A type specimen is a preserved specimen designated as a permanent reference for a new species, new genus or some other taxon. The type is the first specimen bearing the new scientific name, and the one true example of the species.

The concept of type specimen is central to Linnean taxonomy. Since a species is defined by a physical description, that description necessarily requires looking at a physical object (either a preserved specimen or a detailed illustration). This object becomes the "type," the fixed standard by which all subsequent specimens are identified as "typical" of the species.

The methodology had relaxed somewhat in the first part of the twentieth century, with some scientists substituting instead a syntype, a listing of several examples of a species, none of which had priority over the other. But Stearn was writing in light of a recent crackdown. The keepers of the International Code of Botanical Nomenclature had announced a return to Linnean orthodoxy: All new species would henceforth again be defined by a single instance only, called either a holotype (if chosen by the first describer of the species) or a lectotype (if chosen at a later date). Linnaeus's specimens became holotypes as soon as he used them in compiling Systema Naturae... Its specimens were the definitive examples- the embodiments, so to speak- of their respective species.

Yet Linnaeus had neglected to collect the type specimen of one important species. He had never supplied a holotype for Homo sapiens, and for that matter had defined the species only with the terse phrase nosce te ipsum, Latin for "know yourself." Stearn proposed a novel means of correcting this omission. Since "the specimen most carefully studied and recorded by the author is to be accepted as the type," he wrote, the appropriate lectotype was obvious. Linnaeus had presumably examined himself for decades, even if only by glancing in the mirror while shaving.

"Clearly," Stearn concluded, "Linnaeus himself. .. must stand as the type of his Homo sapiens!"

Gwinnett's autograph is highly sought by collectors as a result of a combination of the desire by many top collectors to acquire a complete set of autographs by all 56 signers of the U.S. Declaration of Independence, and the extreme rarity of the Gwinnett signature; there are 51 known examples, since Gwinnett was fairly obscure prior to signing the Declaration and died shortly afterward. Only ten of those are in private hands. The 1953 Isaac Asimov short story "Button, Button" concerns an attempt to obtain a genuine (and therefore valuable) signature of Gwinnett by means of a device that can move objects through time.

According to the popular science writer Louis Figueir, all the excitement about the new knowledge of electricity led to an odd trend: in his recounting, Paris in the 1770s saw a fad for ladies’ lightning-rod caps, trimmed with metallic thread connecting to a cord that dragged along the ground. The (extremely flawed) theory was that the cord would carry a lightning bolt harmlessly away from the wearer. He also writes of a lightning-rod umbrella proposed by one of Ben Franklin’s acolytes, Jacques Barbeu-Dubourg. The umbrella would be surmounted with a metal pole and trail a silver braid to bear away the charge.

I Margaret Thompson, &c. being of sound mind, &c. do desire, that when my soul is departed from this world, my body and effects may be disposed of in a manner following, &c. &c.—

I also desire that all my handkerchiefs that I may leave unwashed at the time of my disease, after they have been got together by my old and trust servant, Sarah Stuart, be put by her alone, at the bottom of my coffin, which I desire may be large enough for that purpose, together with such a quantity of the best Scotch snuff (in which she knoweth I always had the greatest delight) as will cover my deceased body — and this I desire more especially, as it is usual to put flowers into the coffin of departed friends, and nothing can be so fragrant and refreshing to me as that precious power.

But I strictly charge that no man be suffered to approach my body till the coffin is closed, and it is necessary to carry me to my burial, which I order in the manner following:

Six men to be my bearers, who are well known to be the greatest snuff takers in the parish of St. James', Westminster—and instead of mourning, each to wear a snuff coloured beaver, which I desire may be bought for that purpose, and given them.

Six maidens of my old acquaintance, viz. &c. to bear my pall, each to wear a proper hood, and to carry a box filled with the best Scotch snuff, to take for their refreshment as they go along. Before my corpse I desire the minister may be invited to walk, and to take a desirable quantity of the said snuff, not exceeding one pound; to whom I bequeath two guineas on condition of so doing. And I also desire my old and faithful servant, Sarah Stuart, to walk before the corpse, to distribute every twenty yards, a large handful of Scotch snuff to the ground, and upon the crowd who may possibly follow me to the burial place—on which condition I bequeath her £20. And I also desire, that at least two bushels of said snuff may be distributed at the door of my house in Boyle street.

Source: Euterpeiad, or, Musical Intelligencer & Ladies' Gazette - June 28, 1821

The king Gustav III viewed coffee consumption as a threat to the public health and was determined to prove its negative effects. It is said that he decided to carry out an experiment on two prisoners. Two twins had been tried for the crimes they had committed and condemned to death. Their sentences were commuted to life imprisonment on the condition that one of the twins drank three pots of coffee every day while the other drank the same amount of tea, and this for the rest of their lives, in order to see if the coffee affected their life expectancy. Unfortunately the king died before the final result of his experiment: the first twin died at the age of 83 and he was the one who drank tea!