find the boy, took him home, and finally prevailed upon her to adopt him as their son. This boy was afterwards called Sir Oscatell Latham, and considered the heir to the estates. Compunction or other motive, however, made the old nobleman alter his mind and confess the fraud, and at his death the greater part of the fortune was left to his daughter, who afterwards married Sir John Stanley. At the adoption of the child, Sir Thomas had assumed for crest an eagle looking backwards; this, out of ill feeling towards Sir Oscatell, was afterwards altered into an eagle preying upon a child. How matters were afterwards arranged may be seen in “Memoirs containing a Genealogical and Historical Account of the House of Stanley,” p. 22. Manchester, 1767. Bishop Stanley made an historical poem upon the legend, which is not without parallel, and seems to be either a corruption of or suggested by the fable of Ganimede. Edward Stanley, in his “History of Birds,” (vol. i. p. 119,) cites several similar stories. But the Stanley family is not the only one that bears this crest. Randle Holme (b. iii. p. 403) gives the arms of the family of Culcheth of Culcheth as “an infant in swaddling-clothes proper, mantle gules, swaddle band or, with an eagle standing upon it, with its wings expanded sable in a field argent.” “The fause fable of the Lo. Latham” is also told at length, with slight variations from the usual story, in a MS. in the College of Arms;[182] in this version the foundling is made the son of an Irish king. The Eagle and Child occurs as the sign of a bookseller, Thomas Creede, in the old Exchange, as early as 1584. Taylor the water-poet also names some instances of the sign among inns and taverns, and particularly extols one at Manchester:—

“I lodged at the Eagle and the Child,
 Whereas my hostesse (a good ancient woman)
 Did entertain me with respect not common,
 She caused my linnen, shirts, and bands be washt,
 And on my way she caused me be refresht;
 She gave me twelve silke points, she gave me baken,
 Which by me much refused at last was taken.
 In troath she proued a mother unto me,
 For which I ever more will thankefull be.”[183]

Another crest of the Derby family also occurs as a sign—namely, the Eagle’s Foot, which was adopted in the sixteenth century by John Tysdall, a bookseller at the upper end of Lombard Street.

The frequency of eagles in heraldry made them very common on the signboard, although it is now impossible to say whose armorial bearings each particular eagle was intended to represent. The Spread Eagle occurs as the sign of one of the early printers and booksellers, Gualter Lynne, who, in the middle of the sixteenth century, had two shops with that sign,—one on Sommer’s Key, near Billingsgate, and another next St Paul’s Wharf. In 1659 there was a Black Spread Eagle at the west end of St Paul’s, which shop was also a bookseller’s, one Giles Calvert. As the signs in large towns and cities were generally not altered when the house changed hands, it is not improbable but that this may be the same Black Eagle mentioned by Stow in the following words:—

“During a great tempest at sea, in January 1506, Philip, King of Castille, and his queen, were weather-driven at Falmouth. The same tempest blew down the Eagle of brass off the spire of St Paul’s Church in London, and in the falling the same eagle broke and battered the Black Eagle that hung for a sign in St Paul’s Churchyard.”

Milton’s father, a scrivener by trade, lived in Bread Street, Cheapside, at the sign of the Spread Eagle, which was his own coat of arms, and in this house the great author of “Paradise Lost” was born, December 9, 1608. When the poet’s fame had gone forth, strangers used to come to see the house, until it was destroyed by the fire of 1666. Perhaps its memory is preserved in Black Spread Eagle Court, which is the name of a passage in that locality.

Another Spread Eagle was a noted “porter-house” in the Strand at the end of the last century:—

“And to some noted porter-house repair;
 The several streets or one or more can claim,
 Alike in goodness and alike in fame.
 The Strand her Spreading Eagle justly boasts.
 ...... Facing that street where Venus holds her reign,
 And Pleasure’s daughters drag a life of pain,[184]
 There the Spread Eagle, with majestic grace,
 Shows his broad wings and notifies the place.
 ...... There let me dine in plenty and in quiet.”[185]

The Grasshoppers on the London signboards were all descendants of Sir Thomas Gresham’s sign and crest, which is still commemorated by the weather-vane on the Royal Exchange, of which he was the first founder. The original sign appears to have been preserved up to a very recent date.

“The shop of the great Sir Thomas Gresham,” says Pennant, “stood in this [Lombard] street: it is now occupied by Messrs Martin, bankers, who are still in possession of the original sign of that illustrious person—the Grasshopper. Were it mine, that honourable memorial of so great a predecessor should certainly be placed in the most ostentatious situation I could find.”[186]

The ancients used the grasshopper as a fascinum, (fascination, enchantment;) for this purpose Pisistratus erected one as a καταχηνη before the Acropolis at Athens; hence grasshoppers, in all sorts of human occupations, were worn about the person to bring good luck. The grasshopper sign certainly seems to have been a lucky one. Charles Duncombe and Richard Kent, goldsmiths, lived at the Grasshopper in Lombard Street, (no doubt Gresham’s old house,) in 1677,[187] and throve so well under its fascinum that Duncombe gathered a fortune large enough to buy the Helmsley estate in Yorkshire from George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. The land is now occupied by the Earl of Feversham, (Duncombe’s descendant,) under the name of Duncombe Park.

It is impossible to determine whether the Maidenhead was set up as a compliment to the Duke of Buckingham, to Catherine Parr, or to the Mercers’ Company, for it is the crest of the three. But at all events the Mercers’ crest had the precedence as being the oldest. Amongst the badges of Henry VIII. it is sometimes seen issuing out of the Tudor Rose:—

“This combination,” Willement says, “does not appear to have been an entire new fancy, but to have been composed from the rose-badge of King Henry VIII., and from one previously used by this queen’s family. The house of Parr had before this time assumed as one of their devices a maiden’s head couped below the breast, vested in ermine and gold, the hair of the head and the temples encircled with a wreath of red and white roses; and this badge they had derived from the family of Ros of Kendal.”

It was a sign used by some of the early printers. On the last page of a little work entitled “Salus Corporis, Salus Animæ,” we find the following imprint:—

“Hos cme Richardus quos Fax impressit ad unguem calcographus
summa sedulitate libros.

Impressum est presens opusculum londiniis in divi pauli semiterio sub virginei capitis signo. Anno millesimo quin getesimo nono. Mensis vero Decembris die xii.”[188]

Thomas Petit, another early printer, also lived “at the sygne of the Maydenshead in Paulis Churchyard,” 1541. He was probably a successor of Richard Fax.

An amusing anecdote is told of old Hobson, the Londoner, with regard to this sign:—

“Maister Hobson having one of his Prentices new come out of his time, and being made a free man of London, desired to set up for himself; so, taking a house not far from St Laurence Lane, furnished it with store[142] of ware, and set up the signe of the Maydenhead; hard by was a very rich man of the same trade, had the same signe, and reported in every place where he came, that the young man had set up the same signe that he had onely to get away his customers, and daily vexed the young man therewithall, who, being grieved in his mind, made it known to Maister Hobson, his late Maister, who, comming to the rich man, said, ‘I marvell, sir,’ (quoth Maister Hobson,) ‘why you wrong my man so much as to say he seketh to get away your customers.’ ‘Marry, so he doth,’ (quoth the other,) ‘for he has set up a signe called the Maidenhead, and mine is.’ ‘That is not so,’ (replied Maister Hobson,) ‘for his is the widdoe’s head, and no maydenhead, therefore you do him great wrong.’ The rich man hereupon, seeing himself requited with mocks, rested satisfied, and never after that envied Maister Hobson’s man, but let him live quietly.”[189]

This sign occurs occasionally as the Maid’s Head, but since Queen Elizabeth’s reign it has doubtless frequently referred to the virgin queen.

The Cross Foxes—i.e., two foxes counter saliant—is a common sign in some parts of England. It is the sign of the principal inn at Oswestry in Shropshire, and of very many public-houses in North Wales, and has been adopted from the armorial bearings of Sir Watkin Williams Wynne, Bart., whose family hold extensive possessions in these parts. The late baronet, too, made himself very popular as a patron of agricultural improvements. Old Guillim, the heraldic writer’s remarks upon this coat of arms, which he says belongs to the Kadrod Hard family of Wales, are quaint:—

“These are somewhat unlike Samson’s foxes that were tied together by the tails, and yet these two agree in aliquo tertio: They came into the field like to enemies, but they meant nothing less than fight, and therefore they pass by each other, like two crafty lawyers, which come to the Bar as if they meant to fall out deadly about their clients’ cause; but when they have done, and their clients’ purses are well spunged, they are better friends than ever they were, and laugh at those geese that will not believe them to be foxes, till they (too late) find themselves foxbitten.”[190]

The Tiger’s Head was the sign of the house of Christopher and Robert Barker, Queen Elizabeth’s booksellers and printers, in Paternoster Row: it was borrowed from their crest; their shop exhibited the sign of the Grasshopper, in St Paul’s Churchyard. They came of an ancient family, being descended from Sir Christopher Barker, knight, king-at-arms, in the reign of Henry VIII. Barker is said to have printed the first series of English news-sheets, or, as we now call them, newspapers. The earliest of those which remain (copies are preserved among Dr Birch’s Historical Collections in the British Museum, No. 4106) relate to the descent of the Spanish Armada upon the English coasts; but as they are numbered 50, 51, and 54 in the corner of their upper margins, it has been not improbably concluded that a similar mode of publishing news had been resorted to considerably earlier than the date of that event, though, as far as we know, none of the papers have been preserved. The title is:—

“THE ENGLISH MERCURIE, published by authoritie, for the prevention of false reports;”

and the last number contains an account of the queen’s thanksgiving at St Paul’s for the victory she had gained over the enemies of England. It is probable that when the great alarm of the Armada had subsided, no more numbers were published. The colophon runs:—

“Imprinted by Christopher Barker, her highnesse’s printer, July 23, 1588.”

It must not however be concealed that doubt is entertained of the genuineness of these papers. Two of them are not of the time, but printed in modern type; and no originals are known: the third is in manuscript of the eighteenth century, altered and interpolated with changes in old language, such only as an author would make.

The punning device, or printer’s emblem, of Barker was a man barking a tree, representations of which may be seen on the titles and last leaves of many of the old folio and quarto Bibles and New Testaments issued from his press. His descendants continued booksellers to the royal family until January 12, 1645, when Robert Barker, the last of the family, died a prisoner for debt in the King’s Bench. His misfortunes were probably occasioned by the embarrassments of his royal master, who for three years had been at war with the Parliament and a majority of his subjects.

Various other booksellers sold their books under the sign of the Tiger’s Head in St Paul’s Churchyard: apparently they succeeded each other in the same house. Thus we find Toby Cook, 1579-1590; Felix Kingston, 1599; and Henry Seile, 1634.

At Nortwich and Altringham, Chester, there is a sign called the Bleeding Wolf, which has not been found anywhere else. Its origin is difficult to explain, and the only explanation that can be immediately offered for it is the crest of Hugh Lupus and Richard, first and second Earls of Chester, which was a wolf’s head erased; the neck of the animal being erased may, by primitive sign-painters, have been represented less conventionally than is done now, and probably exhibited some of the torn parts, whence the name of the Bleeding Wolf. As for the use of the term “wolf,” instead of “wolf’s head,” we have a parallel instance in one of the gates of Chester, which, from this crest, was called Wolfsgate instead of Wolfshead Gate. There is another equally puzzling sign, peculiar to this county and to Lancashire—namely, the Bear’s Paw. Of this sign, it must be confessed that no explanation can be offered; it certainly looks heraldic, and lions jambs erased are the crest of many families.

Easy enough to explain is the sign of Parta Tueri, (Cellarhead, Staffordshire,) which is the motto of the Lilford family: this is the only instance as yet met with of a family motto standing for a sign; though in Essex a public-house sign, representing a sort of Bacchic coat of arms, with the motto, In Vino Veritas, may be seen. The Oakley Arms, at Maidenhead, near Bray, deserves passing mention, on account of some amusing verses connected with the place. As it is frequently the custom with publicans to choose for their sign the name or picture of some real or imaginary hero connected with the locality in which their house stands, the following verses were written on the Oakley Arms, near Bray:—