Discoveries and Inventions of the Nineteenth Century

latter, shows vivid scarlet, but, brought near the spirit-lamp with the salted wick, is pale, ashy grey. Moving thus the ball of worsted, first to one light then to the other, gives a most convincing and striking proof of the entire illusion we are under as to colour being an inherent quality of substances. Similar experiments may be multiplied indefinitely. A bouquet, viewed by the rushlight, shows the so-called natural colours of the flowers; viewed by the salted flame, roses, verbenas, violets, larkspurs, and leaves, all appear of the uniform ashy grey, and only yellow flowers come out in their natural colours. A picture, say a chromo-lithograph after one of the most gorgeous landscapes that Turner ever painted, appears a work in monochrome, and gives exactly the effect of a sepia or indian-ink drawing. The most blooming complexion vanishes, and the countenance assumes a cadaverous aspect very startling to persons of weak nerves; the lips especially, which might have rivalled pink coral by ordinary light, take a repulsive livid hue. All these effects may be seen to greater advantage by using the gas-flame of a Bunsen’s burner, having a lump of salt placed in the flame; or by means of a piece of fine wire gauze, about six inches square, supported about two or three inches above an ordinary gas-burner, from which the gas is allowed to issue without being lighted, but when to the top of the wire gauze, which is strewed with small fragments of salt, a light is applied, the gas will ignite only above the gauze, without the flame passing down to the burner below. A fuller explanation of these strange appearances may be gathered from the subsequent article; but it may suffice now to state that spirit, or gas burned in the way we have indicated, gives off little or no light of any kind. 415If, however, common salt be introduced into the flame, then light—but light of only one particular colour—is given off, and that colour is yellow. There are no red, or green, or blue, or violet vibrations given off; and as the objects on which the light falls cannot supply these, it follows that with this light no impression corresponding to these colours can be produced on the eye, whatever may be the objects upon which it falls. Such experiments, not simply read about but actually performed, cannot fail to convince an intelligent person that the colours come from the light and not from the object. Of course, it is not denied that there is in each substance something that determines which are the rays absorbed, and which are the rays reflected to the eye—something that can destroy certain waves, but is powerless over others that rebound from the substance, and reaching the eye, there produce their characteristic impressions. And it is but this power of sending back only certain rays among the multitude which a sunbeam furnishes, that can be attributed to objects when we say that they have such or such a colour. In this sense, then, we may properly say that the rose is red, but it is also at the same time undeniably true that the redness is not in the rose. Let it not be supposed that such scientific conclusions as those we have arrived at tend in any way to rob Nature of her beauty, or that our sense of the loveliness of colour is in any danger of being blunted by thus tracing out, as far as may be, the causes and sources of our sensations. The poets have occasionally said harsh things of science—indeed, one goes so far as to stigmatize the man of science as one who would “untwist the rainbow” and “botanize upon his mother’s grave;” and another thus laments dispelled illusions: “When Science from Creation’s face Enchantment’s veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws!” Now, in the case we have been considering, the scientific view is surely as beautiful as the ordinary one. We can, it is true, no longer regard the objects as having in themselves the colours which common observation attributes to them, but we look upon the material world as being, so to speak, the neutral canvas upon which Light, the great painter, spreads his varied tints, although, unlike the real canvas of an artist, which is not only neutral, but receives indifferently whatever hues are laid upon it, the objects around us exercise a selective effect—as if the picture of Nature were produced by each part of the canvas refusing all the tints save one, but itself supplying none. The tendency of the study of science to increase our interest in the great spectacle of Nature, and to enhance our appreciation of her charms, has been more justly indicated by another poet—thus: “Nor ever yet The melting rainbow’s vernal tinctured hues To me have shone so pleasing, as when first The hand of Science pointed out the path In which the sunbeams gleaming from the west Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil Involves the orient.” 416 Fig. 215.—Portrait of Professor Kirchhoff. THE SPECTROSCOPE. Many of the modern discoveries and inventions already described in these pages have been instances of practical applications of science to the every-day wants of mankind; but the chief interest of the subject we now enter upon flows mainly from other sources than direct applications of its principles in useful arts, although these applications are already neither few nor unimportant. But that which, in the highest degree, claims our attention and excites our admiration in the revelations of the spectroscope is the wonderful and wholly unexpected extent to which this instrument has enlarged our knowledge of the universe, and the apparently inadequate means by which this has been accomplished. A little triangular piece of glass gives us power to rob the stars of their secrets, and tells more about those distant orbs than the wildest imagination could have deemed attainable to human knowledge. One of the most acute philosophers of the present century, a profound thinker who devoted his mind to the consideration of the mutual relations of the sciences, declared emphatically, not very many years ago, that all we could know of the heavenly bodies must ever be confined to an acquaintance with their motions, and to such a limited acquaintance with their features as the telescope reveals in the less distant ones. 417A knowledge of their composition, he expressly asserted, could never be attained, for we could have no means of chemically examining the matter of which they are constituted. Such was the deliberate utterance of a man by no means disposed to underrate the power of the human mind in the pursuit of truth. And such might still have been the opinion of the learned and of the unlearned, but for the remarkable train of discoveries which has led us to the construction of instruments revealing to us the nature of the substances entering into the constitution of the heavenly bodies. We have now, for example, the same certainty about the existence of iron in our sun, that we have about its existence in the poker and tongs on the hearth. The last few years have seen the dawn of a new science; and two branches of knowledge which formerly seemed far as the poles asunder—namely, astronomy and chemistry—have their interests united in this new science of celestial chemistry. The progress which has been made in this department of spectroscopic research is so rapid, and the field is so promising, that the well-instructed juvenile of the future, instead of idly repeating the simple lay of our childhood: “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are!” will probably only have to direct his sidereal spectroscope to the object of his admiration in order to obtain exact information as to what the star is, chemically and physically. Fig. 216. The results which have already been obtained in celestial chemistry, and other branches of spectroscopic science, are so surprising, and apparently so remote from the range of ordinary experience, that the reader can only appreciate these wonderful discoveries by tracing the steps by which they have been reached. A few fundamental phenomena of light have already been spoken of in the foregoing article; and an acquaintance with these will have prepared the reader’s mind for a consideration of the new facts we are about to describe. In discussing, in the foregoing pages, the subject of refraction, we have, in order that the reader’s attention might not be distracted, omitted all mention of a circumstance attending it, when a beam of ordinary light falls upon a refracting surface, such as that represented in Fig. 203. The laws there explained apply, in fact, to elementary rays, and not to ordinary white light, which is a mixture of a vast multitude of elementary rays, red, yellow, green, &c. When such a beam falls obliquely upon a piece of glass, the ray is, at its entrance, broken up into its elements, for these, being refracted in different degrees by the glass, each pursues a different path in that medium, as represented by Fig. 216. Each elementary ray obeys the laws which have been explained, and therefore each emerges from the second surface of the plate parallel to the incident ray, and, in 418consequence of this, the separation is not perceptible under ordinary circumstances with plates of glass having parallel surfaces. But, if the second surface be inclined so as to form such an angle with the first that the rays are rendered still more divergent in their exit, then the separation of the light into its elementary coloured rays becomes quite obvious. Such is the arrangement of the surfaces in a prism, and in the triangular pieces of glass which are used in lustres. For the fundamental experimental fact of our subject, we must go back two centuries, when we shall find Sir Isaac Newton making his celebrated analysis of light by means of the glass prism. We shall describe Newton’s experiment, for, although it was performed so long ago, and is generally well known, it will render our view of the present subject more complete; and it will also serve to impress on the reader an additional instance of the world’s indebtedness to that great mind, when we thus trace the grand results of modern discovery from their source. “It is well,” is the remark of a clear thinker and eloquent writer, “to turn aside from the fretful din of the present, and to dwell with gratitude and respect upon the services of ‘those mighty men of old, who have gone down to the grave with their weapons of war,’ but who, while they lived, won splendid victories over ignorance.” Fig. 217.—Newton’s Experiment. The experiment of Sir Isaac Newton will be readily understood from Fig. 217, where C is the prism, and A C represents the path of a beam of sunlight allowed to enter into a dark apartment through a small round hole in a shutter, all other light being excluded from the apartment. In this position of the prism, the rays into which the sunbeam is broken at its entrance into the glass were bent upwards, and at their emergence from the glass they were again bent upwards, still more separated, so that when a white screen was placed in their path, instead of a white circular image of the sun appearing, as would have been the case had the light been merely refracted and not split up, Newton saw on the screen the variously-coloured band, D D, which he termed the spectrum. The letters in the figure indicate the relative positions of the various colours, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, &c., by their initial letters. The spectrum, or prolonged 419coloured image of the sun, is red at the end, R, where the rays are least refracted, and violet at the other extremity, where the refraction is greatest, while, in the intermediate spaces, yellow, green, and blue