Notes and Queries, Number 51, October 19, 1850

In Short

This volume serves as a mid-nineteenth-century repository for the "curious," functioning as a collaborative clearinghouse for scholars and hobbyists alike. It is a collection of brief articles, specific historical inquiries, and meticulous responses regarding literature, antiquities, and etymology. By inviting readers to pose questions and provide answers, it acts as an early, print-based precursor to modern crowdsourced knowledge platforms. Its enduring appeal lies in the democratic enthusiasm of its contributors, who treat every minor philological puzzle with the same scholarly rigor usually reserved for grand history.

The Story

The narrative arc of this issue is not one of a single protagonist, but rather the collective motion of a community of minds. It opens with an examination of the literary figure "Roberd the Robber" from Piers Ploughman, immediately grounding the reader in the detective work of medieval scholarship. From there, the collection sprawls outward, touching upon the dark origins of the "Hip, hip, hurrah!" cheer, which the text traces back to a grim war cry regarding the fall of Jerusalem. The "story" of the book is defined by this movement between the trivial and the significant: it asks how a stucco rose in a Dutch summer-house might have birthed the idiom "under the rose," and why a printer in the fifteenth century used a peculiar, ill-formed letter R.

As the pages turn, the focus shifts to the practical and the bibliographical. Readers are treated to a detailed account of the variant editions of Fairfax’s Tasso, complete with the tactile experience of holding a page to the light to detect a "cancel slip" that altered the poem's meaning. The argument of the book is essentially that no detail is too small to be ignored. It explores the legitimacy of historical myths, such as the knighting of the sirloin by a witty monarch, and balances this against the somber, documented reality of the St. George’s Fields riot in 1768, where a quiet spectator was tragically killed.

The progression moves toward increasingly complex cultural questions. One finds a spirited debate over the interpretation of a passage in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, where contributors spar over the meaning of the word "delighted." This is followed by a journey into the etymology of the word "gradely" and a fascinating inquiry into the "handfasting" customs of Scottish royalty. The text then transitions into the realm of global discovery, recounting Sir Francis Drake’s expedition to "Nova Albion"—now San Francisco—and the ironic revelation that while explorers were searching for glory, they completely overlooked the vast gold deposits that would define the region's future.

The issue concludes with a series of miscellaneous notices, cataloging new books on Gothic architecture and sepulchral slabs. It ends not with a final resolution, but with an invitation for continued participation, leaving the reader with the sense that history is an unfinished, ongoing conversation between those who care to ask and those who have the patience to search.

How It Unfolds

The literary investigation begins as contributors parse the verses of Piers Ploughman, identifying the roots of folk characters and established poetic traditions.

The etymological hunt follows, where the authors move from the dark, violent history of common cheers to the subtle origins of household idioms and local provincialisms.

The bibliographical study deepens when readers compare specific physical copies of early modern texts, debating the history of printing types and the significance of editorial changes.

The historical analysis broadens as the text moves from the pun-filled legends of royal dining tables to the somber, verified accounts of political violence and public mourning.

The interpretive debate peaks with a technical, high-stakes argument over the precise intent of Shakespearean phrasing, demonstrating the rigor applied to literary analysis.

The geographical scope expands as the text links the ancient northern sagas of London Bridge to the colonial encounters in the bay of San Francisco.

The volume concludes with a compendium of advertisements and scholarly notices, reinforcing the book’s role as a living hub for those dedicated to preserving the remnants of the past.

The People

The figures who populate these pages are an eclectic mix of amateur antiquarians and professional scholars. There is the persistent T.N., who provides critical insights into both the variant editions of Tasso and the ironic history of the California gold fields. Samuel Hickson emerges as a sharp-witted polemicist, vigorously defending his interpretations of Shakespeare against competing scholars. Janus Dousa brings a continental flair to the proceedings, connecting German war cries and Dutch history to the English vernacular. Dr. E.F. Rimbault acts as a reliable guide through the thickets of folklore and nursery rhymes, offering definitive answers to the origins of the "London Bridge" song. These contributors are united by their common desire for accuracy; they stand in the way of error and myth, often correcting one another with a mixture of polite deference and intellectual tenacity. They conclude the volume not as individuals, but as members of a guild of curious minds, each enriched by the collective knowledge they have unearthed.

In Its Own Voice

"We little think, when the red wine sparkles in the cup, and soul-stirring toasts are applauded by our Hip, hip, hurrah! that we record the fall of Jerusalem, and the cruelty of Christians against the chosen people of God."

(The author reflects on the grim, forgotten etymology of a common celebratory cheer.)

"There is no part of earth heere to be taken up, wherein there is not some probable show of gold or silver."

(The text quotes a historical account of Sir Francis Drake’s discovery of the California coast, written long before the gold rush.)

"The existence of a tradition does not necessarily prove, or even require, that the myth should have had its foundation in fact."

(A contributor weighs the value of oral legend against the standards of sober, documented history.)

What It's Really About

The book is a manifesto for the preservation of cultural memory. It posits that history is not merely found in grand treaties or royal decrees, but in the survival of a nursery rhyme, the physical condition of a printer's type, or the specific dialect of a rural province. Beneath the surface of these disparate queries lies a profound argument for the importance of "minutiæ." The authors suggest that by identifying the meaning of a discarded word or the origin of a local custom, we protect the structural integrity of our own intellectual history. It is a work about the necessity of documentation and the belief that nothing is truly lost if someone remains willing to ask about it.

Why Read It Today

Reading this collection today feels like stepping into a crowded, dimly lit library where the air is thick with the scent of old parchment and the excitement of a new discovery. It is an ideal companion for the reader who enjoys the "rabbit hole" effect of history—where a simple question about a word leads to a realization about a war, or a note on a coin leads to a revelation about a culture. The prose is precise, warm, and entirely devoid of modern affectation, which makes the voices of the Victorian contributors feel surprisingly immediate and accessible.

However, a reader should be prepared for the book's period attitudes and the dense, often fragmented nature of its structure. There is no singular, driving plot, but rather a series of jagged, fascinating tangents that demand a patient, wandering attention span. You will encounter the casual, often unexamined biases of the 1850s, particularly in the treatment of colonial subjects and religious history. Yet, if you value the thrill of the hunt—of finding a piece of information that has been ignored by "sober history"—you will find this to be a deeply rewarding, almost meditative experience. It stays with you as a reminder that the world is built upon countless layers of small, human stories waiting to be re-examined.