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Mather took his interest in natural philosophy across the Atlantic in November 1712, sending thirteen reports to London’s Royal Society in that one month. These letters and those that followed contained a magpie’s catalog of “all New and Rare occurrences of Nature, in these parts of the World,” accumulating into a collection of more than eighty such dispatches offered up as “Curiosa Americana.” He wrote about the possible existence of giants before Noah’s flood, with a giant tooth found near Albany as evidence; about the maximum size of America’s wild turkeys (“50 or 60 pound, but the Flesh is very tough and hard”); about monstrous births, rattlesnakes, and rainbows; adding a tale of a woman who bore thirty-nine children, and so on and on and on. Such American curiosities entranced or at least amused Mather’s readers. Early in this flood of correspondence, the society’s secretary, Richard Waller, wrote to Mather that this prose cabinet of wonders “very well pleased and Entertained” the fellows. Mather responded with a heavy-handed hint: he couldn’t presume “to be thought worthy[*] to be admitted a member of that more than illustrious Society.” That nudge crossed with the news that he was already being put forward for membership. When the deed was done, Mather preened, brandishing the three magical initials, “F.R.S.,” on the cover page of several of his publications. More practically, recognition from the English-speaking world’s preeminent learned institution “wherein my gracious Lord places me,” he wrote, lifted him above—and gave him ammunition against—“the Contempt of envious Men.” Mather’s first published contribution to the Royal Society’s Philosophical Transactions appeared in number 339, which happened to be a very rich issue. Besides the extracts from Mather’s curiosities, it contained a brief note from Leeuwenhoek on a microscopic study of muscle fibers in whales. But it was another piece in the journal that caught Mather’s eye: a report by a physician, Emmanuel Timonius, on what was for his English readers a radical medical innovation—a way to avoid that notorious scourge smallpox. Titled “An Account, or History, of the Procuring the Small Pox by Incision, or Inoculation; As It Has for Some Time Been Practised at Constantinople,” it confirmed information that Mather had received about a decade before. So it was that five years later, when the Seahorse brought its cargo of disease to Boston, Mather was prepared to run a truly radical experiment on his fellow Bostonians in the hope of rescuing them from mortal peril.
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Thomas Levenson (So Very Small: How Humans Discovered the Microcosmos, Defeated Germs--and May Still Lose the War Against Infectious Disease)