It has become almost traditional for historians of geology to claim that Roderick Murchison (1792–1871) ‘opened to view for the first time’ the fossiliferous rocks below the Old Red Sandstone which Murchison described in his monumental work The Silurian System published in 1839. Murchison himself claimed in the introduction to this work ‘no-one was previously aware of the existence below the Old Red Sandstone of a regular series of deposits, containing peculiar organic remains’. Professor John Phillips expressed the traditional view well when he wrote of the larger area of which Shropshire forms a part: ‘practically before the Summer of 1831 the whole field of the ancient rocks and fossils… was unexplored but then arose two men… Adam Sedgwick and Roderick Murchison and simultaneously set to work to cultivate what had been left a desert’. Against this we must set the statement of George B. Greenough (1778–1855), first president of the Geological Society of London, as reported in 1841. He had ‘frequently expressed a conviction, as a result of his own observations…, that adequate enquiry alone was wanting to prove the existence of a succession of strata in the west of England, and in Wales—not less regular than that which had been demonstrated in the centre and east of the Island.’

Two major problems in understanding Joseph Priestley (1733–1804) are that he wrote so much and over such a wide area. The nineteenth-century edition of his collected works fills 25 volumes—and that leaves out the science! In discussing a man like Priestley, therefore, one cannot hope in a single lecture to do justice to the wide range of his interests or even to summarise adequately his many contributions to science. Fortunately much of the scientific work is fairly well known, for example his discovery of many new gases or ‘airs’, as he preferred to call them. It might be appropriate, therefore, to try to put Priestley's pneumatic chemistry in a wider context and in particular to relate it to his career. Priestley was not only an important man of science. He was also an outspoken theologian, a literary figure and a family man, and all of these roles (and several others, including his political role on behalf of Dissenters) will have to be taken into consideration when the definitive biography is written.

Siméon Denis Poisson (1781–1840) was a major figure in French science throughout the first forty years of the nineteenth century. Though his papers lack the brilliant mathematical creativity of some of those published by even more gifted contemporaries such as Joseph Fourier (1768–1830) and Augustin-Louis Cauchy (1789–1857), they nevertheless display a formidable talent for mathematical analysis, applied with great industry and success in a large number of investigations ranging over the whole domain of mathematical physics. Several were of such importance that even on their own they would have sufficed to win him lasting fame.

The career of Humphry Davy (1778–1829) is one of the fairy tales of early nineteenth-century British science. His rise from obscure Cornish origins to world-wide eminence as a chemical discoverer, to popular celebrity amongst London's scientific audiences, to a knighthood from the Prince Regent, and finally to the Presidency of the Royal Society, provide apposite material for Smilesian accounts of British society as open to talents. But the use of Davy's career to illustrate the thesis that ‘genius will out’ is not without its problems. As Davy began to reap the benefits of his early chemical discoveries, and to acquire status and wealth, his dedication to research waned. The ‘new’ Davy who emerged in the years after Waterloo, though admired by many sections of the metropolitan scientific community, was also widely criticized. Ambivalence became marked with Davy's election to, and conduct in, the Presidency of the Royal Society.

In the past thirty or forty years scientists, historians, and others have written many histories of the wonder drug, penicillin. However, almost all of these works fail to develop an important part of the history of penicillin: the attempt to synthesize the drug during the Second World War. Therefore, the purpose of this paper is to explore this largely unexamined episode in the history of science, and to answer some relevant questions. For example, why was there a need for synthetic penicillin? What organizational plans had to be made in order to accommodate this massive endeavor? What was the effect of the search for a synthesis on the natural production of this drug? And finally, did chemists ever devise a successful synthesis? Before attempting to answer these and other questions, a brief introduction to 1) the discovery and development of penicillin as a therapeutic agent, and 2) the general organization of wartime medical research in the United States and Great Britain, is necessary.

Philip II a patron of the sciences? This aspect of his turbulent reign, like many others, bas brought conflicting assessments. He bas been praised for his enterprise and blamed for isolating Spain from the scientific revolution. More information has now become available as a resuit of research on related themes, and it seems opportune to reconsider Philip's relations with the sciences. This has not attracted much attention outside of Spain because of the general neglect of the history of Spanish science. Yet Spain was no intellectual backwater—it had a rich scientific culture which was still alive in the sixteenth century. And the question of Philip's patronage is important since Castile had become the heart of the most powerful empire in the West at a time when Europe was experiencing a new phase of the Reformation and the beginnings of scientific revolution.

The change in the physiological conception of body fluid during the Seventeenth Century exemplifies the beginning of changes in chemical ideas away from humours as irreducible components of fluid systems towards water as the common solvent of an indefinitely large range of solutions. Against the Galenic humoral view of body fluids J.-B. van Helmont (1579–1644) postulated ‘latex’, a humour distributed through the body and common to several body fluids. The theory of latex explained experimental findings and provided a basis for Helmont's introduction of diuretics into the treatment of dropsy. Francis Glisson (1597–1677) adopted the theory of latex. In this paper it is shown that Helmont contradicted, in part at least, the distinctness of humours by a doctrine of a common reservoir from which various body fluids are drawn. It is further argued that, on the available evidence, Helmont is the originator of this idea of a common reservoir. Through hitherto unremarked and unpublished manuscript evidence, it is shown that Glisson, in adopting the theory of latex, and its therapeutic application, modifies and extends it. In the manuscripts Glisson expresses himself in the language of Helmontian philosophy. Given Glisson's known influence (in, for example, spreading Harvey's doctrine of the circulation), the question arises what part, if any, is attributable to him in the transmission of the doctrine of the common reservoir. From the point of view of experimental science, that doctrine makes a break with the past no less radical than does, say, that of the circulation. It appears that we have here yet another major contribution of Helmont to the scientific revolution with, through Glisson, a possible channel of transmission of this contribution.

In April of 1849, a disspirited and vocationless Francis Galton consulted Donovan, a London phrenologist, for a reading of his aptitudes and character. After a disappointing university career and a prematurely concluded try at medical training, the 27-year-old Galton had been drifting unhappily for several years in the life of the idle rich. Donovan shrewdly assessed Galton's mind as ‘not distinguished by much spontaneous activity in relation to scholastic affairs’, but still with ‘much enduring power’ and other positive capacities brought fully to light ‘only when rough work has to be done’.