Much has been written about Robert Hooke's so-called ‘Discourse of Earthquakes’, the series of lectures he delivered before the Royal Society of London over the years 1667–1700. The chief points of the lectures are thus well known: fossils (the word is used here in its modern meaning) are the remains of once-living organisms, and their burial in rather odd places within the earth's crust can be explained by the dislocations of land and sea resulting from earthquakes.

Historians of science have shown little interest in meteorology and, in Britain at least, have almost totally ignored the development of meteorological institutions. The Meteorological Office itself has found some mention at times such as its supposed centenary in 1955, but even then the interest has come mainly from meteorologists writing for the delectation of their fellows. This neglect is surprising because the story of the Office contains much to reward the historian. Its very formation as a governmental scientific institution in 1854 supports arguments against the popular concept of mid-nineteenth century Britain as a cauldron of unbridled laissez-faire; the role it adopted in developing practical usages for science brought it into conflict with members of the academic scientific establishment; its later transition from an inaugural period as a department of the Board of Trade to a second phase under the control of a committee appointed by the Royal Society, with consequent changes in the methods of financing and administration, gives useful insights into the contemporary attitudes of government officials towards public expenditure on science; and its first head, Robert FitzRoy, was himself a man of such remarkable interest and complexity as to render the subject worthy of investigation on that count alone.

Between the two World Wars an extensive body of writings appeared in the United States explicitly or implicitly on the historical development of the sciences. I am not referring to the vast literature of popularization in magazines and newspapers but to substantial works, often in book form, coming from various intellectual and scholarly traditions. Only a few examples are classifiable by later standards as professional history of science. Following Arnold Thackray, one can designate some authors as ‘proto-historians’ of science. Most of the writings, including those of the ‘proto-historians,’ have distinctive attributes: methods, attitudes and goals, reflecting traditions other than professional history of science or even the general history exemplified by the American Historical Association's membership of that era. What follows is a bird's eye view of a past of interest for its own sake and for clues about the professionalization of history of science after 1950.

Between 1869 and 1871, D. I. Mendeleev, a teacher at the University at St Petersburg published a textbook of general chemistry intended for his students. The title, Principles of Chemistry was typical for the time: it meant that chemistry was no longer an inquiry on the ultimate principles of matter but had become a science firmly established on a few principles derived from experiment.

The Berthollet-Proust controversy and Dalton's atomic theory are two important historical landmarks which appeared almost simultaneously at the very beginning of the nineteenth century. Therefore it is likely that between the theory of definite proportions—one of the main subjects of the controversy–and Dalton's atomic theory there was an important interrelation, and that they reinforced each other. Kapoor has suggested that Proust could not have been the forerunner of Dalton's law of constant and multiple proportions, because Dalton discovered his law from completely different premises, and does not seem to have got his ideas from Proust. In my opinion, however, his conclusion does not seem to be decisive.

In June 1930 the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR) of the British Government awarded a modest research grant to J. E. (later Sir John) Lennard-Jones, Professor of Theoretical Physics at the University of Bristol, in response to a proposal submitted under the title of ‘A theoretical investigation of the physical properties of the solid state of matter’. This initiative marked the first notable recognition by public funding bodies in Great Britain of the potential contribution to be made by the new theoretical ideas in physics to a deeper understanding of the properties of industrially important materials, particularly metals and their alloys. The possible technological relevance of such a study was, indeed, a central factor in the decision to support it. The research arising out of this initial award provided the impetus for the first stage of Bristol theoretical research on the solid state of matter, an enterprise initially associated with the name of Lennard-Jones, and later with Nevili Mott who succeeded him as Professor of Theoretical Physics in 1933.

In his classic study, The Great Chain of Being, Arthur Lovejoy delineated a complex set of concepts and assumptions which referred to the perfection of God and the fullness of creation. In attempting to distil the basic or ‘unit idea’ which constituted this pattern of thought, he focused on the assumption that ‘the universe is a plenum formarum in which the range of conceivable diversity of kinds of living things is exhaustively exemplified’. He called this the ‘principle of plenitude’. Lovejoy argued that this idea implied two others—continuity and gradation—and that together these reflected a pre-occupation with the ‘necessity of imperfection in all its possible degrees’, a concern which had pervaded Western thought since Plato and gave rise to the powerful ontology known as the ‘great chain of being’.

The important role played by the Ecole Polytechnique in the resurgence of science in France after the French Revolution, and its progress ever since, has led to much historical work on its foundation and development. Some of these studies have brought historians to the school's archives; and there chaos has awaited them, for they found the main collections of documents sorted into containers which were nominally classified by calendar year but in fact could contain materials pertaining to various other times. In addition, very many other documents were stored without classification. Thus exhaustive study of the school's history has been difficult, not to say impossible.

Worster depicted ecology as ‘a stranger who has just blown into town’ — it had ‘a presence without a past’. In seeking to remedy this deficiency, historians have drawn attention to the fact that an interest in the relationship of wild species to their environment, and to one another, can be discerned well before the theory of evolution by natural selection was enunciated by Charles Darwin in the Origin of Species.

Consider this statement: the practice of science influences and is influenced by the civilization within which it occurs. Or again: scientists do not pursue their activities in a political or social void; like other people, they aspire to make their way in the world by responding to the values and social mechanisms of their day. Set in such simple terms, each statement probably would receive the assent of most scholars interested in the history of science. But there is need for debate on the nature and extent of the interaction between scientific activity and the civilization which incorporates it, as there is on the relations of scientists to the society within which they live. This essay seeks to make a contribution mainly to the second of these topics by taking a French scientist and academician of the eighteenth century and studying him and his family in the light of certain questions. At the end there will be a discussion relating those questions or themes to the wider debate. There is an associated purpose to the exercise: to present an account of the social origins and formation of Pierre-Jean-Baptiste Chomel (botanist, physician and member of the Academic des Sciences) which will augment our knowledge of this particular savant.

Gilbert and Mulkay, in their paper ‘Experiments Are the Key’, present responses of scientists to questions about the development of the chemiosmotic hypothesis of energy coupling in oxidative and photophosphorylation, and infer from these responses both the meaninglessness of the concept ‘key experiment’ and the hopelessness of searching for any data as a bedrock for historical analysis. Gilbert and Mulkay's nihilism is, however, rooted in a lack of understanding of the specific scientific issues involved. A closer look at a proposed ‘key experiment’ shows certain obvious characteristics that could be criteria for a ‘key experiment’ moreover, the actual scientific response to that experiment demonstrates its pivotal role in the development of the field. Instead of demonstrating the lack of empirical bases for scientific judgment, Gilbert and Mulkay demonstrate the necessity for identifying the crucial issues and pursuing them, in questioning the scientists as well as in examining other sources.

In recent years, historians have come to question earlier Whig interpretations that there was little science or science teaching done at Cambridge University prior to the appointment of Cambridge University Parliamentary Commissions in the 1850's. However, there has been no comprehensive survey of scientific activity at Cambridge in the first half of the nineteenth century. This essay, based upon research which penetrates beneath pedagogical tracts and Whig criticisms (both nineteenth and twentieth century varieties) reveals that Cambridge science professors researched, lectured, gave experimental demonstrations and provided other educational opportunities. Furthermore, it shows that serious attempts to provide research and teaching facilities met with some success and might have met with more if not for the intervention of specific historical incidents compounded by financial problems and the consequences of the upgrading of the core of the Cambridge curriculum. Before the sciences became alternative routes to a Bachelor of Arts Degree and before the appointment of the first University Parliamentary Commissions, Cambridge dons laid the foundations for science at Cambridge in the second half of the century.

The Newberry Library of Chicago is an independent history and humanities research library. Its 1.5 million printed books and 4500 linear feet of manuscripts on European and American history, English and American literature, travel and discovery in the New World, and music were, until recently, not thought to include much material on the sciences. A search of the card catalogue has already yielded over 1500 scientific titles, with the likelihood that 700–1000 more will be found, scattered among the Library's collections.