Notes and Queries, Number 38, July 20, 1850

In Short

This volume serves as a digital-era window into a mid-Victorian intellectual social network. It is a compilation of correspondence—brief notes, scholarly queries, and collaborative replies—covering everything from the etymology of "Easter" to the precise location of William Caxton’s printing press. By acting as a public clearinghouse for antiquarian and literary research, it fostered a communal spirit of discovery. It endures as a fascinating artifact of nineteenth-century curiosity, demonstrating how Victorian thinkers synthesized knowledge through shared investigation, archival digging, and the rigorous, often passionate, pursuit of minor historical truths.

The Story

The progression of this work follows the rhythm of a conversation held in longhand. It opens with a scholarly attempt to refine the interpretation of Shakespearean language, specifically the word "delighted," moving quickly into the political theater of the eighteenth century through an analysis of the authors behind The Rolliad. As the pages turn, the focus shifts from the literary to the mythic, debating the origins of religious festivals and the ancient, persistent belief that the dying possess a sudden, divine capacity for prophecy. This transition from linguistic theory to folklore sets the stage for a wide-ranging examination of historical customs.

The middle section delves into the physical traces of the past, exploring the architectural and social history of London institutions like the New Temple and the Westminster Abbey almonry. The contributors navigate the transition from medieval scribal culture to the advent of the printing press, arguing over the specific locations where Caxton might have operated. This grounding in concrete history is punctuated by lighter, yet no less earnest, inquiries into "smoke money," the meaning of archaic terms like "fiz-gigs," and the origins of everyday objects such as the umbrella.

As the discourse nears its end, the focus turns inward toward the mechanics of the publication itself—the processes of institutional life, the etiquette of the House of Commons, and the management of academic archives. The volume concludes not with a final thesis, but with a call to collective action: a plea for the preservation of Geoffrey Chaucer’s tomb, accompanied by an appeal for further contributions to the study of folklore. It leaves the reader with a clear sense of the intellectual labor required to maintain a living history, showing that the resolution of one question—whether regarding a Latin motto or a genealogical detail—invariably uncovers a dozen more, sustaining the cycle of inquiry that defined the publication's mission.

How It Unfolds

The linguistic foundation The work begins by challenging established interpretations of Shakespearean texts, asserting that "delighted" functions as a distinct, refined term rather than a mere synonym for joy. This sets a tone of precise, corrective scholarship that permeates the subsequent entries.

The descent into folklore The focus shifts from the page to the human experience, examining the ancient, cross-cultural phenomenon of death-bed prophecy. Contributors cite Greek philosophers and biblical patriarchs to elevate folklore from superstition to a subject of serious historical scrutiny.

The excavation of local history Discussions move to the physical reality of the past, as contributors debate the exact site of Caxton’s early printing efforts and the institutional history of the New Temple. These exchanges rely heavily on digging through old charters and secondary historical accounts.

The gathering of curiosities The narrative arc broadens to include the mundane and the eccentric, asking after the origins of "smoke money" and the meaning of obscure nautical or domestic terminology. This section highlights the collaborative, often playful nature of the contributors as they solve small, persistent puzzles.

The communal conclusion The process concludes by shifting from research to activism, as the editors mobilize their readership to fund the repair of Chaucer’s monument. It reinforces the idea that the preservation of history is a responsibility shared by those who study it.

The People

The figures in this collection are not dramatic protagonists, but a network of Victorian gentlemen scholars, clergymen, and antiquarians—people like Samuel Hickson, Dr. Rimbault, and Augustus Guest. They are united by a common desire to correct the record and fill the gaps in the national memory. What stands in their way is the silence of time, the loss of manuscripts, and the misinterpretations of previous generations.

These individuals operate with a shared, earnest impatience for "nonsense" and inaccuracy. They are often defined by their specific obsessions: one contributor might be a stickler for the exact lineage of the authors of a political pamphlet, while another is deeply invested in the physical dimensions of a legendary porridge pot at Warwick Castle. They do not change in the conventional sense of a character arc; rather, they serve as conduits for information. They end up as they began—as diligent, inquisitive participants in a larger, ongoing effort to categorize the world, leaving behind a legacy of systematic, if sometimes pedantic, intellectual devotion.

In Its Own Voice

"I wish to call attention to the peculiar use of a word, or rather to a peculiar word, in Shakspeare, which I do not recollect to have met with in any other writer."

(Samuel Hickson initiates a debate on the specific Shakespearean meaning of "delighted.")

"The Tomb of Geoffrey Chaucer in Westminster Abbey is fast mouldering into irretrievable decay."

(The Committee for the Repair of the Tomb of Geoffrey Chaucer issues a formal, urgent appeal for contributions.)

"The soul, says Aristotle, when on the point of taking its departure from the body, foretells and prophesies things about to happen."

(Augustus Guest quotes Aristotle to support his exploration of the ancient belief in death-bed prophecy.)

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the continuity of human curiosity. It treats the past not as a closed book, but as an open-ended puzzle. The underlying argument is that history is not solely the domain of great political events, but is equally found in the etymology of a word, the tradition of a wedding cake, or the location of a forgotten building. It asserts that intellectual life is a cooperative endeavor, where the rigorous attention to minor details—the "Notes and Queries"—collectively builds a more accurate and vibrant understanding of our shared cultural heritage.

Why Read It Today

To read this today is to step into a quieter, more deliberative era of intellectual life. It will feel rewarding to those who enjoy the "rabbit-hole" nature of modern internet forums, but who crave the formal, precise, and often dryly humorous prose of the nineteenth century. The text does not shy away from scholarly jargon or untranslated Latin, reflecting the classical education common to its original contributors.

The primary difficulty for a modern reader is the sheer density of obscure references; one may find themselves occasionally lost in a tangle of seventeenth-century names or legalistic terminology. However, the reward is the unique sensation of sitting at the workbench of history. It stays with you because it celebrates the act of asking questions for their own sake, validating the idea that no detail is too small to be worth examining. It captures the charm of a period when the world felt like a vast, uncatalogued library, waiting for people to write in with the answers.