at least have seen more
than anybody else, More asked him what he had to say as to the cause
of the sands. "Forsooth, sir," was the greybeard's answer, "I am an
old man: I think that Tenterden Steeple is the cause of Goodwin Sands.
For I am an old man, and I may remember the building of Tenterden
Steeple, and I may remember when there was no steeple at all there.
And before that Tenterden Steeple was in building, there was no
manner of speaking of any flats or sands that stopped the haven;
and, therefore, I think that Tenterden Steeple is the cause of the
destroying and decaying of Sandwich Haven."

This must be taken as Latimer meant it to be, as a ridiculous example
of a purely imbecile argument from observation, but the appeal to
experience may have more show of reason and yet be equally fallacious.
The believers in Kenelm Digby's "Ointment of Honour" appealed to
experience in support of its efficacy. The treatment was to apply the
ointment, not to the wound, but to the sword that had inflicted it, to
dress this carefully at regular intervals, and, meantime, having bound
up the wound, to leave it alone for seven days. It was observed that
many cures followed upon this treatment. But those who inferred that
the cure was due to the bandaging of the sword, failed to observe
that there was another circumstance that might have been instrumental,
namely, the exclusion of the air and the leaving of the wound
undisturbed while the natural healing processes went on. And it
was found upon further observation that binding up the wound alone
answered the purpose equally well whether the sword was dressed or
not.

In cases where _post hoc_ is mistaken for _propter hoc_, simple
sequence for causal sequence, there is commonly some bias of prejudice
or custom which fixes observation on some one antecedent and diverts
attention from other circumstances and from what may be observed to
follow in other cases. In the minds of Digby and his followers there
was probably a veneration for the sword as the weapon of honour, and a
superstitious belief in some secret sympathy between the sword and its
owner. So when the practice of poisoning was common, and suspicion was
flurried by panic fear, observation was often at fault. Pope Clement
VIII. was said to have been killed by the fumes of a poisoned candle
which was placed in his bedroom. Undoubtedly candles were there, but
those who attributed the Pope's death to them took no notice of the