Notes and Queries, Number 43, August 24, 1850

In Short

Notes and Queries is a weekly repository of correspondence, acting as a proto-internet forum for the Victorian era. It serves as a central hub where readers submit "queries" on history, philology, and antiquities, and others provide "replies." Its lasting value lies in its role as a living archive of human curiosity; it captures the precise moment when gentleman-scholars turned their attention to the minutiae of language, customs, and local history, creating a collective, participatory history that remains a treasure trove for researchers and bibliophiles.

The Story

The arc of this particular issue begins with an editorial reflection on the nature of shared knowledge. The editor frames the publication not merely as a magazine, but as a collaborative tool designed to organize the vast, scattered information held by the public. This opening establishes the rhythm of the work: a movement from the abstract to the concrete, shifting from broad historical questions to the specific, often peculiar, details of human life.

The narrative flow—if one can call the steady accumulation of facts a narrative—moves through a series of thematic chambers. We begin with a focus on "Notes," which includes a scholarly examination of the "Collar of SS," a badge of chivalric honor. The discussion here is rigorous, debating the nomenclature and the specific historical status of those entitled to wear such regalia. From there, the text transitions into "Folk Lore," a collection of superstitions and rural habits, such as the practice of throwing old shoes for luck or the grim, archaic medicinal belief in roasting mice to cure whooping cough. These entries highlight the tension between the modernizing, rationalizing impulse of the 1850s and the lingering, shadowy traditions of the English countryside.

The center of the volume is occupied by the "Queries," a section that reads like a list of intellectual grievances and genuine bafflements. Contributors ask about the authorship of Shakespeare’s Henry VIII, the origins of "Osmund the Waterman," and the identity of long-forgotten figures like "Darbon Gatherall." This segment represents the book’s intellectual climax: the active, messy, and unfinished business of discovery. The writers are not seeking definitive textbook answers; they are inviting the reader into a process of investigation.

As the issue moves toward its "Replies," the tone shifts from inquiry to resolution. Scholars weigh in on the usage of words in Shakespeare, the religious controversies of the "Family of Love," and the provenance of medieval manuscripts. The arc concludes with "Miscellaneous" notices, which serve as a practical grounding of the preceding intellectual labor. Here, the focus turns to the physical reality of books—the catalogues, the sales, and the lists of "Books and Odd Volumes Wanted." The issue ends not with a grand summation, but with a practical appeal: a call for a testimonial for Dr. Conolly and a reminder of the material, everyday needs of the Victorian reader, such as Joseph Paxton’s Cottagers' Calendar of Garden Operations. The volume closes, effectively, by returning the reader from the high-minded pursuit of historical truth to the practical, garden-tending reality of the world.

How It Unfolds

The call to inquiry The editor opens by justifying the existence of such a periodical, arguing that the history of books and the answers to the public's questions are as important as the texts themselves. This sets the stage for a collaborative, open-ended investigation into the past.

The examination of symbols The text delves into the "Collar of SS," dissecting its heraldic origins and the social status required to wear it. This beat illustrates the era's obsession with the tangible markers of rank and history.

The descent into folklore The focus shifts to the irrational, collecting rural superstitions like the "baptismal superstition" regarding the precedence of boys and girls. This provides a stark contrast to the previous, more rigid academic analysis.

The mystery of authorship Contributors engage in the detective work of literary criticism, specifically questioning how much of Shakespeare’s Henry VIII was actually written by John Fletcher. This shows the reader the painstaking, often skeptical nature of mid-century scholarship.

The resolution of disputes The "Replies" section provides a forum for correction and clarification, as seen in the debate over the word "delighted" in Shakespeare’s plays. It captures the polite, yet firm, intellectual combat of the time.

The practical conclusion The final pages bridge the gap between high intellectual pursuits and common life, advertising garden guides and soliciting funds for public testimonials. It anchors the preceding scholarship in the material, socio-economic life of the period.

The People

The figures in these pages are not characters in a novel, but a network of Victorian correspondents. There is the industrious J.E.B. Mayor, whose meticulous notes on Cambridge manuscripts show a man deeply invested in preserving the academic lineage of his institution. J.G. Nichols emerges as a precise, authoritative voice on heraldry, intent on correcting common misconceptions about chivalric badges. Samuel Hickson acts as the restless, probing critic, challenging settled assumptions about Shakespeare’s canon and demonstrating the era’s burgeoning desire to apply scientific skepticism to literary texts. Then there are the anonymous voices, the "F.L."s and "M."s, who represent the broader reading public. These individuals are driven by a simple, insatiable need to categorize, verify, and understand. They are united by their frustration with incomplete information and their desire to see their own observations—be it a local legend about a "bloody baker" or a query about a piece of damasked linen—recorded for posterity.

In Its Own Voice

"The number of works in which answers have been given to proposed questions is not small."

The editor reflects on the lineage of the periodical format, positioning this work as part of a long tradition of public inquiry.

"A great portion of the play of Henry VIII.--nay, more than half, was not written by Shakspeare."

In a query concerning the authenticity of the text, the writer attempts to strip away the "authority" of the canon to reveal the collaborative reality of Elizabethan theater.

"To show why a man has not one rib less than a woman, it is stated that imperfections are not hereditary."

The contributor captures the strange, often contradictory logic of the past, illustrating how medical and social myths were once treated with the same weight as historical fact.

What It's Really About

Underneath the specific questions about bells, baptism, and heraldry lies a deeper obsession: the preservation of human memory. The contributors are anxious about the rapid disappearance of the past and the potential for error to become truth. They are engaged in a struggle against entropy. The book is an argument for the value of the "small" fact, positing that history is not just the story of kings and battles, but the sum of all the little details—the superstitions, the etymologies, the domestic customs—that make up a civilization. It is about the democratization of knowledge; the belief that any person, given enough curiosity and access to the right library, can contribute to the sum of human understanding.

Why Read It Today

You should read this if you enjoy the feeling of being a detective in a giant, dusty, and infinite library. There is a peculiar, quiet pleasure in reading a book that assumes you are as interested in the history of a tablecloth as you are in the works of Shakespeare. It feels intimate, like browsing through a stranger’s collection of curiosities. However, be warned: the density of the language and the obscure references can be taxing, and the nineteenth-century assumption that you are familiar with Latin or Greek tags is constant. You will encounter attitudes toward class and history that are undeniably of their time, reflecting a colonial and hierarchical society. Yet, the reward is a unique sense of companionship. You are not just reading; you are participating in a conversation that began over 170 years ago. What stays with you is the realization that people have always been this way: anxious to solve puzzles, eager to share what they know, and deeply convinced that, if we just keep asking, we can eventually piece together the story of who we are.