There are many reasons why someone can be persuaded to become editor of a journal such as BJHS. Not least among them for this new editor is the challenge of emulating the high standards set by a succession of editors, and in particular those of his immediate predecessor. Janet Browne has, as all BJHS readers know, worked long and hard since 1994 to maintain and enhance the quality of the journal. It is therefore my very real pleasure to pay tribute to all her efforts on behalf of the Society and to add my own personal thanks for the numerous ways in which she has made possible a seamless transition to the new regime. It will also be apparent that her sure touch will be discernible upon many of the articles forthcoming in 2000.

‘Morgan's canon’ is a rule for making inferences from animal behaviour about animal minds, proposed in 1892 by the Bristol geologist and zoologist C. Lloyd Morgan, and celebrated for promoting scepticism about the reasoning powers of animals. Here I offer a new account of the origins and early career of the canon. Built into the canon, I argue, is the doctrine of the Oxford philologist F. Max Müller that animals, lacking language, necessarily lack reason. Restoring the Müllerian origins of the canon in turn illuminates a number of changes in Morgan's position between 1892 and 1894. I explain these changes as responses to the work of the American naturalist R. L. Garner. Where Morgan had a rule for interpreting experiments with animals, Garner had an instrument for doing them: the Edison cylinder phonograph. Using the phonograph, Garner claimed to provide experimental proof that animals indeed spoke and reasoned.

After 1700, astrology lost the respect it once commanded in medical circles. But the belief that the heavens influenced bodily health persisted – even in learned medicine – until well into the nineteenth century. The continuing vitality of these ideas owed much to the new empirical and mechanical outlook of their proponents. Taking their cue from the work of Robert Boyle and Richard Mead, a number of British practitioners amassed statistical evidence which purported to prove the influence of the Moon upon fevers and other diseases. Such ideas flourished in the colonies and in the medical services of the armed forces, but their exponents were not marginal men. Some, like James Lind, were widely respected and drew support for their views from such influential figures as Erasmus Darwin.

Augustin Fresnel and François Arago are typically credited with jointly establishing the wave theory of light in early nineteenth-century France. Yet the two men, working in different traditions, brought to their collaboration vastly different conceptions of what light was and how it should be studied. This paper traces the work that went into co-ordinating these disparate approaches into a united front, as well as the dissolution of the alliance after 1821. Although the fruits of their alliance proved remarkably stable, in fact agreement between them was never more than partial.

This paper explores the careers of several British women astronomers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. I postulate that the only category of scientific practice open to most of these women was that of an ‘amateur’. They would have become professionals had they had the opportunity but since they were barred from professional status they used their talents to promote the importance of amateur science. I propose the term ‘obligatory amateur’ for these women who, unlike men, were unable to choose amateur or professional status. I explore this concept of a ‘gendered’ amateurism through the life and works of Annie Maunder, with references to British women astronomers contemporary with her.

Intellectual and professional reforms in evolutionary studies between 1935 and 1950 included substantial expansion, diversification, and realignment of community infrastructure. Theodosius Dobzhansky, Julian Huxley and Alfred Emerson organized the Society for the Study of Speciation at the 1939 AAAS Columbus meeting as one response (among many coming into place) to concerns about ‘isolation’ and ‘lack of contact’ among speciation workers worried about ‘dispersed’ and ‘scattered’ resources in this newly robust ‘borderline’ domain. Simply constructed, the SSS sought neither the radical reorganization of specialities nor the creation of some new discipline. Instead, it was designed to facilitate: to simplify exchange of information and to provide a minimally invasive avenue for connecting disparate researchers. Emerson served as SSS secretary and was its principal agent. After publishing one block of publications, however, the SSS became ‘quiescent’. Anxious to promote his own agenda, Ernst Mayr tried to manoeuvre around Emerson in an effort to revitalize the project. After meeting impediments, he moved his efforts elsewhere. The SSS was too short-lived to merit a claim for major impact within the community; however, it reveals important features of community activity during the synthesis period and stands in contrast to later efforts by George Simpson, Dobzhansky, and Mayr.

In selecting among the many statements that were made in the ‘War of Words’, it is important to choose only those that contained practical proposals for administrative reform and redirection of Government policy. Only then can we assess the extent to which they were in tune with or diverged from the plans being developed within the Board of Education. These were the ones that, because of their focused nature, draftspersons in the Board of Education might conceivably have felt constrained to take into account, and either to incorporate in, or exclude from, their own designs. In this way it is possible to be precise about what scientists wanted in 1914–17, and to estimate their degree of realism and the likely scope of their influence.

The Fellows of the Royal Society and the Chemical and Engineering societies must, Sir William Ramsay (FRS, chemist) urged in October 1914, be co-ordinated. They need, he said, to ‘work together at what for us is the supreme problem of all – how to conquer the Germans?’. The British Science Guild was to be included and the Royal Society was to ‘set the example’. Committees should be created; experts from other societies were to be added.

In March 1915 Ramsay prepared a ‘Draft Scheme for a Chemical Council of State’. It was to comprise twenty-four members, one-third technical chemists, one-third scientific investigators and one-third analytical and consulting chemists. It was to collect information on all aspects of the industry; to bring universities into contact with manufacturers; and to advise Government. Members were to be paid a small retainer. Agents were to be employed to visit factories and colleges. Eight members were to retire each year. The proposed Council was ‘to resemble to some extent a Royal Commission’. It would be appointed for ten years in the first instance. It would report annually to the Crown, but would not be attached to any Government department, although it would be associated with several. Non-political, it would be appointed by and directly responsible to the Crown. The president of the Royal Society would initially nominate two technical chemists and two scientific chemists. They, chaired by him, would choose twenty others.

In the essay review by Arne Hessenbruch published in our September 1999 issue, a proof reading error occurred on p. 356. The second sentence of the last paragraph on that page should have read ‘It demotes the importance of the scientific context, and so the biographer and the reader do not really have to understand it’. We apologize to Dr Hessenbruch for this error.