The Science Magpie E-Book

Simon Flynn

• Herausgeber: Icon Books
• Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 293

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

From the Large Hadron Collider rap to the sins of Isaac Newton, The Science Magpie is a compelling collection of scientific curiosities. Expand your knowledge as you view the history of the Earth on the face of a clock, tremble at the power of the Richter scale and learn how to measure the speed of light in your kitchen. Skip through time with Darwin's note on the pros and cons of marriage, take part in an 1858 Cambridge exam, meet the African schoolboy with a scientific puzzle named after him and much more.

Leseprobe

For Kate and Alice

CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Introduction

‘Hymn to Science’

How do they do IT?

The scientist

Value judgements

The true measure of things (part 1)

As easy as Al, Be, Cs

The square of scientific delights

Variations on a theme of Ockham’s Razor

Name that number

The ‘greatest equation ever’

To marry or not to marry, that is the question

‘A chemic union’

Binary basics

The energy of Richter

Science’s Molecule of the Year/Breakthrough of the Year award

Geological time piece

‘Twin limb-like basalt columns’

Mnemonic for remembering the geological timescale

‘Mosquito Day’

The etymology and scrabble score of some common scientific words

Taking acid

A good indicator of …

I holy see the error of my ways

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit-rabbit, rabbit-rabbit-rabbit, rabbit-rabbit-rabbit-rabbit-rabbit

Ban dihydrogen monoxide!

Solar eclipses galore

‘A remarkable book, sure to make a mighty stir’

‘The Four Stages of Public Opinion’

‘Endless forms most beautiful’

Are you cleverer than a fifteen-year-old … from 1858?

By degrees

Biological classification

Threatened species

The Big Five

The last 500 million year evolution of vertebrates

The Torino impact hazard scale

The $10 million book

The poets’ scientist

When left can be right and right can be wrong

The scientific equivalent of: have you read a work of Shakespeare’s?

You can’t win, you know

The Mpemba effect

Maxwell’s Demon

Hotter than Hell

On the other side of silence

‘The Chemical History of the Candle’

When it comes to what’s in your genes, size isn’t everything

Would you Adam and Eve it?

Euclid’s algorithm

The periodic snail

Making the standard model

The Large Hadron Collider rap

The relative hardness of being

Your reading list for this week is …

What are you made of?

Why is the sky dark at night?

Unweaving the rainbow

The New Atlantis

A plurality of worlds in every earring

A law by any other name …

Just not my cup of tea

A prime determiner

For goodness sake, show your working

‘The degree of opacity’

Real molecules with silly names

The music of the spheres

Britain’s first professional female scientist

The birth of the quantum

The definition of a planet

The interstellar pioneer

The true measure of things (part 2)

Nature and nurture

One clear, unchanged, and universal light

Another hue unto the rainbow

On a new kind of ray

Centenary icons of science and technology

Measuring the speed of light using chocolate, a microwave and a ruler

‘Space shifted about like a swan that can’t settle’

Relatively speaking

Royal Society prize for science books

The book that caused a paradigm shift

Practical politics

Types of ionising radiation

The dose makes the poison

To decay with precision

Going nuclear in a sports hall

An unholy trinity

In cold blood

More than the germ of an idea

A short history of the atom

Would the real Schrödinger’s cat please stand up

To a measurable infinity and beyond

Truth to their fictions

The Life of π

A slice of Indiana π

Meet Tom Telescope and friends

The sins of Newton

Mendel’s law of segregation

The monkey trial

The three laws of robotics

Five, four, three, two, one … we have lift-off

Blowing hot and cold

‘There is more to seeing than meets the eyeball’

Conceding to the laws of metre

First, do no harm

The size and gravity of the situation

Top of the pop-sci chart

A party of famous physicists

An unacknowledged debt

Elements of colour

Congratulations, you’ve won a …

The ten greatest ever equations … according to Nicaragua

Is Hell exothermic or endothermic?

Great scientists by nation

‘Successive generations bloom’

It has been long known that …

What if earth can clothe and feed amplest millions at their need

Appendix: Back to school

Double science

Chemistry is full of bad jokes because all the best argon

Cell-u-like

Who do you think you are?

By a force of nature

Permissions

Acknowledgements

Bibliography

About the Author

Copyright

INTRODUCTION

science, n.

5.b. Science. In modern use, often treated as synonymous with ‘Natural and Physical Science’, and thus restricted to those branches of study that relate to the phenomena of the material universe and their laws …

magpie, n. and adj.

B. adj. (attrib.)

1. Magpie-like: with allusion to the bird’s traditional reputation for acquisitiveness, curiosity, etc.; indiscriminate, eclectic, varied.

Oxford English Dictionary

Science. What does that word conjure up in your mind? Writing over two hundred years ago, the great German authors Friedrich Schiller and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe gave this rather neat (if slightly silly-sounding) description in their collection of poetic epigrams, Xenien:

To one, it’s a high, heavenly goddess. To another it’s a cow that provides them with butter.

You might want to read that again. What they appear to be saying is that science can be viewed in terms of powerful ends (I’m thinking of the very best metaphorical butter here) and almost spiritual, aesthetic means. In Schiller and Goethe’s eyes, at least, people’s responses tend to depend on which of these they focus on. But why not consider both? Why not acknowledge that one reason why science is so special is that both these aspects can be true?

There is more though. Science isn’t just about laws, theories, formulae, processes and experiments. At heart it’s a human activity. Without the incredible individuals who have occupied themselves with uncovering the workings of nature and applying them to our benefit where would we be? That’s the last rhetorical question, I promise.

This miscellany is intended to showcase just some of the many and varied facets of science, plenty of which are unashamedly and idiosyncratically human. It’s people who provide great stories and heart-warming anecdotes. Partly for this reason, the story of Erasto Mpemba, an African schoolboy who didn’t give up in his quest to understand something (and who has a physical effect named after him as a result), and Darwin’s note on the pros and cons of marriage are among my favourite entries in these pages.

Although this book is a miscellany, certain themes and ideas echo through its pages. One of these is mathematics. You may have noticed the ‘…’ at the end of the definition of science given at the start of this introduction. That’s because I cheated slightly – the definition actually continues ‘sometimes with implied exclusion of pure mathematics’. However, this magpie sides firmly with Roger Bacon, who said ‘mathematics is the door and the key to the sciences’ and, as such, it is included. At least I’m being honest.

A non-scientific realm that features rather heavily in the book is the arts, and poetry in particular. In contrast with science, artistic expression of any kind is typically felt to possess a power beyond the material. I’m not sure quite how fair a view of science this is. But I believe that an appreciation of both realms of human endeavour can only be for the good, given the great wonders each offers. So, as writers are often told, ‘show, don’t tell’. That has been the intention in those entries in the book where the two cultures overlap, such as ‘The poets’ scientist’ and Siv Cedering’s ‘Letter from Caroline Herschel’.

And so to the final big theme in The Science Magpie. The splendid short story writer Katherine Mansfield once wrote, it is of ‘immense importance to learn to laugh at ourselves’ and I couldn’t agree more. From a smattering of groan-inducing jokes in some of the boxed fillers, to moments of more delicate wit from practitioners of science in entries such as ‘Is Hell exothermic or endothermic?’ and ‘A chemic union’, science’s lighter side is very much on show because, as another writer, Colette, put it, an ‘absence of humour renders life impossible’.

Science has the power to enrich people’s lives, both figuratively and practically. What follows is a celebration of it, warts and all. I hope you enjoy it.

Simon Flynn, 2012

P.S. In case it has been a while since you last did, or read, any science, I’ve put together a brief back-to-school appendix (see page 256), which will hopefully remind you of some of the science you were taught at school and which may be useful to recall when reading this book. Don’t worry, there won’t be any exam at the end of it.

‘HYMN TO SCIENCE’

It seems only fitting to open The Science Magpie with a ‘Hymn to Science’, which first appeared in The Gentleman’s Magazine in 1739 when its author, Mark Akenside, was only seventeen. The son of a butcher, it was around this time Akenside switched from preparing for a life as a nonconformist clergyman to training in medicine. He soon became a member of the Medical Society, eventually securing the position of physician to the Queen a little over twenty years later. Akenside wrote poetry throughout his life, including continuously revising his most famous work, The Pleasures of the Imagination, which Dr Johnson described as ‘an example of the great felicity of genius’.

From the ‘Hymn to Science’

Science! thou fair effusive ray

From the great source of mental Day,

Free, generous, and refin’d!

Descend with all thy treasures fraught,

Illumine each bewilder’d thought,

And bless my lab’ring mind.

But first with thy resistless light,

Disperse those phantoms from my sight,

Those mimic shades of thee:

The scholiast’s learning, sophist’s cant,

The visionary bigot’s rant,

The monk’s philosophy.

O! let thy powerful charms impart

The patient head, the candid heart,

Devoted to thy sway;

Which no weak passions e’er mislead,

Which still with dauntless steps proceed

Where Reason points the way.

Give me to learn such secret cause;

Let number’s, figure’s, motion’s laws

Reveal’d before me stand;

These to great Nature’s scenes apply,

And round the globe, and thro’ the sky,

Disclose her working hand.

Next, to thy nobler search resign’d,

The busy, restless, human mind

Thro’ every maze pursue;

Detect Perception where it lies,

Catch the Ideas as they rise,

And all their changes view.

Say from what simple springs began

The vast ambitious thoughts of man,

Which range beyond controul,

Which seek Eternity to trace,

Dive thro’ th’ infinity of space,

And strain to grasp The Whole.

[…]

There is no science without fancy and no art without facts.

Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)

HOW DO THEY DO IT?

Astronomers do IT in the dark.

Mathematicians do IT in numbers.

Biologists do IT in the field.

Chemists do IT periodically on the table.

Geologists do IT in folded beds.

Palaeontologists do IT in the dirt.

Computer scientists do IT bit by bit.

Electrical engineers do IT until it hertz.

Physicists do IT with force.

When seismologists do IT, the Earth shakes.

Zoologists do IT with animals.

Quantum physicists do IT uncertainly.

Polymer chemists do IT in chains.

Cosmologists do IT with a bang.

Theorists do IT on paper.

Geneticists do IT in their genes.

Statisticians do IT with 99% confidence.

Planetary scientists do IT while gazing at Uranus.

Philosophers only think about doing IT.

What is IT? Why, science of course. And shame on you if you thought otherwise.

Adapted from Jupiter Scientific (www.jupiterscientific.org)

THE SCIENTIST

Have you ever wondered why we use the word ‘scientist’ to describe someone who works in science? Probably not – after all, it seems a pretty obvious term to use. In fact, however, its selection by the scientific community was made relatively late in the day and was a matter of some controversy.

At the 1833 meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science (BAAS), which had been founded just two years earlier, the English Romantic poet and polymath Samuel Taylor Coleridge raised the question of what to call someone who worked ‘in the real sciences’. William Whewell, then Professor of Mineralogy at the University of Cambridge and an ordained priest, put forward the word ‘scientist’. A year later he made a more public proposal when anonymously reviewing Mary Somerville’s On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences in The Quarterly Review:

Science … loses all traces of unity. A curious illustration of this result may be observed in the want of any name by which we can designate the students of the knowledge of the material world collectively. We are informed that this difficulty was felt very oppressively by the members of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, at their meetings at York, Oxford and Cambridge in the last three summers … Philosophers was felt to be too wide and too lofty a term, …; savans was rather assuming, …; some ingenious gentleman [William Whewell is modestly referring to himself here] proposed that, by analogy with artist, they might form scientist, and added that there could be no scruple in making free with this termination when we have such words as sciolist, economist, and atheist – but this was not generally palatable.

However, Whewell persisted and in 1840 wrote in The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences:

We need very much a name to describe a cultivator of science in general. I should incline to call him a Scientist.

Fierce opposition remained. The Cumbrian geologist Adam Sedgwick scribbled in the margin of his copy of Whewell’s proposal ‘Better die of this want [of a term] than bestialize our tongue by such a barbarism!’

Although use of the word ‘scientist’ dramatically increased over the following years, science practitioners didn’t adopt the term immediately and even more than 50 years later someone as eminent as the biologist, and ertwhile president of the Royal Society, T. H. Huxley would write ‘to any one who respects the English language, I think “Scientist” must be about as pleasing a word as “Electrocution”’.

VALUE JUDGEMENTS

When William Gladstone asked Michael Faraday what the practical worth of electricity was he is reported to have responded ‘Why, sir, there is every probability that you will soon be able to tax it!’ Science, as we know, is many things to many people but, as Faraday’s comment implies, to politicians it’s typically something to get excited about only when it’s clear what its contribution to the country’s coffers might be. Ditto a private company and its shareholders. However, as Homer Adkins’ witty quip that ‘basic research is like shooting an arrow into the air and, where it lands, painting a target’ shows, it’s not always obvious what areas of research within science will provide a return. Judging investment is a difficult task.

The bar chart below details the fifteen countries with the highest percentage of GDP spent on R&D in 2008 as given by the World Bank, along with a selection of countries from further down the list. Are you surprised to see the top three are Israel, Finland and Sweden? That R&D is usually important to developed countries, along with the fact it’s of relatively low priority to less developed nations, is clear. But which is the chicken and which is the egg may be harder to determine.

THE TRUE MEASURE OF THINGS (PART 1)

AS EASY AS Al, Be, Cs

There are a great many popular songs inspired by love, loss and, oh, did I mention love, but only one can claim to have been inspired by an object of adoration quite as unusual as the periodic table of elements.

Tom Lehrer, born in 1928, is a retired mathematician, lecturer and satirical songwriter who released a number of very successful albums in the 50s and 60s. One of these included ‘The Elements’. It’s a song version of the then 102-element periodic table to the tune of the Major-General’s Song from The Pirates of Penzance by Gilbert and Sullivan. Versions by various people can be found online, including one by Daniel Radcliffe, the actor who played Harry Potter. However the best undoubtedly remains the live version sung by Lehrer himself.

*

Now if I may digress momentarily from the mainstream of this evening’s symposium, I’d like to sing a song, which is completely pointless but it’s something I picked up during my career as a scientist. This may prove useful to some of you some day, perhaps in a somewhat bizarre set of circumstances. It’s simply the names of the chemical elements set to a possibly recognizable tune.

There’s antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium

And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium

And nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium

And iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium

Europium, zirconium, lutetium, vanadium

And lanthanum and osmium and astatine and radium

And gold and protactinium and indium and gallium

And iodine and thorium and thulium and thallium

There’s yttrium, ytterbium, actinium, rubidium

And boron, gadolinium, niobium, iridium

And strontium and silicon and silver and samarium

And bismuth, bromine, lithium, beryllium, and barium

(Isn’t that interesting? [Audience laughs] I knew you would. I hope you’re all taking notes, because there’s going to be a short quiz next period)

There’s holmium and helium and hafnium and erbium

And phosphorus and francium and fluorine and terbium

And manganese and mercury, molybdenum, magnesium

Dysprosium and scandium and cerium and caesium

And lead, praseodymium, and platinum, plutonium, palladium, promethium, potassium, polonium

And tantalum, technetium, titanium, tellurium

And cadmium and calcium and chromium and curium

There’s sulfur, californium, and fermium, berkelium

And also mendelevium, einsteinium, nobelium

And argon, krypton, neon, radon, xenon, zinc, and rhodium

And chlorine, carbon, cobalt, copper, tungsten, tin, and sodium

These are the only ones of which the news has come to Ha’vard

And there may be many others but they haven’t been discavard

THE SQUARE OF SCIENTIFIC DELIGHTS

London’s Leicester Square has long been regarded as a centre of entertainment. But what might come as a surprise is that of the various diversions that have been found there through history, quite a few have been scientific in nature.

On 4 February 1775, the Morning Post and Daily Advertiser ran the following advert on its front page:

Museum, Leicester House, Feb. 3, 1775

Mr. Lever’s Museum of Natural and other Curiosities, consisting of beasts, birds, fishes, corals, shells, fossils extraneous and native, as well as many miscellaneous articles in high preservation, will be opened on Monday 13th of February, for the inspection of the public. […] As Mr. Lever has in his collection some very curious monkies and monsters, which might disgust the Ladies, a separate room is appropriated for their exhibition, and the examination of those only who chuse it.

The Holophusicon (‘embracing all of nature’), as it was sometimes called, was located at Leicester House on the northern side of Leicester Square. It held the natural history collection of Sir Ashton Lever, with tickets for entrance costing half a guinea. Totalling around 27,000 objects, the collection included a hippopotamus, an elephant, hummingbirds, pelicans, peacocks, bats, lizards and scorpions as well as many artifacts picked up during the explorer James Cook’s second and third voyages. Writing in 1778 to her cousin Frances (author of the bestselling Evelina), Susan Burney described the infamous room that might ‘disgust the ladies’ as

… full of monkeys – one of which presents the company with an Italian Song – another is reading a book – another, the most horrid of all, is put in the attitude of Venus de Medicis, and is scarce fit to be looked at.

The collection had initially been shown at Lever’s country house, Alkrington Hall, near Manchester, before moving to London because it wasn’t making enough money to sate Lever’s addiction for collecting. Unfortunately, the London museum couldn’t sustain itself either, despite being extremely popular and visited by George III and the Prince of Wales. Lever ended up having to sell it by lottery in 1786 (Lever offered the collection to the British Museum first but they sadly declined and it ended up fragmenting). Never quite able to cope with this loss, Lever committed suicide less than two years later.

In 1783, while the Holophusicon was still going strong, the anatomist John Hunter began renting a large house in the square, where he was able to run a medical school and museum. Hunter was another prodigious collector, and people now had the opportunity to view skeletons of kangaroos from one of Cook’s voyages, as well as that of Charles Byrne, an Irishman measuring 7′ 7″. The acquisition of the latter, which cost Hunter the equivalent of £50,000 in today’s money, is at the centre of Hilary Mantel’s 1998 novel The Giant, O’Brien. Unlike Lever’s collection, Hunter’s was thankfully bought by the government after his death and now forms the core of the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons in London.

Seventy years later, in the aftermath of the hugely popular Great Exhibition of 1851, Leicester Square witnessed the creation of its most ambitious scientific establishment yet. Sadly, it also proved to be its last. Dominating the eastern side of the square and built in the Moorish style with a ‘towering minaret’, ‘lofty dome’ and ‘abundant use of chromatic decoration’, The Royal Panopticon of Science and Art’s aim, according to its Royal Charter, was ‘to exhibit and illustrate, in a popular form, discoveries in science and art’. It opened its doors to the general public in 1854 to considerable fanfare. No expense had been spared inside either. Placed beneath the dome was a fountain, the central jet of which shot up almost 100 feet; at the entrance of the western gallery was the largest organ in England at the time and a lift (referred to as an ‘ascending carriage’) that could carry eight persons at a time, transported visitors to the photography gallery. Among the displays were an aurora borealis apparatus, which enabled the creation of artificial ‘northern lights’, a ‘crystal cistern for diving’ and a gas cooker (a reviewer lamented it not being put to better use by cooking his dinner). In the basement could be found lecture theatres where demonstrations were regularly given. The Royal Panopticon was clearly a place that you would have to visit many times in order to appreciate all the marvels it contained. It was, the Morning Post enthused, ‘the most magnificent temple erected for the purposes of science’.

The Alhambra theatre, formerly the Royal Panopticon, dominating the eastern side of Leicester square just after the square’s new garden had been opened in 1874.

It may well have been, but few of the public paid homage. Despite its royal charter, Queen Victoria failed to grace the altar of this ‘temple’ and two years later it was declared bankrupt. The building was renamed The Alhambra and became a circus, then a music hall and finally a theatre before being demolished in 1936 to make way for the Odeon cinema. The organ was sold to St Paul’s Cathedral and the scientific gods fled Leicester Square never to return.

VARIATIONS ON A THEME OF OCKHAM’S RAZOR

Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem

No more things should be presumed to exist than are absolutely necessary

The above is the standard version of Ockham’s Razor, named after the 14th century English Franciscan monk, William of Ockham. It is also known as the ‘principle of parsimony’ and has often been held up as a useful rule of thumb with which to judge the relative merits of two competing scientific theories that predict, or account for, the same experimental results. The razor is generally understood to mean applying a preference to the one that is simpler.

However, the point of the razor isn’t primarily about simplest always being best. Instead it’s a call to include only what is necessary (the two often go hand in hand but it’s the latter that’s the driver). The problem with this is that it isn’t always clear in science what is necessary or even whether all the relevant information to enable a judgment is available. As such, the principle isn’t embraced universally, which explains its heuristic, rather than absolute, value.

William of Ockham appears to have written a number of versions of the principle, and many others before and since have expressed their own versions.

Aristotle:‘Nature operates in the shortest way possible.’‘If the consequences are the same it is always better to assume the more limited antecedent.’William of Ockham:‘Plurality is not to be posited without necessity.’‘No plurality should be assumed unless it can be proved by reason, or by experience, or by some infallible authority.’‘It is futile to do with more things that which can be done with fewer.’Johannes Kepler:‘Nature uses as little as possible of anything.’Isaac Newton:‘We are to admit no more causes of natural things than such as are both true and sufficient to explain their appearances. Therefore, to the same natural effects we must, so far as possible, assign the same causes.’Bertrand Russell:‘Whenever possible, substitute constructions out of known entities for inferences to unknown entities.’Ernst Mach:‘Scientists must use the simplest means of arriving at their results and exclude everything not perceived by the senses.’Einstein:‘Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.’

Perhaps the German-American architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe put it most succinctly of all when he said simply, ‘less is more’.

God made the integers; all the rest is the work of Man.

German mathematician

Leopold Kronecker

TO MARRY OR NOT TO MARRY, THAT IS THE QUESTION

During the summer of 1838, Charles Darwin, then aged 29, found himself in a bit of a quandary. The subject worrying him was whether he should marry or not, and, if so, when. To help him come to a decision, he wrote a note listing the pros and cons of having a wife and, as would be expected from the man who would revolutionise evolutionary theory through the examination of argument and evidence, he really cut to the heart of the matter:

This is the Question

Marry

Children — (if it Please God) — Constant companion, (& friend in old age) who will feel interested in one, — object to be beloved & played with.— — better than a dog anyhow. — Home, & someone to take care of house — Charms of music & female chit-chat. — These things good for one’s health. — but terrible loss of time. —

My God, it is intolerable to think of spending ones whole life, like a neuter bee, working, working, & nothing after all. — No, no won’t do. — Imagine living all one’s day solitarily in smoky dirty London House.— Only picture to yourself a nice soft wife on a sofa with good fire, & books & music perhaps — Compare this vision with the dingy reality of Grt. Marlbro’ St.

Not Marry

Freedom to go where one liked — choice of Society & little of it. — Conversation of clever men at clubs — Not forced to visit relatives, & to bend in every trifle. — to have the expense & anxiety of children — perhaps quarelling — Loss of time. — cannot read in the Evenings — fatness & idleness — Anxiety & responsibility — less money for books &c — if many children forced to gain one’s bread. — (But then it is very bad for ones health to work too much)

Perhaps my wife wont like London; then the sentence is banishment & degradation into indolent, idle fool —

Darwin’s eventual conclusion?

Marry—Marry—Marry Q.E.D.,

Darwin proposed to his cousin Emma Wedgwood on 11 November 1838, writing in his journal ‘the day of days!’ They were married two and a half months later on 29 January 1839.

‘A CHEMIC UNION’

Constance Naden (1858–1889), an admirer of the philosopher and sociologist Herbert Spencer who coined the phrase ‘survival of the fittest’, published two volumes of poetry during her relatively brief life. Writing in The Speaker in 1890, William Gladstone named her as one of the best ‘poetesses’ of that century in a list that also included Emily Brontë, Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Christina Rosetti.

Naden was an unusual poet for the Victorian age she lived in. For a start, she was a woman who was interested in, and who studied, science – an area assumed by many to favour the male mind. Her poetry often touched upon the realms of science and nowhere is this better demonstrated than in her witty series of four poems, ‘Evolutional Erotics’. In these she presents the relationships of four couples, using the sciences to great effect in her metaphor and imagery. Below is an extract from the first in the series, which describes how a young scientist’s passion for his studies is transferred to an, at best, unsuspecting, at worst, uninterested, Mary Maud Trevalyn.

From ‘Scientific Wooing’

I WAS a youth of studious mind,

Fair Science was my mistress kind,

And held me with attraction chemic;

No germs of Love attacked my heart,

Secured as by Pasteurian art

Against that fatal epidemic.

[…]

Alas! that yearnings so sublime

Should all be blasted in their prime

By hazel eyes and lips vermilion!

Ye gods! restore the halcyon days

While yet I walked in Wisdom’s ways,

And knew not Mary Maud Trevalyn!

[…]

I covet not her golden dower—

Yet surely Love’s attractive power

Directly as the mass must vary—

But ah! inversely as the square

Of distance! shall I ever dare

To cross the gulf, and gain my Mary?

[…]

Bright fancy! can I fail to please

If with similitudes like these

I lure the maid to sweet communion?

My suit, with Optics well begun,

By Magnetism shall be won,

And closed at last in Chemic union!

At this I’ll aim, for this I’ll toil,

And this I’ll reach—I will, by Boyle,

By Avogadro, and by Davy!

When every science lends a trope

To feed my love, to fire my hope,

Her maiden pride must cry “Peccavi!”

I’ll sing a deep Darwinian lay

Of little birds with plumage gay,

Who solved by courtship Life’s enigma;

I’ll teach her how the wild-flowers love,

And why the trembling stamens move,

And how the anthers kiss the stigma.

Or Mathematically true

With rigorous Logic will I woo,

And not a word I’ll say at random;

Till urged by Syllogistic stress,

She falter forth a tearful “Yes,”

A sweet “Quod erat demonstrandum!”

A modern poet has characterised the personality of art and the impersonality of science as follows: Art is I; Science is We.

Claude Bernard (1813–1878),

French physiologist