The year was 1843, and the theme of English meteorology was measurement. Sir ‘Thunder-and-lightning’ William Snow Harris was given his last British Association for the Advancement of Science grant to complete the Plymouth series of over 120,000 thermometric observations, publication of which proved a costly venture, not least because the series implied no meteorological theory whatsoever.

In July of that year, however, John Herschel wrote to William Radcliffe Birt that the atmosphere might be considered ‘a vehicle for wave like movement which may embrace in their single swell & fall a whole quadrant of a globe’. The idea of ‘atmospheric wave’, thought Herschel, might well make sense of the odd series of London barometric readings made in September 1836, but, more significantly, it might also lead towards solving the notorious ‘storm controversy’ of the 1830s between the American meteorologists William Redfield and James Pollard Espy. If Birt would accept, Herschel would propose him to the British Association as the director of the new project to discover laws of weather behaviour.

On 22 December 1827, a letter was received by the council of the newly founded London University from a ‘Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge ċ desirous of becoming a Candidate for the Mathematical Chair in the University of London’. The letter proceeded ‘to refer the Council to the Tutors of Trinity College, and to his degree in the Tripos of 1827, for testimonials of qualifications &c’. Two months later, the applicant received a brief note ‘informing you that the Council yesterday elected you professor of Mathematics after the most distinguished competition that there has been for any chair’. The recipient was (with the exception of the years 1831–36) to remain in this position for over a third of a century, during which time he would establish and maintain not only the reputation of the fledgling university, but also his own as a highly respected mathematician and logician. His name was Augustus De Morgan.

... and signs and the signs of signs are used only when we are lacking things.

Brother William of Baskerville in The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco

Recreating, as part of doing history, can be a way of reflecting what creating is as part of science. Discussions revolving around historical understanding of the scientific enterprise have recently included strong commitments to turn scientific practice into one of the main objectives of historical study. One specific methodological approach to face up to this assignment is integrating the reconstruction and reperformance of past experiments into the historical analysis of the doing-part in science. This paper deals with the doing-part in history, that is, with the historiographical consequences that might stem from this reconstruction and reperformance of past experimentation. In the course of a four-month period of research I worked with a replica of the so-called ‘actinometer’, an instrument to measure the intensity of solar radiation, which was invented by John Herschel in 1824. On the basis of this example, I try to trace how recent performances of experimental activities can contribute to historical understanding of human agency in scientific practice.

When the editorial board of the British Journal for the History of Science was considering ways to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the foundation of the British Society for the History of Science, it was quickly decided that the occasion presented an ideal opportunity for publishing a collection of student essays. For few areas have changed so much over the last fifty years as the actual teaching of the history of science. When the Society began in 1947, the subject was offered in only three universities: Oxford, Cambridge and London. Now, in 1997, it is available in more than twenty-two institutions across the country and in many more worldwide. University teaching has become an essential part of our professional activities – essential and greatly valued. And the work of students today is of a calibre hardly anticipated fifty years ago. By publishing a selection of student papers during this Anniversary year, we aim to celebrate the strengths of our subject at the institutional level.

Historical accounts of the practice of smallpox inoculation in the late eighteenth century invariably make a distinction between the widespread general inoculations carried out within small rural parishes and the partial inoculations in urban centres such as London, Manchester, Newcastle and Leeds. This distinction, moreover, is generally reinforced by concluding that the rural inoculation programmes were ‘highly effective’ or ‘successful’ in contrast with the urban inoculation schemes, which are often seen as ‘marginally effective’ or indeed ‘failing’. Success or failure tends to be judged by the impact which inoculation had upon reducing mortality from smallpox, but as a result of this demographic focus the motives behind the implementation of urban inoculation have been overlooked. My paper readjusts this balance by looking more closely at motives and by judging success in relation to aims. To achieve this I have taken a new approach towards the history of smallpox inoculation as a whole, and portray the basic idea of giving a person smallpox in order to confer subsequent immunity as being modified in the hands of different people throughout the course of the century. Hence it is possible to trace the development of inoculation from a folk practice carried out within the home with the aim of protecting individuals, to large-scale general inoculations of an entire community, which aimed to eradicate the disease altogether.

In order to pass the BA examination, it was, also, necessary to get up Paley's Evidences of Christianity, and his Moral Philosophy. This was done in a thorough manner, and I am convinced that I could have written out the whole of the Evidences with perfect correctness, but not of course in the clear language of Paley. The logic of this book and, as I may add, of his Natural Theology gave me as much delight as did Euclid. The careful study of these works, without attempting to learn any part by rote, was the only part of the Academical Course which, as I then felt and as I still believe, was of the least use to me in the education of my mind.

Charles Darwin

Autobiography

One of the books Charles Darwin read at Cambridge University was William Paley's Natural Theology (1802). Many scholars have assumed that this was a set text at the university in the early nineteenth century. However, a study of the examination papers of the university, and contemporary memoirs, autobiographies and correspondence, reveals no evidence that this was so, though it did appear in some of the college examinations. This contrasts with other books by Paley which did appear for many years in both university and college examinations. This paper uses the misapprehension about Paley's text as a starting point to investigate the role of natural theology in a Cambridge education in the first three decades of the nineteenth century.

Dugald Stewart (1753–1828) lectured in astronomy and political economy, held the chair of mathematics at Edinburgh University from 1775 to 1785, then the chair of moral philosophy from 1785 to 1810, and wrote extensively on metaphysics, political economy, ethics, philology, aesthetics, psychology and the history of philosophy and the experimental sciences. He is commonly regarded as the last voice of the Scottish Enlightenment, the articulate disciple of Thomas Reid, father of Scottish common sense philosophy. Recently some historians have begun to rediscover elements of the contribution Stewart made to early nineteenth-century British intellectual culture, and his Collected Works have been republished with a new introduction by Knud Haakonssen.

The role and status of writing in scientific practice have become central concerns in the history and philosophy of science. Investigations into the rhetoric of scientific texts, the ‘language games’ of calculation, experimentation and proof, and the uses of textbooks, reports and specialized journals in the formation of scientific communities have all brought a growing awareness of what the American author Edgar Allan Poe (1809–49) heralded as ‘The Power of Words’. In discussing several works of this author, who perhaps more than any of his ‘literary’ contemporaries grappled with the growing dominance of science and technology in his time, this paper shows the potential ambiguity and polyvalence of the rhetoric of science. Poe's writings exploit this increasingly powerful language in a variety of ways: through logical proofs, satires, hoaxes, and the analysis of mysteries, codes and poetry, notably his own. Poe's unorthodox use of scientific rhetoric highlights the importance of historically specific modes of discourse for the consolidation of truth.