Discoveries and Inventions of the Nineteenth Century (part 4 of 5)

Discoveries and Inventions of the Nineteenth Century (part 4 of 5)

In. Diameter of the entrance of the optic nerve 0·08 Distance of centre of optic nerve from centre of yellow spot 0·138 Diameter of fovea centralis 0·008 Diameter of the nerve-cells of the retina 0·0005 Diameter of the nuclei 0·00003 Diameter of the rods 0·00004 Diameter of the cones in yellow spot 0·00018 Length of rods 0·0016 Length of cones in yellow spot 0·0008 Thickness of retina at the back of the eye 0·0058

By means of an instrument to be presently described, the ophthalmoscope, it is possible to view directly the whole surface of the retina, and to observe the inverted images of the objects there depicted. It is thus observed that it is only on the parts near the yellow spot that the images are formed with clear and sharp definition. Away from this the definition is less perfect; and besides the diminished sensitiveness of the retina, this circumstance contributes to the vagueness of the visual picture, although the falling off in clearness of vision at a very little distance from the yellow spot is far more marked than the loss of definition in the image there formed.

Until within the last few years it has been most confidently asserted by many authors that the eye, considered as an optical instrument, is absolutely perfect, and entirely free from certain defects to which artificial instruments are liable. Thus Dr. W. B. Carpenter states, in his “Animal Physiology” (1859): “The eye is much more remarkable for its perfection as an optical instrument than we might be led to suppose from the cursory view we have hitherto taken of its functions; for, by the peculiarities of its construction, certain faults and defects are avoided, to which all ordinary optical instruments are liable.” Among the imperfections which are completely corrected in the eye, he names “spherical aberration” and “chromatic aberration”—both of which give rise to certain defects in optical instruments. But by recent careful investigations it has been conclusively shown that the eye is not free from chromatic aberration; that it has defects analogous to spherical aberration; and that there are, besides, certain optical imperfections in its structure, which are avoided in the artificial instruments. Professor Helmholtz, one of the most distinguished of German mathematicians, physicists, and physiologists, whose great work on “Physiological Optics” is the most complete treatise on the subject which has ever appeared, is so far from considering the eye as possessed of all optical perfections that he remarks that, should an optician send him an instrument having like optical defects, he would feel justified in sending it back. The defects which may be traced in the eye, considered as an optical instrument, do not, however, he admits, detract from the excellence of the eye considered as the organ of vision.

When we find that Sir Isaac Newton pointed out the chromatic aberration of the eye two centuries ago—when we find that D’Alembert, in 1767, proved that the lenses of the eye might have as great a dispersive power as glass without the want of achromatism necessarily becoming noticeable—when we find that the celebrated optician Dolland, the inventor of the achromatic lens, showed that the refractions which take place in the eye all tend to bring the violet rays towards the axis more than the red—when we find that Maskelyne the astronomer, Wollaston the physicist, Fraunhofer the optician, and other scarcely less distinguished men of science, have made actual measurements of the distances of the foci in the human eye for the different rays of the spectrum—when we find how these defects have so long ago been observed, examined, and measured as to their amount—the persistence with which writer after writer has asserted the achromatism of the human eye appears so extraordinary, that it can only be accounted for by the prevalence of the preconceived notion that the eye is absolutely perfect—a notion not without its reason and grounds, in the fact of the exquisite adaptation of the organ of sight to the needs of humanity.

Although the want of achromatism in the eye thus escapes ordinary notice, it is, on the other hand, easy to render it evident by simple experiments. If, for example, we view from a certain distance the solar spectrum projected on a white screen, it will be found that, when we see the red end quite distinctly, the violet end will, at the same time, appear vague and confused, and vice versâ. The author believes that the following very simple experiment will at once convince any person that the fact is as stated. Procure a small piece of blue or violet stained glass, and another piece of red glass, and, having cut out of an opaque screen a rectangular opening, say ½ in. long and ¼ in. wide, place the glasses close to it, so that one-half the opening is covered by the red glass and the other half by the violet glass, the two being placed so that, on looking through the screen, a violet square and a red square are visible. The opaque screen may be made of black paper, cardboard, or tinfoil, and the edges of the opening must be cut perfectly even. On looking through this arrangement, held at a distance of about two feet from the eye, both squares may be seen distinctly by a person of ordinary vision; but, at a distance of five inches from the eye, he will find it impossible to see the squares otherwise than with vague and ill-defined edges. This is because the crystalline lens cannot adapt its curvature so as to bring the rays from the object to a focus on the retina. Now, by trial, the nearest distance at which each of the coloured squares becomes visible may be found, and it will be observed, that the violet square is first sharply defined at a less distance than the red, whereas, if the eye brought the red and violet rays to a focus at the same point, the smallest distance of distinct vision would coincide in both cases.

The reader may observe the same fact for himself, in even a still simpler manner, by turning to Fig. 238, page 461. When the white circle is viewed by one eye, at a distance of about a foot, and an opaque screen, such as a coin, is held close to the eye, so that the pupil is half covered by it, the one side of the white circle will appear bordered by a narrow fringe of blue, and the other side by a narrow fringe of orange. If the opaque screen be shifted from one side of the pupil to the other, the colours will change places, the orange appearing always on the same side of the white circle as the screen is held before the eye. The same appearances are presented in a still more marked degree when the full moon is made the subject of the experiment.

The diagram, Fig. 239, shows the course of the red and violet rays from a luminous point, A, the refraction being supposed to take place at B_{1} B_{2}. The violet rays after refraction form the cone, B_{1}, E, B_{2}, and E is their focus; the red rays form the cone, B_{1}, F, B_{2}, and have a focus at F. The position of the retina would be intermediate between E and F, and is indicated by C_{1}, C_{2}. It will be noticed that the violet rays cross, and are received on the retina in the same circle, G G, so that the colours, then blended, would be separately imperceptible; but the point would produce a diffused circular image of the blended colours.

In viewing an object—the moon, for example—the accommodation of the eye is like that indicated in the diagram. The distinct image due to the red rays would be formed behind the retina, and that due to the violet rays would be in front of it. In the image on the retina the most intense rays—such as the orange, yellow, and green—are those which are blended by the adjustment of the eye, and the red and violet form images more out of focus (to use a common expression), and a very little larger than the more intense image. We might expect that a white disc would therefore appear with a fringe of colour, resulting from a mixture of red and violet; but the fringe is too narrow, and the colour itself too feeble, to become perceptible. When, however, the pupil of the eye is half covered, the red and violet images are displaced in different directions, the position of the retina being too far forward for the one, and too far back for the other. The coincidence therefore ceasing, the colours show themselves at the margins of the image.

The non-perception under ordinary circumstances of the chromatic aberration of the eye is largely due to the greater intensity of the colours which differ least in their refrangibilities. The clearness of our vision does not, therefore, practically suffer from this defect of the eye. Professor Helmholtz constructed lenses which rendered his eyes really achromatic, and looking through these when the pupil was half covered, no coloured fringes were seen at the edges of dark or light objects, or when the objects were looked at with an imperfect accommodation of the eye. He was, however, unable to detect any increase of clearness or distinctness of vision by the correction.

The eye is also subject to other aberrations and irregular refractions, which are special to itself; for example, with moderately illuminated objects the crystalline lens produces images apparently well defined, and nothing is visible to suggest the absence of uniformity in its structure. But when the light is intense, and concentrated in a small object surrounded by a dark field, the irregular structure of the crystalline lens shows itself in the most marked manner. Every one must have noticed the appearance presented by the distant street-lamps on a dark night, and by the stars. The latter we know to be for us mere points of light, and their images produced by perfect lenses would also be mere points; instead of which we see what seem to be rays issuing from the star, an appearance which has given rise to the ordinary representation of a star as a figure having several rays. That no such rays actually do emanate from the real star may be easily proved: first, by concealing the luminous point from view, by means of a small object held up as a screen. If the rays had any existence outside of the eye, they would still be seen; instead of which, the whole of them disappear when the luminous point, or, in the case of the street-lamp, when the flame, is covered by the screen. A second proof that the origin of the phenomenon is in the eye, and not in the object, is afforded by the fact that if, while attentively observing the rays, we incline the head, the rays turn with the eyes, so that when the head is resting on the shoulder the ray which appeared vertical becomes horizontal. The cause of these divergences from the regular image lies in the fact of the crystalline lens being built up of fibres which have refractive powers somewhat different from that of the intermediate substance. These fibres are arranged in layers parallel to the surfaces of the crystalline lens, and the direction of the fibres in each layer is generally from the centre to the circumference; but towards the axis they form, by bending, a kind of six-rayed figure, as shown in Fig. 240, which represents the arrangement of the fibres of the external layers of the lens. In the outermost layers the branches of the star-shaped figure are subdivided into secondary branches, which give rise to more complicated figures. When we view by night a very brilliant but small light, even these subdivisions may be traced in the radiating figure.

The light which enters the eye is partly absorbed by the black pigment of the choroid, and partly sent back by diffused reflection from the retina through the crystalline lens and pupil. The image of a luminous body as depicted on the retina of another person cannot be seen by us under ordinary circumstances, because, by the principle of reversibility already mentioned as of universal application in optics, the rays which issue from the retinal images are refracted on leaving the eye, and follow the same paths by which they entered it, so that they are sent back to the object. An observer cannot see the retinal image of a candle in another person’s eye, unless he allows the rays to enter his own, and this cannot be done directly, because the head of the observer would be interposed between the candle and the eye observed, and the light would then be intercepted. By holding a piece of unsilvered plate glass vertically, we may reflect the light of a candle into the eye of another person, and then the light thrown out from the retinal image of the candle will, on again meeting the surface of the glass, be in part reflected to its source, and in part pass through the glass, on the other side of which it may be received into the eye of an observer. The positions of the observed and observing eye may be described as exactly opposite to and near each other, while the candle is placed to one side in the plane separating the two eyes, and the glass is held so that it forms an angle of 45° with the line joining the pupils. Under these circumstances the observer may see the light at the back of the eye, but he will not be able to distinguish anything clearly, because his own eye cannot accommodate itself so as to bring to a focus the rays coming from the retina of the other, since these rays are refracted by the media through which they emerge. But, by means of suitable lenses interposed between the two eyes, the retina and all its details may be distinctly seen and examined. Such an arrangement of lenses and a reflecting surface constitute the instrument called the ophthalmoscope (οφθαλμος, the eye) of which there are many forms, but all constructed on the principle just indicated. This principle was first pointed out by Helmholtz, who described the first ophthalmoscope in 1851.

Ruete’s ophthalmoscope is represented in Fig. 241. The parts of the instrument are supported on a stand, C, and about the vertical axis of this the column, D, and the arms, H and K, can turn freely and independently; E is a concave metallic mirror, about 3 in. in diameter, and having an aperture in its centre through which the observer, B, looks. The arm, H, merely carries a black opaque screen, which serves to shield the eye of B from the light of the lamp, and to reduce, if required, the amount of light passing through the aperture in the mirror. The arm, K, which is about a foot in length, carries two uprights which slide along it, and in each of these slides a rod bearing a lens, which can thus be adjusted into any required position. The instrument is used in an apartment where all light but that of the lamp can be excluded. In the instrument just described an inverted image is obtained, which is sufficient for ordinary medical purposes, but this construction does not allow of the examination of retinal images, which is best performed with an instrument having a plane mirror.

The appearance presented by the back of the eye when viewed in the ophthalmoscope is represented in Fig. 242. The retina appears red, except at the place where the optic nerve enters, which is white. On the reddish ground the retinal blood-vessels can be distinguished; A, A, A, branches of the retinal artery, have a brighter red colour, and more strongly reflect the light than the branches, B, B, B, of the retinal vein. Among these, and especially towards the margin, are seen, more or less distinctly, the broader vessels of the choroid. Above the optic nerve and a little to the right may be observed the fovea centralis.

During the last twenty years the ophthalmoscope has been the chief means of extending the knowledge of oculists regarding the diseased and healthy conditions of the eye. In this way the substance of the lens and the state of the humours can be directly seen, the causes of impaired vision can be discovered, and the nature of many maladies made out with certainty. This modern invention, by which the interesting spectacle of the interior of the living eye can be observed, has therefore been far from proving a barren triumph of science. Many insidious maladies can thus be detected, and may be successfully treated before the organ has become hopelessly diseased. In some cases the ophthalmoscope gives the most certain evidence of the existence of obscure and unsuspected diseases of other parts of the body.

VISUAL IMPRESSIONS.

Everybody knows that, however well the flat picture of an object may imitate the colours and forms of nature, we are never deceived into supposing that we have the real object before us. There must, therefore, be something different in the conditions under which we see real objects from those under which we view their pictures. The most favourable circumstances for receiving an illusive impression of solidity from a flat picture, is when we view it from a fixed position and with one eye. This is because one means by which we unconsciously estimate distances depends upon the changes in the perspective appearances of objects caused by changes in our point of view. In many cases these changes in the perspective are the only means we have of judging of the relative distances of objects. But there is another circumstance which is still more intimately connected with our perception of solidity. Each eye receives a slightly different image of the objects before us (unless these be extremely remote), inasmuch as they are viewed from a different point. When the objects are very near, the two retinal images may differ considerably, as the reader may convince himself by viewing with each eye, alternately, objects immediately before him, while the other eye is closed, and the head all the while motionless. The nearer objects will plainly appear to shift their positions as seen against the back-ground of the more distant objects; and a somewhat more careful observation will reveal changes of perspective, or apparent form, in every one of these objects. An extreme case is presented in that of a playing card, or thin book, held in the plane which divides the eyes. The back or the face, the one side or the other, will be seen, according as the right or the left eye is opened. If we close the left eye, the displacement and change of apparent form produced by a slight movement of the head are sufficiently obvious; a movement of the head 2½ in. to the left causes a decided change in the relative positions of adjacent objects. It is plain, however, that it is precisely from a point 2½ in. to the left that the left eye views these objects, and hence the perspective appearance seen by the left eye must have the difference due to this shifting of the point of view.

On the other hand, if one looks at a picture, or flat surface, placed immediately in front, no change in the relative positions of its parts is discernible by viewing it with either eye alternately. Not but that there is a difference in the retinal images in the two cases, but there is an absence of any point of comparison by which the change may be judged. If we take a photograph of a statue, it will, when viewed by one or the other eye, present the difference of the retinal images which is due to a flat surface; the parts of the photographic image will be of slightly different proportions as seen by each eye. If, instead of the photograph we have before our eyes a statuette, each eye will see a quite different view: the right eye will see a portion which is invisible to the left eye, and vice versâ, and, in fact, we shall see more than half round the object. Here, then, we have certain differences of the retinal pictures when solid objects are viewed, and these differences by innumerable repetitions have, unconsciously to ourselves, become associated with notions of solidity, of something having length, breadth, and depth, or thickness. The marvellous delicacy of these perceptions will be alluded to hereafter.

Let us suppose that the lenses of two cameras are fixed in the positions occupied by the two eyes, and that a photograph is taken in each camera, the subject being, for example, a statuette. It is obvious that the differences of the two photographs would correspond with the differences of the two retinal images, and that, if a person could view with the right eye only the photograph taken in the right-hand camera, and with the left eye the left-hand photograph only, there would be formed on the retinæ of his eyes images very nearly corresponding with those which the actual object would produce, and the result would be, if these retinal pictures occupied the proper position on the eyes, that the impression of solidity would be produced, which is called the stereoscopic effect.

This may be done without the aid of any instrument, as almost any person may discover after some trials with nothing but a stereoscopic slide, if he can succeed in maintaining the optic axis of his eyes quite parallel. In such a case he will observe the stereoscopic effect by the fusing together, as it were, into one sensation, of the impression received by the right eye from the right photograph, with that received by the left eye from the left photograph. But as each eye will, at the same time, have the photograph intended for the other in the field of view, the observer will be conscious of a non-stereoscopic image on each side of the central stereoscopic one. These outside images are, however, very distracting, for the moment the attention is in the least directed to them, the optic axes converge to the one side or the other, losing their parallelism, and the stereoscopic effect vanishes, because the images no longer fall in the usual positions on the retinæ. It is, in consequence, only after some practice that one succeeds in readily viewing stereoscopic slides in this manner, but the acquirement is a convenient one when a person has rapidly to inspect a number of such slides, for he can see them stereoscopically without putting them in the instrument. Many persons, however, find great difficulty in acquiring this power. In such cases it is well to begin by separating the two photographs by means of a piece of cardboard, covered with black paper on both sides. When this is held in the plane between the eyes, each eye sees only its own photograph, and the observer is not troubled with the two exterior images. After a little practice in this way, the cardboard may usually be dispensed with, and the observer will insensibly have acquired the habit of viewing the slides stereoscopically, without any aid whatever.

Instruments have, however, been contrived which enable one to obtain the desired result without effort; and one form of these is now tolerably well known to everybody. The first stereoscope was the invention of Wheatstone. The reflecting stereoscope is represented in Fig. 243, and consists essentially of two plane metallic mirrors inclined to the front of the instrument at angles of 45°, so that in each of them the observer sees only the design which belongs to it. The rays reach the eyes as if they came from images placed in front of the observer; and the two images having the proper differences, produce together the impression of solid objects.

Brewster’s stereoscope—which is far more widely known than Wheatstone’s—has two acute prisms, or, more usually, two portions of a convex lens are cut out, and placed with their margins or thin parts inwards, and they thus produce the same effect as would be obtained by combinations of a prism with a convex lens. Another very common form of the stereoscope has merely two convex lenses. The effect of the convex lenses is to increase the apparent size of the images by diminishing the divergence of the rays emitted by each point, producing the appearance of larger designs seen at a greater distance. The effect of the prism is to give the rays the direction which they would have if they proceeded from an object placed in a position immediately between the two designs, and an additional element by which we estimate distance, namely, the convergence of the optic axes, is made to aid in the illusion, when the rays proceeding from the two different pictures have approximately the inclination that they would have if they emanated from real objects at the place where the image is apparently formed. The box or case in which the lenses or lenticular prisms are placed takes various forms. One of the most common is represented in Fig. 244, but the stand on which it is mounted is not a necessary part of the instrument, although it is sometimes convenient. A handsome form is met with as a square case, enclosing a number of photographic stereoscopic views mounted on an endless chain in such a manner that they are brought successively into view by turning a knob on the outside. When an instrument of this kind is fitted up with a series of the beautiful landscape transparencies, which are produced by certain continental photographers, a more perfect reproduction of the impressions derived from nature, exclusive of colour, cannot be conceived. We seem to be present on the very spots which are so truthfully depicted by the subtile pencil of the sunbeam; we feel that we have but to advance a foot in order to mix with the passengers in the streets of Paris or of Rome, and that a single step will bring us on the mountain-side, or place us on the slippery glacier; at our own fireside we can feel the forty centuries looking down upon us from the heights of those grand Egyptian pyramids, and find ourselves bodily confronted with the mysterious Sphinx, still asking the solution of her enigma. The truth and force with which these stereoscopic photographs reproduce the relief of buildings are such, that when one sees for the first time the real edifice of which he has once examined the stereoscopic images, it no longer strikes him as new or unknown; for he derives from the actual scene no impression of form that he has not already received from the image.

But of all subjects of stereoscopic photography the glaciers are, perhaps, those which best show the power of the instrument as far surpassing all other resources of graphic presentation. The most careful painting fails to convey a notion of the strange glimmer of light which fills the clefts of the ice, seen through the transparent substance itself. The simple photograph commonly presents nothing but a confused mass of grey patches; but combine in the stereoscope two such photographs, each formed of nothing but slightly different grey patches, and a surprising effect is at once produced: the masses of ice assume a palpable form, and the beautiful effects of light transmitted or reflected by the translucent solid reveal themselves. Another very beautiful class of subjects for stereoscopic slides is found in those marvellous instantaneous photographs, which seize and fix the images of the waves as they dash upon the shore. Here a scene which has tasked the power of the greatest painter is brought home to us with such force and vividness that we all but hear the wild uproar of the breakers.

But for the art of photography the stereoscope would not thus be ready to minister to our enjoyment, for no pictures wrought by man’s handiwork could approach the requisite accuracy which the two stereoscopic pictures must possess. All attempts to produce such pictures by engraving or lithography have failed, except only in the case of linear geometrical designs, such as representations of crystals. A very useful and suggestive application of the stereoscope has been made to the illustration of a treatise on solid geometry, where the lines representing the planes, being drawn in proper perspective, the reader by placing a simple stereoscope over the plates sees the planes stand out in relief before him, and the multitude of lines, angles, &c., which in a simple drawing might be distracting even for a practised geometrician, assume a clear and definite form. The difference between the two retinal pictures of objects is so slight, that when the objects are at a little distance, ordinary observation fails to discover it without the aid of special instruments; and an inspection of the pair of photographs in a stereoscopic slide will convince any one that, even in these, close and careful observation is required to perceive the difference.

Some of the principles of stereoscopic drawings may be seen exemplified by the pair we give in Fig. 245. With this figure the reader may attempt the experiment of seeing the stereoscopic effect without the stereoscope. When he has succeeded in doing this, or when he fuses the images together by placing a simple stereoscope over the page, he will find the result very singular; for he will receive the impression of a solid crystal of some dark polished substance—black lead, for instance—placed on a surface of the same material. The edges of the solid will appear to have a certain lustre, such as one sees on the edges of a real crystal. The reason of this impression being produced by two drawings, one of which is formed by black lines on a white ground, while the other has white lines on a black ground, is probably due to the circumstance that we very often see in nature the lustrous edges of an object with one eye only. That is, one eye is in the path of the rays which are regularly reflected from the object, while the other is not,—a fact which may be verified in an instant by looking first with one eye and then with the other, at a polished pencil, or similar object, when placed in a certain position.

There is a kind of modification of the reflecting stereoscope, known under the name of the pseudoscope, which is highly instructive, as showing how much our notions of the solidity of objects are due to the differences of the retinal images. In the pseudoscope the rays reach the eyes after passing through rectangular prisms in such a manner that objects on the right appear on the left, and objects on the left appear on the right; but the images agree by reason of the symmetry of the reflection, although the image of the objects that without the instrument would be formed in the right eye is, by the action of the prisms, formed in the left eye, and vice versâ. The impressions produced are very curious: convex bodies appear concave—a coin, for example, seems to have the image hollowed out, a pencil appears a cylindrical cavity, a globe seems a concave hemisphere, and objects near at hand appear distant, and so on. These illusions are, however, easily dispelled by any circumstance which brings before the mind our knowledge of the actual forms, and by a mental effort it is possible to perceive the actual forms even with the pseudoscope, and indeed to revert alternately, with the same object, from convexity to concavity. This last effect is very curious, for the object appears to abruptly change its form, becoming alternately hollow and projecting, according as the mind dwells upon the one notion or the other; but the experiment is attended with a feeling of effort, which is very fatiguing to the eyes.

Professor Helmholtz has contrived another very curious instrument, depending on the same principles as the stereoscope. He terms it the telestereoscope, and while the effect of the pseudoscope is to reverse the relief of objects, the telestereoscope merely exaggerates this relief; hence this instrument is well adapted for making those objects which from their distance present no stereoscopic effect, stand out in relief. The distance between our eyes is not sufficiently great to give us sensibly different views of very distant objects, and what the telestereoscope does is virtually to separate our eyes to a greater distance. Fig. 246 is a horizontal section of the instrument. L and R represent the position of the eyes of the spectator; a, b, are two plane mirrors at 45° to his line of sight; A, B, are two larger plane mirrors, respectively nearly parallel to the former. c d a L and f g b R show the paths of rays from distant objects, and it is obvious that the right eye will obtain a view of the objects identical with that which would be presented to an eye at R´, while the left eye has similarly the picture of the objects as seen from the point L´. The four mirrors are mounted in a box, and means are provided for adjusting the positions of the larger mirrors, as may be required. With this instrument the distant objects in a landscape—a range of mountains, for example—which present to the naked eye little or no appearance of relief, have their projections and hollows revealed in the most curious manner.

It is upon a similar principle that stereoscopic views of some of the celestial bodies have been obtained. Admirable stereoscopic slides of the moon have been produced by photographing her at different times, when the illumination of the surface is the same, but when, in consequence of her libration, somewhat different views of our satellite are presented to us. Two such photographs, properly combined in the stereoscope, give not only the spherical form in full relief, but all the details of the surface: the mountains, craters, valleys, and plains are seen in their true relative projection.

The telestereoscope may be inverted, so to speak, and its effect reversed; for an arrangement of mirrors similarly disposed, but on such a scale as will permit the eyes to be respectively in the lines c d and f g, would reflect from objects in the direction L R rays which would have but little of the difference of direction to which the stereoscopic effect is due. Hence solid objects viewed with such an instrument appear exactly like flat pictures, the effect being far more marked than in simply viewing them with one eye.

An ingenious method of exhibiting a stereoscopic effect to an audience has been contrived by Rollmann. He draws on a black ground two linear stereoscopic designs—that for the left eye with red lines, that for the right eye with blue. Each individual in the audience is provided with a piece of blue glass and a piece of red: he places the red glass before the left eye, the blue glass before the right: each eye thus receives only the picture intended for it, for the blue lines cannot be seen through the red glass, or the red lines through the blue glass. The diagrams may, of course, be projected on a screen by a magic lantern, in which case the circumstances are even more favourable. Duboscq has arranged a kind of opera-glass, so that a person may view appropriate designs on the large scale, and arrangements have been also contrived by which the stereoscopic effect may be seen in moving figures.

Every student of this interesting subject should examine a few stereoscopic images produced by simple lines representing geometrical figures, or the photographs of the model of a crystal, as these exhibit in the most striking manner the conditions requisite for the production of stereoscopic effects. A person having a little skill in perspective and geometry might construct the two stereoscopic images of a body defined by straight lines, but the drawings must be executed with extreme exactitude, for the least deviation would produce the most marked effect in the stereoscopic appearance. The production of stereoscopic photographs now forms a considerable branch of industrial art. At first, these photographs were made by taking the two different views with the same camera at two operations. But there were difficulties in obtaining uniformity of depth in the impressions, and the change in the shadows produced by the earth’s rotation showed itself—although the interval between the two exposures might not exceed three or four minutes. The increased shadows in such cases show themselves in the stereoscope, like dark screens suspended in the air. It was Sir David Brewster who, in 1849, first proposed the plan now universally adopted, of producing the views simultaneously by twin cameras forming their images on different parts of the same sensitive plate, the centres of the lenses being placed at the same distance apart as a man’s eyes, that is, from 2½ to 3 in. This is, of course, the only manner in which instantaneous views can be secured. Helmholtz, however, advocates the photographs of remote objects being taken at a much greater distance apart, for they otherwise present little appearance of relief. By selecting from an assortment of slides, two views of the Wetterhorn, taken from different points in the Grindelwald valley, and combining these in the stereoscope, he found that a far more distinct idea of the modelling of the mountain could be thus obtained than even a spectator of the actual scene would receive by viewing the mountain from any one point. Such a mode of combining the photographs would produce in the stereoscope the same effect as the telestereoscope would in the landscape, but the effect would be caused to a proportionately far higher degree.

The date of Wheatstone’s first publication regarding the stereoscope was 1833; but a complete description and theory of the instrument was not published until five years afterwards. Brewster first made public, in 1843, his invention of the stereoscope with lenses, which is now so familiar to us, and few scientific instruments have become so quickly and extensively popular; certainly no other simple and inexpensive instrument has contributed so largely to the amusement and instruction of our domestic circles. And, to the philosopher who studies the nature of our perceptions, the stereoscope has been even more instructive, for, instead of vague surmises, it provided him with the solid ground of experiment on which to found his theories. The literature of this one subject—stereoscopic effect—is extensive enough to occupy a tolerably long book-shelf. It dates from 300 B.C., when Euclid touched upon the subject in his Optics; and after a lapse of more than eighteen centuries it was taken up by Baptista Porta, in 1583; but the whole development of this subject belongs almost entirely to the last half-century.

The part which the muscles of the eyes take in our perceptions of form has been already alluded to, and it may be interesting to illustrate this point by a curious example or two of illusions arising from their movements. If our reader will glance at Fig. 247, he will see that the lines, a b and c d, appear to be farther apart towards the centre than at the ends, while f g and h i, on the other hand, appear nearest together in the middle. He will hardly be convinced that in each case the lines are quite parallel until he has actually measured the distances. A still more striking example of the same kind of illusion is shown by Fig. 248, due to Zöllner. This appears a sort of pattern, in which the broad bands are not upright, but sloping alternately to the right and left, and with the spaces between the lines wider at one end than the other. The lines in the figure are, however, strictly parallel. The illusion by which they appear divergent and convergent is still more strongly felt when the book is held so that the wider bands are inclined at an angle of 45° to the horizon. There is another illusion here with reference to the short lines, which will appear to be opposite to the white spaces on the other side of the long lines to which they are attached. That these illusions are really due to movements of the eyes may be proved by viewing the designs in any manner which entirely prevents the movement, as by fixing the gaze on one spot in the case of Fig. 247, when the illusion will vanish; but this plan is not so easily applied to Fig. 248. A convincing proof, however, will be found in the appearance of these figures when they are viewed by the instantaneous light of the electric spark, as when a Leyden jar is discharged in a dark room. The reader viewing the figures, held near the place where the spark appears, will see them distinctly without the illusions as to the non-parallelism of the lines. In the absence of an electrical machine, or coil and jar, the reader may have an opportunity of seeing the figures by flashes of lightning at night, when the result will be the same.

There is a property of the eye which has led to the production of many amusing and curious illusions. This property in itself is no new discovery, for its presence and effects must have been noticed ages ago. The property in question is illustrated when we twirl round a stick or cord, burning with a red glow at the end. We seem to trace a circle of fire; but as the glowing spark cannot be in more than one point of the circle at once, it is plain that the impression produced on the eye must remain until the spark has completed its journey round the circle, and reaching each point successively renews the luminous impression. Like other subjects relating to vision, this phenomenon has been carefully examined in recent times, and its laws accurately determined.

The fact which is obvious from such an experiment, may be thus stated: Visual impressions repeated with sufficient rapidity produce the effect of objects continually present. This persistence of the visual impressions is easily made the subject of experiment by means of rapidly rotating discs; and in the common toy called a “colour top” we have a ready means of verifying some of the conclusions of science on this subject. Some very interesting results may be obtained by an apparatus as simple as this, regarding the laws of the phenomenon we are considering, and the effects of various mixtures of tints and colours. The well-known toy, the thaumatrope, depends on the same principle. In this a piece of cardboard is painted on one side, with a bird, for example, and on the other side with a cage: when the cardboard is twirled round very rapidly by means of a cord fixed at opposite points of its length, both bird and cage become visible at once, and the bird appears in the cage.

A still more ingenious application of this principle we owe to Plateau, who described it in 1833, under the title of the phenakistiscope; and also to Stampfer, who independently devised the same arrangement about the same time, and named it the stroboscopic disc. The reader may, at almost any toy-shop, purchase one of them, provided with a number of amusing figures; or he may easily construct for himself one which will exemplify the principle. He requires no other materials than a piece of cardboard, and his only tools may be a sharp penknife, a pair of compasses, and a flat ruler. Let him draw on his cardboard a circle of 8 in. diameter, and divide its circumference by eight equidistant points. From these radii should be drawn with the point of the compasses, and equal distances from the centre marked off upon them, to fix the centres of the small circles, which must all have exactly the same size (say, 1 in. in diameter) and be marked by a distinct line. In these are to be marked the hand of a clock-face in the positions shown in Fig. 249; and finally, in the direction of the radii, narrow slips are to be cut out of the cardboard as shown. If a pin be put through the centre of the disc, attaching it thus to the flat end of a cork, so that it can freely rotate in its own plane, and the disc be turned rapidly round, as in Fig. 250, in front of a looking-glass, while the spectator looks through the slits, he will see the hand on the little dial apparently turning round, with rather a jerky movement it is true, somewhat like the dead-beat seconds-hand that is sometimes seen on clocks. The illusion is best when the slits are so narrow that only one of the several images is visible by reflection, namely, that which is adjacent to the slit. Thus, as the disc rotates, each little circle is visible for an instant as the slit passes in front of the spectator’s eye; and if the rotation be sufficiently rapid, the impression of the disc is permanent, as it is constantly being renewed by the successive circles, while, on the contrary, the hands, having different positions, produce images in different positions, giving the appearance of a jerky rotation. The instruments sold in the shops have sometimes a thin metallic disc with the slits in it, and a series of designs printed in smaller paper discs. The paper discs may be screwed on the other disc as required, and a button on a pulley with an endless band is provided for producing the rotation more conveniently. Fig. 251 shows one of the pictures for a disc with twelve slits, and the effect produced by it is that of a dancing figure.

Another arrangement for showing the same illusion has lately become a very popular toy, and quite deservedly so, for it has the advantages of requiring no looking-glass, and of making the effect visible to a number of persons at the same time. This apparatus, which has been termed the Zoetrope, consists simply of a cylindrical box, like a drum with the upper end cut off. It is mounted on a pivot, which permits its revolving rapidly about its vertical axis when touched by the finger. The cylinder has a number of equidistant vertical slits round the upper part of its circumference. The figures which produce the illusion are printed on a slip of paper, which is placed in the lower part of the drum, and when this is in rapid rotation, and the figures are viewed through the slits, the illusion is produced in exactly the same manner as in the revolving disc.

At the end of the article on the phonograph in a subsequent page, the reader will find a remark as to the effect that might be produced by a combination of that instrument with instantaneous and simultaneous photographs of some famous speaker. This combination has now been accomplished by the great inventive genius to whom we are indebted for the phonograph. Mr. Edison has done this so effectively that he may be said to have given life to the zoetrope by the perfection in which the ocular illusion is produced together with the audible manifestations that keep time with it. The amount of thought and ingenuity expended on this new contrivance, which Edison has called the kinetoscope, will scarcely be appreciated by anyone who has not given some consideration to the many practical difficulties that have been overcome. No wonder that the announcement made at the beginning of 1892 should have been received with incredulity, for it was to the effect that Edison had contrived some happy combination of photography and electricity by which a man (presumably one who could afford to pay for luxuries) might sit in his own room and see the moving forms of the actors in an opera projected on a screen before his eyes, while at the same time he would hear their voices singing. Every movement, every change of expression, every glance of the eye, and, in fact, all that was visible to the spectator in front of the stage would appear on the screen, while not a note of vocalist, or chord of orchestra, would fail to reach the ear. And all this was to be evoked at will, and repeated as often as desired, not, therefore, of course, as a presentation of what was taking place at the time, but as a reproduction of some previous performance. This wonderful result has virtually been attained by the application of delicate and ingenious machinery designed to make the phonograph and the camera work synchronously. The first part of the problem was the production of a succession of so-called instantaneous photographs at an extremely rapid rate. In the actual apparatus forty-six photographs are taken every second, a feat which would beforehand be thought impracticable. This is accomplished by making use of a band of sensitive celluloid film, which alone admits of being moved and stopped with the desired rapidity. The movement is imparted by an electric motor, and the arrangement is such that for each exposure the film is held stationary for 9/10ths of 1/46th of a second, during which the lens is uncovered, then for the remaining ⅒th it is covered, while at the same time the film is jerked forward so as to expose a fresh surface to receive a new impression. Obviously the mass moved and stopped with this rapidity (which without the stoppages is at the rate of 26 miles an hour) must be small, and it is found that photographs about 1 in. in diameter cannot be much exceeded in view of this condition. The lens has to be entirely stopped or screened during the tenth of the short interval (1/460th of a second) in which the onward movement of the film is taking place, and it has to be practically open during the remaining 9/10ths of the interval (9/460ths of one second) in which the film is held stationary in order to receive the photographic image. These alternations of movement and stoppage must take place with the utmost regularity, and Edison has used a beautifully regulated electro-motor as the active power, which also simultaneously moves a phonograph so that sights and sounds shall proceed in step, for it is thus they have to be reproduced. This is done by developing the band of film, and from it printing photographic positives on a similar band, whose images are successively projected on a screen by means of a lantern with a step by step movement, exactly the same as that by which the original photographs are taken, while the phonographic cylinder is so timed as to give off to a loud-speaking instrument the sounds that accompanied the photographs. A description of the ingenious mechanism by which all this is accomplished is not suitable for these pages, for it is the result, rather than the details of apparatuses, that interest the general reader. In a simpler form of kinetoscope the positive images on the band of film are viewed directly by single observers, each looking through magnifying glasses; in this a disc with 46 slits revolves, and in its passage, as each slit momentarily permits a view of the image, an electric flash simultaneously lights it up. The same principle is, of course, used in the screen projections. From the very great number of impressions made on the eye in one second, there is none of that jerky movement that is observable in the older appliances. Mr. Edison has found it necessary to provide a special stage, or rather small theatre, in which the actors of the little dramas may be photographed with every advantage in the way of lighting, &c. Fig. 251_a_ shows this kinetographic theatre with the electric camera in action. The subjects reproducible in the kinetoscope include the most rapid movements, such as quick dances, blacksmiths hammering on an anvil, &c., or incidents of ordinary life involving much gesture and change of facial expression, and nothing can be more amusing than to see all these shown to the life by the images on the screen, or by the pictures viewed through the lens, especially if at the same time the phonograph is made to emit the corresponding sounds.

Footnote 5:

Now Lord Kelvin.

ELECTRICITY.

About sixty years ago a popular book was published having for its theme the advantages which would flow from the general diffusion of scientific knowledge. Great prominence was, of course, given to the utility of science in its direct application to useful arts, and many scientific inventions conducing to the general well-being of society were duly enumerated. Under the head of electricity, however, the writer of that book mentioned but few cases in which this mysterious agent aided in the accomplishment of any useful end. The meagre list he gives of the instances in which he says “even electricity and galvanism might be rendered subservient to the operations of art,” comprises only orreries and models of cornmills and pumps turned by electricity, the designed splitting of a stone by lightning, and the suggestion of Davy that the upper sheathing of ships should be fastened with copper instead of iron nails, with a hint that the same principle might be extended in its application. At the present day the applications of electricity are so numerous and important, that even a brief account of them would more than fill the present volume. Electricity is the moving power of the most remarkable and distinguishing invention of the age—the telegraph; it is the energy employed for ingeniously measuring small intervals of time in chronoscopes, for controlling time-pieces, and for firing mines and torpedoes; it is the handmaid of art in electro-plating and in the reproduction of engraved plates, blocks, letterpress, and metal work; it is the familiar spirit invoked by the chemist to effect marvellous transformations, combinations, and decompositions; it is a therapeutic agent of the greatest value in the hands of the skilful physician. Such an extension of the practical applications of electricity as we have indicated implies a corresponding development of the science itself; and, indeed, the history of electricity during the present century is a continuous record of brilliant discoveries made by men of rare and commanding genius—such as Davy, Ampère, and Faraday. To give a complete account of these discoveries would be to write a treatise on the science; and although the subject is extremely attractive, we must pass over many discoveries which have a high scientific interest, and present to the reader so much of this recently developed science as will enable him to comprehend the principles of a few of its more striking applications.

The science of electricity presents some features which mark it with special characters as distinguished from other branches of knowledge. In mechanics and pneumatics and acoustics we have little difficulty in picturing in our minds the nature of the actions which are concerned in the phenomena. We can also extend ideas derived from ordinary experience to embrace the more recondite operations to which heat and light may be due, and, by conceptions of vibrating particles and undulatory ether, obtain a mental grasp of these subtile agents. But with regard to electricity no such conceptions have yet been framed—no hypothesis has yet been advanced which satisfactorily explains the inner nature of electrical action, or gives us a mental picture of any pulsations, rotations, or other motions of particles, material or ethereal, that may represent all the phenomena. Incapable as we are of framing a distinct conception of the real nature of electricity, there are few natural agents with whose ways we are so well acquainted as electricity. The laws of its action are as well known as those of gravitation, and they are far better known than those which govern chemical phenomena or the still more complex processes of organic life.

Definite as are the laws of electricity, there is no branch of natural or physical science on which the ideas of people in general are so vague. Spectators of the effects of this wonderful energy—as seen violently and destructively in the thunderstorm, and silently and harmlessly in the Aurora—knowing vaguely something of its powers in traversing the densest materials, in giving convulsive shocks, and in affecting substances of all kinds—the multitude regard electricity with a certain awe, and are always ready to attribute to its agency any effect which appears mysterious or inexplicable. The popular ignorance on this subject is largely taken advantage of by impostors and charlatans of every kind. Electric and magnetic nostrums of every form, electric elixirs, galvanic hair-washes, magnetized flannels, polarized tooth-brushes, and voltaic nightcaps appear to find a ready sale, which speaks unmistakably of the less than half-knowledge which is possessed by the public concerning even the elements of electrical science.

Electricity has also a special position with regard to its intimate connection with almost every other form of natural energy. Evolved by mechanical actions, by heat, by movements of magnets, and by chemical actions, it is capable in its turn of reproducing any of these. It plays an important, but as yet an undefined, part in the physiological actions constantly going on in the organized body, and is, in fact, all-pervading in its influence over all matter, organic and inorganic—a secret power strangely but universally concerned in all the operations of nature. We are compelled to regard electricity not as a kind of force acting upon otherwise inert matter, but rather as an affection or condition of which every kind of matter is capable, although we are still unable to form a conjecture of the precise nature of the action.

We have now to address ourselves to the task of unfolding so much of the science as will enable the reader to understand the leading principles of such important applications as electro-plating, illumination, and the telegraph; and this will necessarily include an account of the grand discovery of the identity, or at least intimate connection, of magnetism and electricity.

ELEMENTARY PHENOMENA OF MAGNETISM AND ELECTRICITY.

The distinctive property of a magnet is, as everybody knows, to attract pieces of iron, and this property having been observed by the ancients in a certain ore of iron which was found near the city of Magnesia, in Asia Minor, the property itself came to be called Magnetism. A bar of steel, if rubbed with the natural magnet or loadstone, acquires the same property, and if the bar be suspended horizontally or poised on a pivot, it will settle only in one definite direction, which in this country is nearly north and south. If a narrow magnetized bar be plunged into iron filings, it will be found that these are attracted chiefly by the ends of the bar, and not at all by the centre. It appears as if the magnetic power were concentrated in the extremities of the bar, and these are termed its poles, the pole at the end of the bar which points to the north is called the north pole of the magnet, and the other is named the south pole. If a north pole of one magnet be presented to the north pole of another, they will repel each other, and the same repulsion will take place between the south poles, whereas the north pole of one magnet attracts the south pole of another. In other words, poles of the same name repel each other, but poles of opposite names attract each other, or still more concisely, like poles repel, unlike poles attract each other.

Magnetism acts through intervening non-magnetic matter with undiminished energy. Thus, the attractions and repulsions of magnetic poles manifest themselves just as strongly when the poles are separated by a stratum of wood or stone as when merely air intervenes, and the attraction of small pieces of iron by a magnet takes place through the interposed palm of one’s hand without diminution. A delicately suspended needle in even a remote apartment of a large building moves whenever a cart passes in the street. It is almost too well known to require mention here, that iron and steel are the only common substances which are capable of plainly exhibiting magnetic forces, and, indeed, there are no known substances capable of so powerful a magnetization as these. But the difference in the magnetic behaviour of iron and steel is not so well understood, and it is a point of importance for our subject, and connected with a fundamental law which governs all magnetic manifestations. A piece of pure iron is very readily cut with a file, whereas a piece of steel may be so hard that the file makes no impression upon it whatever; and hence a piece of pure iron, or rather iron holding no carbon in combination, and possessed of no steely quality, is often spoken of as soft iron. When a piece of soft iron is placed near the pole of a magnet, the iron becomes, for the time, a magnet. If iron filings be sprinkled over it, they will arrange themselves about the parts of the iron respectively nearest and farthest from the magnet, thus showing that the piece of soft iron has acquired magnetic poles. It will be found on examining these poles that the one nearest the magnet is of the contrary name to the pole of the magnet, and the farthest is of the same name. The conversion of the soft iron into a magnet by the influence of a magnetic pole is termed induction. It need hardly be said that the inductive effect is more powerful in proportion to the shortness of the distance separating the piece of soft iron from the magnetic pole, and, of course, the effect is at its maximum when there is actual contact. Induction thus explains, by aid of the law of the poles, the attraction which a magnet exercises over pieces of iron, for it is plain that the inductive influence is accompanied by attraction between the two contiguous oppositely-named poles of the magnet, and of the piece of iron. But attraction is not the only force, for the pole developed at the farthest portion of the piece of iron being of the same name as the inducing pole, these will be mutually repulsive. The attractive force will, however, be more powerful on account of the shorter distance at which it is exerted, and will predominate over the repulsive force, particularly at short distances, because then the difference will be relatively greater. At distances from the inducing pole relatively great to the distance between the two poles of the piece of iron, the difference may be so small that its effect in attracting the piece of soft iron will be imperceptible, and then the piece of iron acted on by two (nearly) equal parallel forces, will be subject to what is termed in mechanics a couple, the only effect of which is to turn the body into such a position that the opposing forces act along the same line. The definite direction assumed by a freely suspended needle may be explained by supposing that the earth itself is a magnet having a south pole in the northern hemisphere, and a north pole in the southern hemisphere, the line joining these poles being shorter than the axis of the earth, and not quite coinciding with it in position; and the fact of the needle being turned round but not bodily attracted is then easily accounted for, the attractive and repulsive forces being reduced to a couple in the manner just explained.

If the attempt be made to turn a piece of steel into a magnet, by the induction of a magnetic pole, the same results will be obtained as in the case of soft iron, but in a much feebler degree, and with this difference: the piece of steel does not lose its magnetism when the inducing magnet is withdrawn, whereas in the case of the soft iron every trace of magnetism vanishes the instant the inducing pole is removed. And if the pole of the magnet be not only put in contact with one end of the piece of steel, but rubbed on it, the piece will acquire permanent and powerful magnetism. Hence it will be noticed that a piece of soft iron can by the mere approximation of a magnetic pole be converted in an instant into a magnet, and by the removal of the magnet can as instantly be deprived of its magnetism, and made to revert into its ordinary condition; while steel is not so readily magnetized, but retains its magnetism permanently.

The elementary phenomena of electricity are extremely simple and easy of demonstration, and as the whole science rests upon inferences derived from these, the reader would do well to perform the following simple experiments for himself. Apparatus is represented in Fig. 253, but the only essential portion is a straw, B, suspended from any convenient support by a very fine filament of white silk. To one or both ends of the straw a little disc of gilt paper, or a small ball of elder-pith or of cork, should be attached, so that the straw may be balanced horizontally. Now rub on a piece of woollen cloth a bit of sealing-wax, or a stick of sulphur, or a piece of amber, or a penholder, paper-knife, or comb made of ebonite, and immediately present the substance to the ball at the end of the straw. It will be first attracted to the rubbed surface, but after coming into contact with it, repulsion will be manifested and the ball will separate, and may be chased round the circle by following it with the excited body. The attraction of light bodies by amber after it has been rubbed appears to be the one solitary electrical observation recorded by the ancients, but it has given its name to the science, ελεκτρον being the Greek name for amber. The cause, then, of this property is named electricity, and bodies which exhibit it are said to be electrified. The reader will remark that these words explain nothing: they are used merely to express a certain state of matter and the entirely unknown cause of that state. Let the pith or cork ball at the end of the straw be again charged with electricity, by bringing it into contact with a piece of sealing-wax or ebonite which has just been electrified by friction. In this condition it will, as we have just seen, be repelled by the substance which charged it, and on trial it will be found to be repelled also by all the substances we have named, after they have been excited by friction. But if, while still charged with the electricity communicated to it by contact with sealing-wax, sulphur, ebonite, or amber, we present to it a warm and dry glass tube which has just been rubbed with dry silk, we shall find that the ball will be strongly attracted. After contact with the glass, repulsion will take place, and the ball will refuse again to come into contact with the excited glass. In this condition, however, it will be immediately attracted by rubbed sealing-wax or ebonite, and so on alternately: the ball when repelled by the wax is attracted by the glass, and when repelled by the glass is attracted by the wax.

These simple experiments prove that, whatever electricity may be, there are two kinds of it, or, at least, it manifests two opposite sets of forces. The electricity evolved by the friction of glass with silk was formerly called vitreous electricity, and that shown by excited resin, sealing-wax, amber, &c., was named resinous electricity. These names have now been respectively replaced by the terms positive and negative. It must be understood that these terms imply no actual excess or defect, but are purely distinguishing terms, just as we speak of the up and down line of a railway, without implying an inclination in one direction or the other. A fact of great importance in electrical theory is discovered when the substances in which electricity is developed are carefully examined: it is found that one kind is never produced without the other simultaneously appearing. Thus, the silk which has been used for rubbing the glass in the above experiments will be found to exhibit the same electricity as sealing-wax or ebonite. And, further, the quantities of positive and negative electricity evolved are always found to be equal, or equivalent to each other; that is, if they are put together they completely neutralize or destroy each other’s effects. We have used the word “quantity,” implying that electricity can be measured. No doubt, whatever electricity may be, there may be more or less of it; but can we measure an imponderable, invisible, impalpable thing, incapable of isolation? What we really measure when we say that we measure electricity is the attractive or repulsive force: we balance this against some other force (that of gravitation, for example), and we say, so much weight lifted represents so much electricity.

If we try to electrify a piece of metal by holding it in the hand and rubbing it against woollen cloth, silk, or other substance, we shall fail in the attempt: no signs of electricity will thus be shown by the metal. Hence bodies were formerly divided into two classes—those which could be electrified by friction, and those which could not. It was afterwards found, however, that there was no real ground for this division, but that, on the contrary, no two bodies can be rubbed together, even if they are made of the same substances, without positive electricity appearing in one, and an equivalent quantity of negative electricity in the other. The real difference between bodies which prevents the manifestation of electricity in many cases depends upon the fact that electricity is able to traverse some substances with great facility, while others prevent its passage. Thus, if we suspend horizontally a hempen cord by white silk attached to the ceiling, so that the hempen cord comes in contact with nothing but the silk, we shall find, on presenting a piece of excited ebonite to one end of the cord, that electric attraction of light bodies will be manifested at the other. If a silk cord be substituted for the hempen one, no such effect will be observed. The hemp is, therefore, said to be a conductor, and the silk a non-conductor. Again, if we substitute for one of the silk threads suspending the cord a piece of twine, or a wire, we shall fail to obtain any electric manifestations at the remote end, because the electricity will be carried off into the earth by the conducting powers of these substances. On the other hand, filaments of glass or ebonite may be used, instead of the silk, with the same effect: they do not allow the electricity to run through them to the ground, and are therefore termed, like the silk, insulators of electricity. The distinction of bodies into conductors on the one hand, and into non-conductors or insulators on the other, is of paramount importance in the science and in all its applications. This distinction, however, is not an absolute one: there is no substance so perfect an insulator that it will not permit any electricity to pass, and there is no conductor so perfect that it does not offer resistance to the passage. Substances may be arranged in a list which presents a gradation from the best conductor to the best insulator. The metals are by far the best conductors, but there is great relative diversity in their conductive power. Silver, copper, and gold are much the best conductors among the metals, iron offering eight times, and quicksilver fifty times, the resistance of silver. Coke, charcoal, aqueous solutions, water, vegetables, animals, and steam are all more or less conductors, while among the substances called insulators may be named, in order of increasing insulating power, india-rubber, porcelain, leather, paper, wool, silk, mica, glass, wax, sulphur, resins, amber, gum-lac, gutta-percha, and ebonite. It will now be obvious why the electricity developed by the friction of a piece of metal fails to manifest itself under ordinary circumstances, as, for instance, when held in the hand: the metal and the body being both conductors, the electricity escapes. But if the piece of metal be held by an insulating handle of glass or ebonite, the electrified condition may easily be observed.

THEORY OF ELECTRICITY.

The few elementary facts which have been pointed out are absolutely necessary for the foundation of what is sometimes termed the theory of electricity, but which is properly no theory,—at least, not a theory in the same sense as gravitation is a theory explaining the motions of the planets, or even in the sense in which the hypothesis of the ether and its movements explains the phenomena of light. It is absolutely necessary to have a conception of some kind which may serve to connect in our minds the various phenomena of electricity, if it were only to enable us the more easily to talk about them. In default of any supposition which will shadow forth what actually occurs in these phenomena, we have recourse to what has been aptly termed a representative fiction: we picture to ourselves the actions as due to imaginary fluids—fluids which we know do not exist, but are as much creations of the mind as Macbeth’s air-drawn dagger; not, however, like his “false creation,” proceeding from “the heat-oppressed brain,” but intellectual fictions, consciously and designedly adopted for the purpose of enabling us the better to think of the facts, to readily co-ordinate them, and to express them in simple and convenient language. Non-scientific persons hearing this language usually mistake its purport, and imagine that the actual existence of an “electric fluid” is acknowledged. The accounts which appear in the newspapers of the damage done by thunderstorms are often amusing from the objectivity which the reporter attributes to the “electric fluid.” It is described, perhaps, as “entering the building,” “passing down the chimney,” then “proceeding across the floor,” “rushing down the gas-pipes,” “forcing its way through a crevice, and then streaming down the wall,” &c., in terms which imply the utmost confidence of belief in the existence of the “fluid.” With this intimation that the hypothesis of electric fluids is merely, then, a “façon de parler,” the reader will not be misled by the following brief explanation of the elementary facts in the language of the theory.

In the natural state all bodies contain an indefinite quantity of an imponderable subtile matter, which may be called “neutral electric fluid.” This fluid is formed by a combination of two different kinds of particles, positive and negative, which are present in equal quantities in bodies not electrified; but when there is in any body an excess of one kind of particles, that body is charged accordingly with positive or negative electricity. Both fluids traverse with the greatest rapidity certain substances termed conductors; but they are retained amongst the molecules of insulating substances, which prevent their movement from point to point. When one body is rubbed against another, the neutral electric fluid is decomposed—the positive particles go to one body, the negative with which these positive particles were before united pass to the other body. The particles of the same name repel each other, but particles of opposite names attract each other; and it is this attraction which is overcome when the electricities are separated by friction or in any other manner.

It will be observed that the above is nothing but the statement of the elementary facts in the language of the hypothesis. This system of the two fluids readily lends itself to the explanation of nearly all the phenomena presented in what is termed static electricity—that is, in those phenomena where the actions are conceivably due to a more or less permanent separation of the fluids. The grand discoveries in electricity turn, however, upon quite another condition, namely, one in which the two hypothetical fluids must be imagined as constantly combining, and here the utility of the hypothesis is less marked. Inasmuch, however, as there can be no doubt regarding the identity of the agent operating in the two sets of circumstances, the facts of dynamical electricity must still be expressed in the same language, with the aid of any additional conceptions which may give us more grasp of the subject.

ELECTRIC INDUCTION.

In all electrical phenomena an inductive action occurs, which resembles that which we have already indicated with regard to magnetism. Thus, if we take an insulated metallic conductor in the uncharged state, and bring it near an electrified body, we shall find that the conductor, while still at a considerable distance, will give signs of an electrical charge. Suppose we have a cylindrical conductor, and that we present one end of it to the electrified body, but at such a distance that no spark shall pass, we shall find, if the charge on the electrified body be strong and the conductor be brought sufficiently near, that on bringing the finger near the insulated cylinder, a spark passes. While the cylinder continues in the same position with regard to the electrified body, no further sparks can be drawn from it; but if the distance between the two bodies be increased, the insulated cylinder will be found to have another charge of electricity, which will again produce a spark. And by repeating these movements we may obtain as many sparks as we desire by these mechanical actions, without in the least drawing upon the charge on the original electrified body. The electrophorus is a device for obtaining electricity by this plan, and several rotatory electrical machines have lately been invented which yield large supplies of electricity by a similar inductive action.

It is found that in such a case as that we have above supposed, if the electrified body is charged with positive electricity, the uncharged conductor brought near it has its electricities separated—the negative attracted and held by the attraction of the positive charge in the parts of the cylinder nearest the inducing body; while the corresponding quantity of positive electricity is driven towards the most remote parts of the insulated conductor. It is this last which gives the spark in the first case, and if it be not thus withdrawn from the conductor, it re-combines with the negative electricity when the conductor is withdrawn from the neighbourhood of the electrified body, and the conductor then reverts to the natural or unelectrified state. But the contact of a conducting body with the conductor while it is under the influence of the electrified body withdraws only positive electricity, the negative—being held, as it were, by the attraction of the positive electricity of the charged body—is not thus removed, and in this condition it is sometimes called disguised or dissimulated electricity—a term the propriety of which is doubtful. The excess of negative “fluid” which the conductor thus acquires shows itself, however, only when the inducing body has been withdrawn. Precisely similar effects will take place, mutatis mutandis, if the electrified body has a negative charge. A demonstration of inductive effects is readily afforded in the action of the gold-leaf electroscope, Fig. 254, in which two strips of gold-leaf are suspended within a glass case from wire passing through the top, and terminated in a metal plate. This instrument is often used for showing the existence of very small electric charges. Let a stick of sealing-wax be rubbed and held, say, a foot or more from the plate of the electroscope, the leaves will diverge with negative electricity. The sealing-wax being retained in the same position, touch the plate for an instant with the finger. This will remove the negative charge, but the positive electricity will be retained on the plate by the attraction of the negative of the sealing-wax. Now remove the sealing-wax, when the dissimulated charge will spread itself over the whole insulated metallic portion of the electroscope, and the leaves will diverge with a strong charge of positive electricity. If an excited glass tube is brought near the electroscope, the leaves will now diverge still more; if the sealing-wax is replaced in its former position, the leaves will collapse. In all these cases the electrified body parts with none of its own electricity by developing electrical effects in the neighbouring bodies.

The inductive actions we have described take place through the air, which is a non-conductor, and such actions may be made to take place through any other non-conductor. With solid non-conductors, such as glass, gutta-percha, &c., the inducing body may be brought very near to the conductor on which it is to act; for the intervening solid substance, or dielectric, as it has been appropriately called, opposes a resistance to the combination of the opposite electricities, and the inductive effects are greatly intensified by the approximation. Faraday discovered that the amount of inductive action with a given charge is also dependent upon the nature of the dielectric, and that the electric forces act upon the particles of the dielectric, circumstances which are of the greatest importance, as we shall presently find, in practical telegraphy. The most familiar instance of induction is probably well known to the reader in the Leyden jar, Fig. 255, which is simply a wide-mouthed bottle of thin glass, covered internally and externally with tin-foil to within a few inches of the neck. The inner coating communicates by means of a rod and chain with a brass knob. Such a jar admits of the accumulation of a larger quantity of electricity than the conductor of a machine will retain. A very few turns of the machine will suffice usually to charge the conductor to the fullest extent; but if it be put in communication with the knob of a jar, a great many more turns will be required to attain the same charge in the conductor, and the excess of electricity represented by these additional turns will have accumulated within the jar—an effect due to the “dissimulated” electricity of its exterior.

Everybody knows the result when a metallic communication is established between the exterior and the interior of a charged Leyden jar. There is a very bright spark, a snap, and the jar is “discharged.” Everybody knows, also, the sensation experienced when his body takes the place of the metallic communication, or forms part of the circuit through which the communication takes place. Everybody knows that the shock then felt may also be experienced at the same moment by any number of persons who join hands, under such conditions that they also form a part of the line of communication. Such facts irresistibly suggest the notion of something passing through the whole chain, and this notion is in perfect harmony with the hypothesis of the “fluids,” for we have only to suppose that it is one or both of these which rush through the circuit the instant the line of communication is complete. It was one of Franklin’s discoveries that the electrical charges of the Leyden jar do not reside in the metallic coatings; for he made a jar with removable inside and outside coatings, which, properly taken from the glass, showed no signs of electrification, yet when replaced the jar was found to be again highly charged. This would seem to show that the charge clings to, or penetrates within, the glass.

DYNAMICAL ELECTRICITY.

Let us take a vessel containing water, to which some sulphuric acid has been added, Fig. 256, and in the liquid plunge a plate of copper, C, and a plate of pure zinc, Z, keeping the plates apart from each other. As it is not easy to obtain zinc perfectly free from admixture of other metals, an artifice is commonly resorted to for obtaining a surface of pure metal, by rubbing a plate of the ordinary metal with quicksilver, which readily dissolves pure zinc, but is without action on the iron and other metals with which the zinc is contaminated, while the quicksilver is not acted upon by the diluted acid, but is merely the vehicle by which the pure zinc is presented to the liquid. Under the conditions we have described, no action will be perceived, no gas will be given off, nor will the zinc dissolve in the acid. If the electrical condition of the portion of the copper-plate which is out of the liquid be examined by means of a delicate electroscope, it will be found to possess a very weak charge of positive electricity, and a similar examination of the zinc plate will show the existence on it of a feeble charge of negative electricity. If the two plates be made to touch each other, or if a wire be attached to each plate, as shown in the figure, and the wires be brought into contact outside of the vessel, an action in the liquid is immediately perceptible at the surface of the copper plate, when a multitude of small bubbles of hydrogen gas will at once make their appearance, and the gas will be given off continuously from the copper plate so long as there is metallic contact through the wires, or otherwise, between the two plates, or until the acid is saturated with zinc—for in this action the zinc is dissolving, and, in consequence, liberating hydrogen, which strangely makes its appearance, not at the place where the chemical action really occurs, namely, at the surface of the zinc which is in contact with the acid, but at the surface of the copper which is not acted upon by the acid.

It is known that when we establish a metallic communication between two bodies charged with equivalent quantities of positive and negative electricities respectively, these combine and neutralize each other, and all signs of electricity vanish. It is obvious that the contact of the two wires has this effect, as the signs of electric charge which were before discoverable in each of the plates are no longer found while the wires are in contact. But the charges reappear the instant the contact is broken, the chemical action ceasing at the same time. If the wire connecting the two plates outside of the vessel be carefully examined, it will be found, so long as the chemical action is going on, to be endowed with new and very remarkable properties. If this wire be stretched horizontally over a freely suspended magnetic needle, and parallel to it, the needle will be deflected from its position, and, if the wire be placed very near it, will point nearly east and west, instead of north and south. Now, this effect is produced by any part whatever of the wire, and it instantly ceases if the wire be cut at any point. These facts at once suggest the idea of its being due to something flowing through the wire, so long as metallic continuity is preserved. This idea is much strengthened when we find that the action of the connecting wire upon the magnetic needle is quite definite—or, in other words, there are indications which correspond with the notion of direction. For when the wire, which we shall still suppose to be stretched horizontally above the needle and parallel to its direction, is so connected with the plates immersed in the acid that the portion which approaches the south-pointing pole of the needle proceeds from the copper plate, while the portion above the north pole is in connection with the zinc plate, then the north end of the needle will always be deflected towards the west—whereas, if the connections be made in the contrary manner, the deflection will be in the opposite direction; and if the wire be below the needle, the contrary deflections will be observed with the same connections. The discovery of the action of such a wire on the magnetic needle was made by Œrsted in 1819, and it is a discovery remarkable for the wonderful extent of the field which it opened out, both in the region of pure science and in that of practical utility.

Since by such experiments as those just mentioned the notion of a current is arrived at, the mind recurs to the fiction of the “fluids,” and pictures the “positive fluid” as rushing in one direction, and the “negative fluid” in the other, to seek a re-combination into “neutral fluid.” But we must never lose sight of the fact that these ideas are consciously adopted as representative fictions to help our thoughts—just as John Doe and Richard Roe, imaginary parties to an imaginary lawsuit, used to be named in legal documents, in order to explain the nature of the proceedings. Failing, then, to find anything really flowing along our wire, it is still absolutely necessary, seeing there is something definite in its action, to assign a direction to the supposed current; and it has been agreed that we shall represent the current as flowing from the positively charged body to the negatively charged body—that is, in the case we have been considering, from the copper to the zinc through the wire. When this conventional representation has been adopted, the action on a magnetic needle can easily be defined and remembered by an artifice proposed by Ampère. In Fig. 257, let N S represent the magnetized needle, N being the pole which points towards the north, and S the south pole. Let C be the end of the wire connected with the copper plate, and Z that connected with the zinc. The current is therefore supposed to flow in the direction indicated by the arrows in a wire above the needle and in the wire placed below. Now, suppose that a man is swimming in the current in the same direction it is flowing, and with his face towards the needle, then the north pole of the needle will always be deflected towards his left. With the direction of current represented in the figure, the pole, N, will be thrown forward from the plane of the paper, or towards the spectator.

The reader who desires to study the mutual action of currents and magnets will find it necessary to fix this idea in his mind. He will now be able to see that if the wire be coiled round the needle, as shown by the lines and arrows, Fig. 257, so that the same current may circulate in reverse directions above and below the magnet, its effects in deviating the needle will everywhere concur—that is, the action of each part will be to turn the north pole towards the left. It is, therefore, plain that if the wire conveying the current be passed several times round the magnetic needle, the deflecting force will be increased; and a current, which would, by merely passing above or below the magnet, produce no marked deflection, might be made to produce a considerable effect if carried many times round it. The arrangement for this purpose is shown in Fig. 258, where it will be perceived that the needle is surrounded by a coil of wire, so that the current circulates many times about it, and the effects of each part of the circuit concur in deflecting the needle. Such an arrangement of the wire and needle constitutes what is called the galvanometer, an instrument used to discover the existence and direction of electric currents.

The arrangement of metals and acid which we have described is termed a voltaic couple, element, or cell; and a great controversy has long been carried on among men of science as to the place at which the development of electricity has its origin. Three-quarters of a century ago, the effect was attributed by Volta to the mere contact of the two dissimilar metals. In the experiment we have described this contact, supposing the wires to be of copper, would occur at the junction of the wire and the zinc plate. Now, by joining the copper plate of such a cell to the zinc plate of another cell, the copper of that to the zinc of a third, and so on, it is evident that the number of dissimilar contacts might be indefinitely increased, and the electric power should be proportionately augmented. It is found that this is really the case, but Volta’s explanation has been opposed by another which regards the chemical action in the cells as the real origin of the electric manifestations. This last explanation, supported by many apparently conclusive experiments of Faraday and others, has been generally accepted. Galvanic batteries—as a series of cells joined together in a certain manner are termed—have been constructed, in which there is no contact of dissimilar metals; and no electric current can be obtained from an apparatus in which no chemical action takes place. The contact theory in a modified form has recently been revived by Sir W. Thomson and others. In this it is now maintained that some separation of electricities really does take place by contact of dissimilar substances, but that a current can be produced only when this separation is continually renewed by chemical actions. Be the true explanation what it may, the fact is undoubted that by joining cell to cell, we can really obtain vastly more powerful effects. If we take a single cell, such as that represented in Fig. 256, and connect the plates with a long and thin wire, we shall find that the current flowing through each part of the circuit is much weaker than when we connect the plates with a short and thick wire. In other words, the action in the latter case, when the wire is stretched over a magnetic needle, will be more powerful than in the former. By using a long and thin wire the current may be so weakened that it becomes necessary to surround the needle with many coils of the wire to produce a marked deflection. Again, much depends upon the material; thus a copper wire conveys a much more powerful current than a German silver one of the same dimensions. There thus appears to be a certain analogy between the flow of electricity along conductors to that of water through pipes. The longer and narrower are the pipes, the less is the quantity of water forced through them by a given head; and similarly, the resistance to the passage of a current increases with the length and narrowness of the conducting wire. When all other circumstances are the same, the electrical resistance of a conductor varies directly as its length and inversely as its sectional area. Hence the current flowing in the apparatus represented in Fig. 256 would be increased by making the wire thicker, and by making it shorter by bringing Z and C nearer together, and by making the area they expose to the liquid larger; for in the liquid also the current flows as indicated by the arrow, a fact which may be proved by the deflection of a magnetized needle suspended above the vessel. The magnitude of the current depends, then, upon two opposing forces, namely, that which continuously separates the electricities, or drives them apart to re-combine through the circuit, and that which opposes their passage. The former, which is termed the electromotive force, originates, according to some, from the mere contact of dissimilar materials, according to others from the chemical action. Now, we may increase the strength of the current in a given arrangement, either by increasing the electromotive force, or by diminishing the resistance. The increase of the strength of the current, produced by merely pouring more acid into the vessel, Fig. 256, is due, according to the chemical theory, to the former cause; according to the contact theory, to the latter. By multiplying the cells we increase the electromotive forces: the current receives, so to speak, an onward shove in each cell, but with each cell we introduce an additional resistance. Hence, it follows, that when the resistance of the circuit outside of the cells is extremely small, the current produced by a single cell is as powerful as that produced by a thousand. But when the external resistance is great, as when long thin wires are used, the united electromotive forces of a number of cells are needed to drive the current through the circuit. The strength of a current, C, is therefore expressible by the following simple formula, in which r stands for the internal resistance, and e for the electromotive force in each cell; n represents the number of cells in the battery, these being supposed exactly similar in every respect; R is the sum of the resistances in the circuit outside of the battery.

ne C = ———————— nr + R

It is easily seen that the smaller R is made, the more nearly does the strength of the current become independent of the number of cells.

But many modifications have been made in the materials and form of the cells, by which greater power and duration of action have been attained. Our space permits a description of only two forms, and these must be described without a discussion of the principles upon which their increased efficiency depends. Daniell’s constant cell is represented in Fig. 259, where D is a battery of ten such cells, A is a cylindrical vessel of copper, C is a tube of porous earthenware, closed at the bottom, and within it is suspended the solid rod of amalgamated zinc, B. The copper vessel and the zinc rod are provided with screws by which wires may be attached. In the copper vessel is placed a saturated solution of sulphate of copper, and some crystals of the same substance are placed on the perforated shelf within the vessel. The porous tube is filled with diluted sulphuric acid. When the battery is in action the zinc is dissolved by the sulphuric acid, and metallic copper is continually deposited upon the internal surface of the copper vessel. Daniell’s battery, in some form or other, is much used for telegraphs and for electrotyping. Grove’s cell is shown in section in Fig. 260. The external vessel is made of a rectangular form in glazed earthenware or glass. It contains a thick plate of amalgamated zinc, A, A, bent upwards, and between the two portions a flat porous cell, C, C, is placed, filled with strong nitric acid, in which is immersed a thin sheet of platinum. The outside vessel is charged with water, mixed with about ⅛th of sulphuric acid. D represents a battery of four such cells, in which the mode of connecting the platinum of one to the zinc of the next may be noticed. The terminal platinum and zinc form the poles of the battery, and to them the wires are attached which convey the current. The substitution of plates of coke for the platinum gives the form of battery known as Bunsen’s, which is also sometimes made with circular cells. Gover’s and Bunsen’s are much more powerful arrangements than Daniell’s, but the latter has the advantage as regards the duration and uniformity of its action.

When the current produced by a battery of a dozen or more such cells is conveyed by a wire, it is observed that this wire becomes sensibly hot, and, if the wire be thin enough, the heat may be sufficiently great to heat the wire to redness. By stretching a piece of platinum wire between two separate rods which convey the current, as represented in Fig. 261, the length of wire through which the current passes may be adjusted so as to give any required amount of light, and the wire may even be heated to the fusing-point of platinum. This property of electricity has some interesting applications, as, for example, in firing mines and other explosive charges, and in some surgical operations. A still more interesting exhibition of heating and luminous effects is observed when the terminals of a battery of many cells are connected with two rods of coke, or gas-retort carbon. When the pointed ends of the rods are brought into contact, the current passes, and the points begin to glow with an intensely bright light, and if they are then separated from each other by an interval of ⅒th of an inch or more, according to the power of the battery, a luminous arc extends between them, emitting so intense a light that the unprotected eye can hardly support it. This luminous arc is called the voltaic arc, and it excels all other artificial lights in brilliancy, a fact due to the extremely high temperature to which the carbon particles are heated, the temperature being, perhaps, the highest we can attain. It must not be supposed that in this brilliant light we see electricity: the light is due to the same cause as the light of a candle or gas flame, namely, incandescent particles of solid carbon. These particles are carried from one carbon point to the other, and it is found that the positive pole rapidly loses its substance, which is partly deposited on the negative pole. But in order to obtain a steady light, it is requisite to keep the pieces of carbon at one invariable distance; and therefore the transference of the material from one pole to the other, and the loss by combustion, must be compensated by a slow movement of the carbons towards each other. Several kinds of apparatus are used for this purpose, but they all depend upon the principle of regulating the motions by the action of an electro-magnet, formed by the current itself, which becomes weaker as the carbons are farther apart. The movement is communicated to the apparatus by clockwork. Duboscq’s electric lantern is shown in Fig. 262, with enlarged images of the carbon points projected on a screen. The mechanism of the regulator is contained within the cylindrical box immediately below the lantern. The supports of both carbons are moved; that which bears the positive carbon pole being advanced twice as fast as the other, and thus the light is maintained at the same level, for the positive carbon wears away twice as fast as the other. The light is more brilliant when charcoal is used instead of coke, but then it is necessary to operate in a vacuum, to avoid the combustion of the charcoal. The voltaic arc has recently been applied to illuminate lighthouses, and for other purposes, and will probably soon be more widely employed, for a cheap and convenient mode of producing a uniform current of electricity has recently been discovered and will be presently described.

The current which is maintained by the chemical action taking place in the cells of the battery can also be made to do chemical work outside of the battery. When the poles of the battery are terminated by wires or plates of platinum, and these are plunged into water acidulated with sulphuric acid, bubbles of gas are seen to rise rapidly from each wire, or electrode, as it is termed. Fig. 263 shows an arrangement by which these gases may be collected separately, and examined, by simply placing over each electrode an inverted glass tube, filled also with the acidulated water. The gases collect at the tops of the tubes, displacing the water, and it is found that from the wire connected with the zinc end of the battery, or negative electrode, hydrogen gas is given off, while at the positive electrode oxygen gas is liberated, in volume precisely equal to half that of the hydrogen. This being the proportion in which these two substances combine to produce water, it appears that in the passage of the current a certain quantity of water is decomposed; and the quantity thus decomposed is in reality a measure of the current, all the other effects of which are found to be proportional to this. When the electricity in a current is said to be measured, it is simply the power of the current to deflect a magnet, or the quantity of gas it can liberate, or some other such effect, which is in fact measured. The discharge of a Leyden jar through such an apparatus as that represented in Fig. 263 would present no perceptible decomposition of the water; yet such a discharge passed through the arms and body produces, as everybody knows, a painful shock, and is accompanied by a bright spark and a noise, while the simultaneous contact of the fingers with the positive and negative poles of the galvanic battery occasions neither shock nor spark. Thousands of discharges from large jars must be passed through acidulated water to liberate the amount of gas which a battery current of a second’s duration will produce. The electricity of the jar is often spoken about as having a higher tension than that of the battery, but the latter sets an immensely greater quantity of electricity in motion. The idea may be illustrated thus: Suppose we have a small cistern of water placed at a great height, and that this water could fall to the ground in one mass. The fall of the small quantity from a great height would be capable of producing very marked instantaneous effects, such as smashing, as with a blow, any structure upon which it might fall. This would correspond with the small quantity of electricity which passes in the discharge of a Leyden jar. Contrast this with the case in which we allow a very large quantity of water to descend from a very small height—as when the water of a reservoir is flowing down a gently inclined channel. It is plain that a different kind of effect might be produced in this case; the current might be made, for instance, to turn a water-wheel, which the more forcible impact of the small quantity of water in the case first supposed would have broken into pieces.

It is probable that the apparent decomposition of water by the electric current is in reality a secondary effect, and that it is the sulphuric acid which is decomposed. When, instead of acidulated water, we place in the apparatus a solution of sulphate of copper, it is found that metallic copper is deposited on the negative electrode, and sulphuric acid collects at the positive electrode. The metal is deposited in a firm and coherent state, and the useful applications of this deposition of metals are of great interest and importance. For, in a similar manner, gold, silver, lead, zinc, and other metals may be made to form thin uniform layers over any properly prepared surface. The immense advantages which the arts have derived from electro-plating illustrate in a convincing manner the benefits which physical science can confer on society at large.

The process of electro-plating may be practised by the aid of apparatus of very simple character. Fig. 264 shows all that is necessary for obtaining perfect casts in copper of seals, small medals, &c. A A is a section of a common tumbler; B B is a tube, made by rolling some brown paper round a ruler, uniting the edge with sealing-wax, and closing the bottom by a plug of cork, round which the paper may be tied by a string, or in any other convenient manner. The tumbler contains a solution of sulphate of copper, and the tube is filled with water, to which about one-twentieth of its bulk of sulphuric acid has been added. A strip of amalgamated zinc, or a piece of thick amalgamated zinc wire, is placed in the tube, and a piece of copper bell-wire is twisted round the top of it, and has attached to its other extremity, and immersed in the copper solution, the article which is to be covered with copper. We may suppose that this is to be a cast in white wax or in plaster of one side of a medal. The cast is carefully covered with black lead by means of a soft brush, and the copper wire is inserted in such a manner as to be in contact with the black lead at some part. When the apparatus has been left for some hours in the position represented, a deposit of copper will be found over the blackleaded surface, and it will be a perfect impression of the wax cast.

Such a copper cast, or any article in copper having a perfectly clean surface, can be readily covered by a film of silver by means of a similar arrangement, where a solution of cyanide of potassium, in which some chloride of silver has been dissolved, is made to take the place of the sulphate of copper. Electro-plating with the precious metals has become a commercial industry of great importance; and this process has completely superseded the old plan of covering the metallic article to be plated with an amalgam of silver or of gold, and then exposing it to heat, which volatized the mercury, leaving a thin film of gold or of silver adhering to the baser metal. On the large scale a battery of several cells is used for electro-plating, and the articles are immersed in the metallic solutions as the negative poles of the battery; any required thickness of deposit being given according to the length of the time they remain. At the works of Messrs. Elkington, of Birmingham, these operations are conducted on a grand scale. The liquid there employed for silvering is a solution of cyanide of silver in cyanide of potassium, and the positive pole is formed of a plate of silver, which dissolves in proportion as the metal is deposited on the negative pole. As the charging of batteries is a troublesome operation, and their action is liable to variations which affect the strength of the currents, the more uniform, more convenient, and more economical mode of producing currents by magneto-electricity, which will presently be described, has been to a great extent substituted for the voltaic battery.

The wire conveying a current not only affects a magnetic needle in the manner already described, but itself possesses magnetic properties, of which, indeed, its action on the needle is the result and the indication. If such a wire be plunged into iron filings, it will be found that the filings are attracted by it: they cling in a layer of uniform thickness round its whole circumference and along its whole length, and the moment the connection with the battery is broken they drop off. This experiment shows that every part of the wire conveying a current is magnetic, and it may be proved that the action is not intercepted by the interposition of any non-magnetic material. Thus the action of the wire upon the magnetic needle takes place equally well through glass, copper, lead, or wood. Consequently, if we cover the wire with a layer of gutta-percha, or over-spin it with silk or cotton, we shall obtain like results on our filings, and if we coil the covered wire round a bar of iron, while the non-conducting covering of the wire will compel the current to circulate through all the turns of the coil, it will not interfere with the magnetic action on each particle of the bar. Whenever this is done it is found that the iron is converted into a powerful magnet so long as the current passes. Fig. 265 represents in a striking manner the result when the current is made to circulate through numerous convolutions of the wire; and as each turn adds its effect to that of the rest, magnets of enormous strength may be formed by sufficiently increasing the number of the turns. The end of the iron bar is shown projecting from the axis of the coil, and below it is placed a shallow wooden bowl, containing a number of small iron nails. The instant the battery connection is completed these nails leap up to the magnetic pole, and group themselves round it in the manner shown in the cut; and again, when the current is interrupted, the iron reverts to its ordinary condition, the magnetism vanishes, and the nails drop down in an instant. These effects may be produced again and again, as often as the current flows and is broken. A magnet so produced is called an electro-magnet, to distinguish it from the ordinary permanent steel magnets. By coiling the conducting wire round a bar of iron which has been bent into the form of a horse-shoe, very powerful magnets may be produced, and enormous weights may be supported by the force of the magnetic attraction so evoked. Fig. 266 represents the apparatus for experiments of this kind, in which weights exceeding a ton can be sustained.

Here, then, we have a striking instance of the subtile agent electricity, evoked by the contact of a few pieces of zinc with dilute acid, showing itself capable of exerting an enormous mechanical force. Engines have been constructed in which this force is turned to account to produce rotatory motion as a source of power. Such engines have certain advantages for special purposes; but the money cost for expenditure of material for power so obtained is, at least, sixty times greater than in the case of the steam engine. It is, however, in producing mechanical effects at a distance that the electric current finds the most interesting practical application of its magnetic properties. These are the actions which are so extensively utilized in the construction of telegraphic instruments, of clocks regulated by electric communication with a standard time-keeper, and of many ingenious self-registering instruments. The telegraph will be described in the next article, and we shall also have occasion in subsequent articles to describe some of the other applications of electro-magnetic and electro-chemical force.

INDUCED CURRENTS.

These very remarkable phenomena were discovered by the illustrious Faraday, in 1830, and this discovery, and that of magneto-electricity, may be ranked among the most memorable of his many brilliant contributions to electric science. Let two wires be stretched parallel and very near to each other, but not in contact. Let the extremities of one wire, which we shall term A, be connected with a galvanometer (page 415), so that the existence of any current through the wire may be instantly indicated. Let the two extremities of the other wire, B, be put into connection with the poles of a battery. The moment the connection is complete, and the battery current begins to rush through B, a deflection of the galvanometer needle will be observed, indicating a current of very short duration through A in the opposite direction to the battery current through B. This induced current, which is called the secondary current, does not continue to flow through A: it occurs merely at the time the primary or battery current is established; and though the latter continues to flow through the wire, B, no further effect is produced in the other wire. When, however, the battery connection is broken, and the primary current ceases to flow, at that instant there is set up in the wire, A, another momentary secondary current, but this one is in the same direction as the battery current. This is termed the direct secondary current, in opposition to the former, which is called the inverse current.

These effects are much more powerful when, instead of lengths of straight wire, or single circles of wires, we use two coils of wire, one of which, namely, that which conveys the primary currents, is placed in the axis of the other. It must be distinctly understood that the secondary currents are of momentary duration only; they are not produced at all while the battery is flowing, but only at the time of its commencement and cessation. If, however, we make the primary coil so that it can be slid in and out of the axis of the other, then while the primary current is continuously flowing, we can produce secondary currents in the other coil, by causing the coils to approach or recede from each other. As we bring the coils near each other, and slide the primary into the secondary, the current in the latter is inverse; when the one coil is receding from the other, it is direct. These mechanical actions are not produced without expenditure of force, for the approaching coils repel each other and the receding coils attract each other. The setting up of the battery current in the primary coil when placed within the other is equivalent to bringing it, with the current flowing, from an immense distance in an extremely small time. Similarly, when the battery current is broken, it is equivalent to an instantaneous recession. The effects, therefore, are proportionately powerful. It is found, also, and this we shall presently refer to more fully, that when, instead of the primary coil, a magnet is similarly moved into, or removed from, the axis of the secondary coil, currents in opposite directions are set up in the latter without any battery being used at all. The direction of these currents is the same as would be produced by a primary current that would form, in a piece of iron placed in the axis of the coil, an electro-magnet with poles similarly situated to those of the magnet so introduced or withdrawn. Hence, by placing a bar of soft iron in the axis of the primary coil, the secondary currents will be produced with increased force. When a long secondary coil, having the turns of its wire well insulated from each other, surrounds a primary coil provided with a core of soft iron, or still better, with a bundle of annealed iron wires, a series of powerful discharges, like those of a Leyden jar, may be obtained between the terminals of the secondary coil, when the battery contact is made and broken in rapid succession.

Such induction coils have been very carefully and skilfully constructed by Ruhmkorff, and are therefore often called “Ruhmkorff’s Coils.” One of these is represented in Fig. 267. A B is the coil, and the apparatus is provided with what is termed a condenser, which consists of layers of tin-foil placed between sheets of thick paper, and alternately connected so that one set communicates with one extremity of the primary coil, and the other with the other. This condenser is conveniently contained in the wooden base of the instrument. Its introduction has greatly increased the intensity of the secondary current, and sparks of 18 in. or 20 in. in length have been obtained in the place of very short ones.

It should be stated that of the two secondary currents, only one has sufficient intensity to traverse the secondary circuit when there is any break in its continuity. This is the direct secondary current, or that which is produced on breaking the primary circuit. The reason is that the commencing current in the primary circuit induces in the spires of its own coil an inverse current, and the battery current therefore attains its full strength gradually, but still in a very short time; while, on the cessation of the battery current, the same induction sends a wave of electricity through the primary coil in the same direction, and then the current ceases abruptly. Consequently, in the latter case, the induced electricity of the secondary coil is set in motion in much less time, and therefore possesses much greater intensity.

The magnetism of the iron core is usually made use of to break and make the current, by the attraction of a piece of iron attached to a spring, which, by moving towards the end of the core, separates from a point in connection with the battery, and, the current no longer flowing, the magnetism ceases, and the spring again brings back the iron and renews the contact.

By means of such coils many surprising effects have been produced. Perhaps one of the most beautiful experiments in the whole range of physical science is made by causing the discharges of the secondary coil to take place through an exhausted vessel in the manner represented in Fig. 268. A beautiful light fills the interior of the vessel, and the terminals appear to glow with a strange radiance—one being surrounded with a kind of blue halo and another with a red. On reversing the direction of the currents, which is done by the little apparatus at the right-hand end of the coil in Fig. 267, the blue and the red radiance change places. Beautiful flashes of light may also be made to appear in the vessel, having the most marked resemblance to the streamers of the Aurora Borealis. When, instead of vessels almost free from common air, we repeat the experiment with tubes containing an extremely small residue of some other gas, such as hydrogen, carbonic acid, &c., the colour of the light and other appearances change Geissler’s tubes have already been spoken of in connection with the spectroscope; but, independently of that, the various beautiful appearances which such tubes have been made to present, by the introduction of fluorescent substances and other devices, render the induction coil an instrument of the highest interest to the scientific amateur. Then there are striking physiological and other effects which the coil is capable of producing. For instance, we are able by its instrumentality to produce from atmospheric air unlimited quantities of that singular modification of oxygen which is called ozone. The electricity of the coil has been used for firing mines, torpedoes and cannons, and for lighting the gas-burners of large buildings.

The late Mr. Apps, who was well known as a skilful constructor of scientific apparatus, devoted much attention to improving the induction coil, and he made a very large one for the Polytechnic Institution in Regent Street, London, which Institution was at that time the home of popular science, under the direction of Mr. Pepper. This coil is represented in Fig. 268_a_, surrounded by the somewhat scenic accessories which were then supposed to be required for making science attractive to the multitude. Externally, the coil appeared as a cylinder, nearly 5 feet long and 20 inches in diameter. From each end projected smaller cylinders. All these and also the two upright pillars upon which the apparatus was supported were covered with ebonite. The large cylinder contained the primary coil, which was made of copper wire one-tenth of an inch in diameter and 3,770 yards long, covered with cotton thread, and making about 6,000 turns round the central core. This primary coil was inclosed in an ebonite tube ½-inch thick, and outside of the tube, occupying 4 feet 2 inches of its length, was the secondary coil, containing 150 miles of silk covered wire, ·015 inch diameter, and very carefully arranged for insulation, so as to resist the tension of the electricity when the coil was in action. The condenser contained 750 square feet of tin-foil, and 40 Bunsen cells supplied the current for the primary coil. The power of this instrument was very great, for it would give a spark through the air of more than two feet in length, and the discharge could perforate a certain thickness of glass. It would charge a battery of Leyden jars having 40 square feet of tin-foil by only three breaks of contact in the primary circuit, so that the discharge would deflagrate considerable lengths of wire. The appearance of the spark, with this, as with other large induction coils, may be described as a thick line of light, surrounded by a reddish halo of less brilliancy, and this halo, unlike the line of the spark, had a sensible duration. The reddish glow might be blown aside by a current of air when a series of discharges was taking place, and partly separated from the denser looking line of light. The latter is no doubt formed by intensely heated particles of the metals between which the discharge takes place, while the former is probably due to the incandescence of the oxygen and nitrogen gases in the air. The disc shown in our illustration behind the coil was for carrying six Geissler tubes, to display the pretty experiment of the various colours of the luminous discharge in different attenuated gases. When the coil was first mounted it was provided with an ordinary contact-breaker, but as the strong sparks were found to very soon destroy the contact points, a contact-breaker was substituted on Foucault’s plan. In this, the contacts are made by a platinum tipped wire dipping into mercury, that occupies the bottom of a strong glass vessel and forms part of the circuit. The vessel is filled with alcohol, which is a non-conductor, and it is therefore in the midst of this liquid that the contacts are made and broken. This apparatus is shown in the illustration, on the table at the left. A favourite experiment at the Polytechnic was to connect one of the discharging wires of the coil with the back of a large looking-glass, and bring the other wire to the front. In this case the sparks assumed a peculiar appearance, for they became thin and wiry-looking, and divided into many branches. They were very bright, and the noise of the discharges, was crackling and quite different from that produced by the blow of the flaming sparks taken through the air. Their appearance is represented in Fig. 269. The effects in this experiment were probably due to the spark taking a path on the surface of the glass determined by points of moisture or other inequalities.

Ruhmkorff’s coil has been of great advantage to the electrician, for it supplies a stream of high tension electricity like that of the common machine, but more readily and conveniently. M. Ruhmkorff was the first person to obtain the great prize of £2,000, which the late Emperor of the French (Napoleon III.) directed, in 1852, should be awarded every five years for the most useful application of the voltaic battery. But no award had been made until 1864, when the inventor of the induction coil was properly considered worthy of it. This invention was the means of bringing into notice a new range of interesting phenomena, especially those attending the discharge passed through highly exhausted vessels. Investigations into the circumstances which modify the appearances, and especially into the nature of the stratified discharge in which the vessels are filled with bands or flakes of light separated by dark intervals, have long engaged the attention of some of our ablest physicists. Remarkable results were obtained by Mr. Crookes with very highly exhausted vessels. These showed not only beautiful fluorescent luminous effects, but in them the discharge could produce mechanical actions, and Mr. Crookes was led to regard it as a stream of radiant matter.

MAGNETO-ELECTRICITY.

When it had been shown that an electric current was capable of evoking magnetism, it seemed reasonable to expect that the reverse operation of obtaining electric currents by means of magnets should be possible. Faraday succeeded in solving this interesting problem in November, 1831, and one of his earliest, simplest, and most convincing experiments for the demonstration of the production of electricity by a magnet is represented in Fig. 270. A B is a strong horse-shoe magnet, C is a cylinder of soft iron, round which a few feet of silk-covered copper wire are wound; one end of the wire terminates in a little copper disc, and the other end is bent, as shown at D, so that it is in contact with the disc, but pressing so lightly against it that any abrupt movement of the bar causes the point of the wire and the disc to separate. When the bar is allowed to fall upon the poles of the magnet, the separation occurs, and again when it is suddenly pulled off; and on each occasion a very small but brilliant spark is observed where the contact of the wire and disc is broken. It was in allusion to this experiment that a contributor to “Blackwood’s Magazine” wrote:

Around the magnet, Faraday Is sure that Volta’s lightnings play; But how to draw them from the wire? He took a lesson from the heart; ‘Tis when we meet, ‘tis when we part, Breaks forth the electric fire.

If a coil of fine insulated wire be passed many times round a hollow cylinder, open at the ends, and the extremities of the wire connected with a galvanometer at some distance, then if into the axis of the coil, A B, Fig. 271, a steel magnet be suddenly introduced, an immediate deflection of the needle takes place; but after a few oscillations it returns to its former position. When the magnet is quickly withdrawn, the needle receives a momentary impulse in the opposite direction. The magnetization and demagnetization of the iron core in the induction coil would, therefore, of itself cause the induced currents already described, for these actions are equivalent to sudden insertion and withdrawal of a magnet. If we suppose C, in Fig. 271, to represent, not a magnet, but a piece of soft iron—the reader will remember that this soft iron can be, as often as required, magnetized and demagnetized by simply bringing near one end of it the pole of a permanent magnet (see page 484). Upon this principle many ingenious machines have been constructed for producing electric currents by the relative motions of magnets and of soft iron cores surrounded by wires. Clarke’s machine is shown in Fig. 272. A is a powerful steel magnet fixed to the upright. A brass spindle passing between the poles can be made to rotate very rapidly by the multiplying-wheel, E, on which a handle is fixed. There are two short cylinders of soft iron parallel to the spindle, united together by the transverse piece of iron, D, which turns with the spindle. Each bar is surrounded by a great length of insulated copper wire, and the ends of the wires are so connected with springs which press against a portion of the spindle, which is here partly formed of a non-conducting material, that the currents generated in the coils, although in different directions as they approach a pole and recede from it, are nevertheless made to flow in one direction in the external circuit. R R in the figure represent two brass handles, which are grasped by a person wishing to experience the shocks the machine can give when the wheel is turned. When the terminals of the coil are provided with insulating handles and connected with pointed pencils of charcoal, the electric light can readily be produced by expenditure of mechanical effort in turning the handle. The arrangement of the points for this purpose is shown in Fig. 273, and we shall presently see what advantage has been drawn from this experiment on a great scale as a source of light.

It will be observed that during the revolution of the armatures, as the wire-covered iron cores are termed, there are two maximum and two minimum points at which the currents are strongest and weakest. These variations may be lessened by increasing the number of armatures and of magnets, and Mr. Holmes arranged a machine with eighty-eight coils and sixty-six magnets, and the connections were so contrived that the currents always flowed in the same direction in the external circuit. This machine required 1¼ horse-power to drive it when the currents were flowing, but much less when the circuit was interrupted, and it was designed for, and successfully applied to, the production of the electric light for lighthouse illumination. Instead of steel magnets which gradually lose their strength, it is obvious that electro-magnets might be employed, but this source of electricity is costly, troublesome, and inconstant. Mr. Wilde hit upon the idea of using a small magneto-electric machine with permanent steel magnets, to generate the current for exciting a larger electro-magnet, and the current from this produced a still more powerful electro-magnet, from which a magneto-electric current could be collected and applied. The same idea was subsequently applied in other forms, as by shunting off a portion of the current produced from the mere residual magnetism of an electro-magnet, to pass through its own coils and evoke a stronger magnetism, which again reacts by producing a more powerful current, and so on continually; the limit being dependent only on the mechanical force employed, and on the power of the wires to convey the electricity, for they become very hot, and, unless artificially cooled, the insulating material would be destroyed. The armatures used in Wilde’s, Ladd’s, and other machines of this kind, are quite different in arrangement from those of Clarke’s machine, and are far superior. They are formed of a long bar of soft iron, of a section like this, Ꮋ, and the wire is wound longitudinally between the flanges from end to end of the bar, up one side and down the other. This armature rotates about its longitudinal axis between the pairs of the poles of a file of horse-shoe magnets, either permanent, or electro-magnets excited by the magneto-electric currents. In this case opposite poles are induced along the edges of the bar, and these poles are reversed at each half-turn. The intensity of the induced currents increases with the velocity with which the armature is made to revolve up to a certain point; but because the magnetization of the soft iron requires a sensible time to be effected, and the poles are reversed at every half-turn, it is found that a speed increasing beyond the limit is attended by decrease of the intensity of the current. The intensity in such machines has, therefore, a definite limit. But in a modification of the magneto-electric machine, which has quite recently been invented by M. Gramme, the limit is vastly extended by the ingenious disposition of the iron core and armatures, and his machines appear to solve the problem of the cheap production of steady and powerful electric currents, so that electricity will soon be applied in processes of manufacture where the cost of electrical power has hitherto placed it out of the question. We shall now endeavour to explain the principle on which the Gramme machine depends, and describe some forms in which it is constructed.

THE GRAMME MAGNETO-ELECTRIC MACHINE.

Let X, Fig. 274, be a coil of covered wire; then while a bar magnet, B A, is advancing towards it and passing through it, as at M, a current will flow through the coil and along a wire connecting its ends, s s. The current will change its direction as the centre of the magnet is leaving the coil to advance in the direction, B A. If A A´ be a bar of soft iron, with the coil fixed upon it, we can still excite currents in the coil by magnetizing the bar inductively. If the pole of a permanent magnet be carried along from A´ to M in a direction parallel to the bar, but not touching it, the part of the bar immediately opposite will be a pole of opposite name, and the advance of this induced pole towards M will be attended with a current in the coil, and its recession by an opposite current. It need hardly be mentioned that the same result is attained if the magnetic pole is stationary, and the bar with the coil upon it moved in proximity to it. Now imagine that the bar is bent into a ring, the ends, A A´, being united. If the ring be made to turn round its centre in its own plane, and near a magnetic pole, it is plain that when the coil is approaching this pole a current will be produced in it, and when it is receding, an opposite current. Let the number of coils be increased, and each coil in turn will be the seat of a current, or of the electrical state which tends to produce a current. In Fig. 275 the reader may see how this disposition is realized. The figure shows a form of the Gramme Machine adapted for the lecture-table or laboratory. A M´ B M is the soft iron ring, covered with a series of separate coils placed radially, O is a compound horse-shoe steel magnet, S its south pole, N its north pole, each pole being armed with a block of soft iron hollowed into the segment of a circle and almost completely embracing the circle of coils. The magnetism of each pole is strongly developed in the interior faces of these armatures. The inductive action tends to produce two equal and opposite currents, which, like the currents of two similar voltaic batteries joined by their like poles, neutralize each other in the connected coils, but flow together through an external circuit. Fig. 276 will make clear the manner in which the coils, B B, are placed on the ring, A. The length of wire in each coil is the same, and the extremities are attached to strips of copper, R R, which are fixed on the spindle of the machine. The two ends of each wire are connected with two consecutive strips, while the coils are insulated from each other, and thus each coil, like the element of a battery, contributes to the aggregate current. The currents are drawn off, as it were, from these axial conductors at two opposite points of the ring, by springs very lightly touching them on each side of the spindle, as may be seen in Fig. 275. In Fig. 277 is another arrangement of the table apparatus with the magnet vertical, and formed according to the new plan suggested by M. Jamin, who finds the best magnets are made by tying together thin strips of steel.

But the importance of this invention consists in the facility which it affords for cheaply producing electricity on a scale adapted for industrial operations, for the deposition of metals, for artificial light, and for chemical purposes. The great importance of a cheap electric light for lighthouses prompted the British Government to permit the inventor to exhibit the light thus produced from the Clock Tower of the Houses of Parliament; for the signal light during the sittings of the House had previously been produced by a gas-light. This electric light was produced by a powerful Gramme machine, such as that shown in Fig. 278, driven by a small steam engine in the vaults of the Houses of Parliament, and the ordinary carbon points, reflectors, &c., were used in the Clock Tower, where the light was exhibited; copper wire ½ inch diameter being used to convey the current from the machine to the carbons. The result of these experiments may be gathered from the following extract from an official report made by the engineers of the Trinity House:

“Pursuant to the instructions received from the Deputy Master to furnish you with my opinion on the relative merits of the electric and gas lights under trial at the Clock Tower, Westminster, I beg to submit the following report:—On the evening of the 1st ultimo I was accompanied by Sir F. Arrow (who kindly undertook to check my observations by his experience) to the Westminster Palace, where we met Captain Galton, R.E., Dr. Percy, and some gentlemen connected with the electric and gas apparatus under trial. I was informed that the stipulations under which the lights were arranged were, that they be fixed white to illuminate a sector of the town surface of 180°, having a radius of three miles. I first examined the Gramme magneto-electric machine, in use for producing the currents of electricity. This machine we found attached by a leather driving-belt to the steam engine belonging to the establishment. We then proceeded to the Clock Tower, where we found the electric lamp, at an elevation of 250 ft. The Wigham gas apparatus was placed at the same elevation, within a semi-lantern of twelve sides, about 8½ ft. in diameter, and 10 ft. 3 in. high in the glazing. Near the centre of the lantern were three large Wigham burners, each composed of 108 jets. After the examination of the apparatus, we proceeded to Primrose Hill, for the purpose of comparing the electric and gas lights at a distance of three miles. The evening, which was wet and rather misty, was admirably suited to our purpose, ordinary gas-lights being barely visible at a distance of one mile.”

The results of a photometric comparison of the electric and gas lights were as under, the machine making 389 revolutions per minute, and absorbing 2·66 horse-power; the illuminating power of the gas used being 25 candles, and the quantity consumed 300 cubic ft. per hour.

┌───────────────────────────────────────────────┬──────────┬──────────┐ │ │ Electric │Wigham Gas│ │ │ Light. │ Burner. │ │ │ │108 jets. │ ├───────────────────────────────────────────────┼──────────┼──────────┤ │Relative intensity of lights │ 945·56│ 370·56│ │ Or as │ 100 │ 39·19│ │Illuminating power in standard sperm candles as│ 3,066 │ 1,199 │ │ units │ │ │ └───────────────────────────────────────────────┴──────────┴──────────┘

“Electric Light.—Total cost per session £174 5_s._ 0_d._, being equal to 5_s._ 7_d._ per hour of exhibition of the light. Details shown in the full report. Gas Light.—Total cost per session of one burner of 108 jets, £159 15_s._ 3_d._, equal to 5_s._ 1·4_d._ per hour of exhibition of light, and £296 3_s._ 4_d._, equal to 9_s._ 5·9_d._ per hour of exhibition of the light, when using three burners of 108 jets each. Details shown in the full report. It will be observed from the photometric measurements, before referred to, of the electric light and 108–jet gas burner, that in the case of the electric light we have at our disposal for distribution over the required area an illuminant radiating freely in space equal to 3,066 candles; with the gas light we have an illuminant radiating freely in space equal to 1,199 candles. It is to be remembered that in dealing with the small electric spark as the focus of a dioptric apparatus for distribution over the required area, the light can be more perfectly utilized than with the large gas flame of the Wigham burner, owing to its very small dimensions as compared with the latter. The relative cost and efficiency of the three modes of illumination may be summed up as follows:

┌──────────────────────────────────────────┬────────┬─────────────────┐ │ │ELECTRIC│ GAS. │ │ │ LIGHT. │ │ ├──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────┼────────┬────────┤ │ │ │ One │ Three │ │ │ │108–jet │108–jet │ │ │ │Burner. │Burners.│ ├──────────────────────────────────────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┤ │Cost of light per hour, in pence │ 67 │ 61·4 │ 113·9 │ │ Or as │ 100 │ 91·6 │ 170 │ │Cost of light per candle per hour in pence│ ·0219 │ ·0512 │ ·0317 │ │ Or as │ 100 │ 233·8 │ 144·7 │ │Cost of light from a dioptric apparatus │ ·00118 │ ·00310 │ ·00275 │ │ for fixed light per standard candle per │ │ │ │ │ hour expressed in pence │ │ │ │ │ Or as │ 100 │ 262·7 │ 233·1 │ └──────────────────────────────────────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┘

“Thus by adopting the electric light as a standard of intensity and cost, there is shown a superiority over the gas in intensity of 65·2 per cent. when using one 108–jet burner, and 27·1 per cent. when using three 108–jet burners. There is also shown a saving in cost per candle or unit of light per hour of 162·7 per cent. when using one 108–jet burner, and 133·1 per cent. when using three of these burners, forming a triform gas-light. It is further to be remembered that the triform gas-light actually represents the maximum power obtainable at present by gas; but no reference has been made to the power of increase capable in the electric light by the adoption of two magneto-electric machines. By having the machine and lamp in duplicate, as estimated, and which I consider a necessity to insure perfect confidence in the regular exhibition of the electric light, this light can be doubled in intensity during such evenings as the atmosphere is found to be so thick as to impair its efficiency. This double power would be obtained at the trifling additional cost of coals and carbons consumed during the time this increased power may be found to be necessary; this additional cost I estimate at 4_d._ per hour. With the arrangement proposed for the electric light, I consider this powerful illuminant, if manipulated by careful attendants, perfectly reliable: in proof of this I may state that the electric light at the Souter Point Lighthouse, on the coast of Durham, has now been exhibited two years and a half, and the light has never been known to fail for one minute.”

Fig. 278 represents one of the light-producing machines. The electro-magnets are excited by a portion of the currents they themselves produce, they retaining sufficient residual magnetism to develop the currents. There is a pair of current-collectors on each side. This machine weighs 1,540 lbs., its height is 3 ft., and width 2 ft. It will produce a light having the intensity of 500 Carcel lamps, which may be doubled by increasing the speed. Fig. 279 is another form which is also adapted for illuminating purposes, and, when made with fewer coils, for electrotyping purposes also. There are in this also two sets of current-collectors, and by means of a connecting cylinder (seen at the base of the machine) the currents can be combined for quantity and for tension as may be required. This machine is only about 2 ft. square, and it produces a light equal to 200 burners; but this may be increased, as the following table shows:

┌─────────────────────┬─────────────────────┬─────────────────────────┐ │Number of revolutions│Intensity of light in│ Remarks. │ │ per minute. │ Carcel Lamps. │ │ ├─────────────────────┼─────────────────────┼─────────────────────────┤ │ 650│ 77│No heating and no sparks.│ │ 850│ 125│No heating and no sparks.│ │ 880│ 150│No heating and no sparks.│ │ 900│ 200│No heating and no sparks.│ │ 935│ 250│A little heat, no sparks.│ │ 1,025│ 290│Heat and sparks. │ └─────────────────────┴─────────────────────┴─────────────────────────┘

The value of M. Gramme’s invention for electro-plating is proved by the fact of its adoption by Messrs. Christofle of Paris, whose electro-plating establishment is one of the largest in the world. This firm has no fewer than fourteen of these machines at work, and each is capable of depositing 74 ozs. of silver per hour. There is little doubt that the electric current will now soon be employed for reducing metals. Thus fine copper, which is worth 3_s._ or 4_s._ per lb., may perhaps be obtained at about the cost of ordinary copper; potassium, sodium, and aluminium at less than half their present price; and magnesium, calcium, and other rare metals at prices which will bring them into commercial use. The machine shown in Fig. 280 is intended for electro-plating and for general purposes: it supplies the means of readily and cheaply plating with copper, or with any other metal, such articles as steam pipes, boiler tubes, ship plates, guns, bolts, nails, marine engines, machinery, culinary vessels, cisterns, &c. The advantage of protecting iron or other material from corroding agents is obvious; and as iron coated with copper is available not only for useful, but also for artistic, purposes, as a cheap substitute for bronze, this invention will doubtless lead to a greatly extended application of bronzed iron in buildings and ornamental structures.

The machine well illustrates how mechanical work may be changed into electricity, and electricity caused to do work. The power required to drive the machine at a given speed is much less when no current is being drawn from it, than when the current is flowing. If the current from one machine is sent through the armature of another, the latter revolves, and may be made to do work. Thus power may be conveyed to a distance by electricity, with only the loss caused by the resistance of the conducting wires. If, when two machines are thus connected, the direction of rotation in the first one be suddenly reversed, the armature of the second will almost immediately stop, and then resume its motion in the opposite direction. A very interesting experiment can be performed when the circuit connecting the two machines is made to include a certain length of platinum wire. When both machines are in motion, the platinum exhibits no heating effects; but if the second machine be stopped by an assistant while the rotation of the first is continued, the wire is raised to a red heat. In this way it is shown that motion, electricity, and heat are related to each other, and are mutually convertible; for on the stopping of the second machine, the electricity being no longer used up, so to speak, in producing motion, has its power transformed into heat.

The Gramme machine has also been ingeniously employed for railway brakes on some of the Belgian lines; and it is applicable to telegraphy, where the cost of zinc, acids, batteries, &c., is a considerable item. It is impossible to predict the many applications for manufacturing purposes which will be made of electricity, now a cheap, reliable, and convenient mode has been discovered of producing currents of any required strength. Though by no means the first or only machine by which mechanical force can be converted into dynamical electricity, it shows an immense advance on any former one in the regularity of the action, and in the capability of being driven at a very high rate of speed without the inconvenient accompaniments of the heating of the conductors and destructive sparks at the movable contacts. There can be no doubt of the importance of this machine for use in lighthouses, and for metallurgical and chemical purposes, and the inventor believes the time will come when all large ocean-going vessels will carry an electric light at the masthead. The light would be sufficiently powerful to show rocks or land five or six miles ahead, and an additional safeguard of incalculable value would be thus provided for those “that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters.”

ELECTRIC LIGHTING AND ELECTRIC POWER.

It was mentioned in the last section that the introduction of so convenient and reliable a means of producing electrical currents as the Gramme machine, would cause electricity to be largely applied for illuminating and other purposes. The Gramme machine was first made in 1870, and it attracted much attention, as the principle of combining the currents was quite different from that used in previous magneto-electric machines. In fact, the Gramme machine yielded quite unexpected results, and the principle employed in it opened a new field. The development that has taken place in the applications of electricity within the twenty years since 1870 has been truly marvellous. The electric light appears to have been first used in lighthouses about 1862, and the machines by which the current was produced were, in principle, combinations of a great number of Clarke’s machines (see page 509). One such machine was invented by Mr. Holmes, and was used for the illumination of the South Foreland Lighthouse in 1862. Another similar form of still earlier invention had been set up in Paris as early as 1855,—not, indeed, for the purposes of illumination, but for a project which failed. Its arrangement had been originally suggested by a Belgian physicist in 1849; and the machine of 1855, having received certain improvements, afterwards became very well known by the name of the Alliance Company’s machine, or simply the Alliance machine. It is represented in its improved form in Fig. 280_a_. Here ranges of steel horse-shoe magnets will be observed, each magnet weighing about 40 lbs. and made of six plates of tempered steel, held together with screws. Each of the eight rows of magnets contains seven, and thus sixteen poles are presented at uniform distances, arranged in circles. Carried on the central axle are six discs, which revolve between the circles of sixteen poles, and on the circumference of each disc are sixteen equidistant bobbins or coils of insulated wire, so that the whole of the sixteen coils are opposite to the sixteen poles at the same moment. The extremities of the wires at the coils are connected with proper adjustments for gathering up the currents, and by means of these the coils may be arranged either for tension or for quantity, like the elements of a battery (page 494).

Wilde’s machine, which has been mentioned in page 511, is shown in fig. 280_b_. It will be observed that this consists of a small machine, M, with permanent steel magnets, and the current from these circulates through the coils of the electro magnets, A B. The arrangement of the armatures, bobbin, commutators, etc., is the same in both cases. But as a speed of 2,500 revolutions per minute was needed, it was necessary to keep the bearings, T T, from heating by causing cold water to circulate through them. Mr. Ladd arranged a machine on the same principle as Wilde’s, by suppressing the permanent magnets, but availing himself of the residual magnetism of the iron core to bring about the induction. A machine of this kind was shown at the Paris Exhibition of 1867, and people were quite astonished to see electrical power capable of producing a brilliant light developed by a small machine 2 ft. long, 1 ft. wide, and 9 in. high. But the great velocity of rotation, and the consequent heating of the bearings, left much to be desired before a really practical machine could be produced.

In the newest Siemens’ machine, represented in fig. 280_c_, the Gramme principle is made use of, as the revolving coil is of large diameter, and it consists of a copper cylinder, on which are wound a number of juxtaposed coils like those of a galvanometer. The revolving cylinder is surrounded by the poles of a system of electro-magnets excited by the whole of the induced current being passed through their coils. In a paper describing this machine, Siemens first made use of the term “dynamo-electric machine,” and this expression, contracted to the single word DYNAMO, has since been universally employed to designate machines of this kind. The modifications in the forms and arrangements of the different dynamos that have been invented in late years are endless, and every week patents are granted for further improvements and fresh combinations of the parts. It would be quite beyond the scope of this work to enumerate all the forms of the dynamo that have been favourably spoken of; but we shall content ourselves by adding a drawing of the Brush dynamo (Fig. 280_d_), which has been so largely used for electric lighting in the United States. In this dynamo we have a Gramme ring, but the number of coils on it is reduced to eight, the intervals being filled up with pieces of iron, and the ring revolves in a vertical plane between the poles of two double oblong electro-magnets, which are arranged with poles of the same name opposite to each other. The commutators shown in the nearer part convert the alternately reversed currents generated in the coils into a direct continuous one. They are formed with bundles of wires, as in the Gramme machine.

But the providing of a cheap and efficient source of current electricity, although an absolutely necessary step, would not have been capable of bringing about the present development of electric lighting, unless the appliances by which the current is made to manifest itself as light had not also been brought nearly to perfection. The conditions required to maintain a steady light from a current of electricity passing between carbon points have been already explained on page 497, and a representation of Dubosc’s electric lantern and regulator is shown. The regulator systems that have been invented since it became obvious that the light of the electric arc admitted of practical application on the large scale are very numerous. The earlier forms of regulator, which were used only for scientific purposes—such as lantern projections on screens, experiments on light, etc.—were complicated in their arrangements and uncertain in their action, for great variations in the light sometimes took place, and occasionally it would, indeed, be extinguished, and then again shine out as brightly as before. Nearly all the regulators that have come into use depend upon movements controlled by electro-magnetic actions produced automatically as the distance between the carbon changes. It would, however, lead us too far into the technicalities of the subject to explain minutely the mechanism of any particular form of the mechanical regulators, and the results depend so often upon the minute details, that it would be difficult to trace the action without a set of large and complete drawings. Perhaps the regulators that have been most used are those of Serrin, Siemens, Brush, Thomson, Houston and Edison. But nearly every inventor has produced different forms of his apparatus; Siemens, for instance, has patented eight or ten regulators. Fig. 280_e_ shows the mechanism of one of the last named inventor’s regulators, in which the two actions required for the separation and approach of the carbons are determined respectively by the vibrations of the rocking lever, M Y L, actuated by the electro-magnet, E, and the simple weight of the upper carbon-holder, A A. When the lamp is not in circuit, the lever, L, is thrown back by a spring, the tension of which is regulated by the screw, R, so that the catch, Q, is disengaged from the wheel, I. The train of wheels is then free to revolve by action of the rack, A, supporting the weight of the upper carbon, until the motion stops by the carbons touching each other. Now let the lamp be connected up, and the current will pass from C, through the electro-magnet, the mass of the apparatus, and return by the wire connecting the lower carbon-holder with Z. The carbon points will glow, but the magnet then attracting M moves the lever, L, the piece, Q, engages the wheel I, pushing it one tooth forward. But this movement of the lever establishes a contact at X, so that the current abandons the electro-magnet, to pass the shorter way, and M being no longer attracted, the lever is pushed back by the spring, the contact at X is broken, and the magnet being again excited the lever turns as before, and Q pushes I round the space of another tooth. These alternating actions succeed each other with great rapidity, and effect the separation of the carbons through the train of wheels acting on the racks. These movements continue until, in a second or two, the separation of the carbons has become so great, that the current passing through the electro-magnet is no longer able to operate against the weight of the upper carbon-holder, and this happens when an arc of proper size is produced, this required result being brought about by proper adjustment of the parts of the apparatus, marked by the letters R, K and X. But as the carbons are consumed, the increase of the length of this arc further weakens the current, until the spring attached to the lever, L, prevails over the attractive force of the electro-magnet on M, and thus withdraws the catch, Q, altogether, when the wheels being free to turn, the weight operates to bring the carbons nearer together, until, with the lessened resistance, the energy of the current is restored, and Q again comes into play to arrest the approximating movement. It may be seen, from the above explanation, that this lamp is automatic; in other words, when it has once been properly adjusted, it is lighted by merely completing the circuit. For fixing the carbons properly in their holders there are, of course, other regulating screws. How very nearly perfection the automatic regulation of the arc electric lamp has been brought by such contrivances as these, will be obvious to all who have noticed the steadiness that has been attained in all the modern installations.

An ingenious plan was devised by Jablochkoff for dispensing with all mechanism for regulating the distance of the carbons. This invention is known as the electric candle, and is of great interest from the fact that it was with this arrangement that the electric light was, for the first time, practically employed for street and theatre illumination. This was in 1878, when visitors to Paris, during the Exhibition, were astonished by the splendid displays in the Avenue de l’Opéra, at the shops of the Louvre, and at some of the theatres. Then it was shown, for the first time, that electric lighting was not merely a scientific curiosity, but a new and formidable rival to gas. The Jablochkoff candles were also subsequently used in the electric lamps on the Thames Embankment. The principle of the contrivance will be understood from fig. 280_f_. Two carbons, C and D, are placed parallel at a little distance apart, and the space between them is filled up with plaster of Paris, kaolin, or some similar material, through which the current will not pass, but which burns, fuses, volatilises, or crumbles away by the heat produced by the passage of the current between the two carbons. These carbons are, of course, fixed in insulated holders, and to start the candle a small tip of carbon paste is made to connect the carbons at the top. The Jablochkoff candles must be used with currents rapidly alternating in direction. The reason for this is, that otherwise one of the carbons (the positive one) would be consumed quicker than the other, and that would cause the distance between them to increase, until it became so great that the current would cease to pass, and the light would go out. In order to obtain such alternating currents with the Gramme machine, a special apparatus had to be devised to change its direct into alternately reversed currents; but, dynamos intended to supply electric lights are now made without commutators, and they supply rapidly succeeding currents in opposite directions. In certain types of dynamos, again, the armature coils are stationary, and it is the field magnets that are made to revolve, and in these cases, not even a sliding contact is required, but the end of the armature coils are directly and permanently connected with the main circuit. But as these dynamos are self-exciting, the electricity induced in a few of the armature coils is collected apart from the main circuit, and passed through the electro-magnets of the machine itself, after the alternate currents have, by means of a commutator, been converted into one direct continuous current.

The arc electric light, as used for the illumination of streets and public places, is too intense and concentrated to be pleasant to the eye, and therefore it has been found necessary to surround it by globes of enamelled glass, or of porcelain, or of ground glass, or of frosted glass. By these expedients for diffusing and softening the light, it is rendered much more acceptable, but this advantage is gained at the cost of a considerable loss of the whole illuminating power, a loss which is, probably, never less than 10 per cent., but is usually much greater. The globes used in Paris, with the Jablochkoff candles, were of enamelled glass, and the apparatus was arranged, as shown in Fig. 280_g_, where it is partly represented in section, and with a part of the globe broken off, in order to show one of the candles placed in the holder which connects it with the circuit. In each lamp several candles were mounted, in some cases four; but the lamps in the Place de l’Opéra held twelve. At first there were mechanical arrangements, automatic and otherwise, by which, when the candle was burned down the current could be turned on to another. But M. Jablochkoff afterwards discovered that there was really no need for such a mechanism. For when the whole of the candles are simultaneously and equally connected with the circuit conductors, it is found that one of them will more easily transmit the current than any one of the rest, and when that particular one has once been lighted by the heat developed, the current will pass almost entirely through the arc, any loss through the connecting strip of carbon, at the tops of the other candles, being quite insignificant. When the first of the candles has burnt down completely, until the insulating porcelain holder separates the carbons, the current will at once re-establish itself at the top of one of the remaining carbons, and so on, while one is left.

The arc electric light has not been brought to its present position without the expenditure of much care and ingenuity in the preparation of the carbons used for its production. When Davy first produced the voltaic arc, the electrodes he used were simply sticks of charcoal. These were very quickly consumed, and a more durable form of carbon was sought for. This was found by Foucault, who made use of rods sawn out of the carbonaceous residue left in the retorts in the process of making coal-gas. This substance was, however, by no means uniform or sufficiently pure, and the light obtained was consequently unsteady. Many experiments were made in preparing special carbons. Pounded coke, coke and charcoal, were mixed with syrup or tar into a paste, which was moulded and compressed, and then the sticks were kept in covered vessels at a high temperature for many hours. Acids were used for purification, and also alkalis, to remove silica. At the present time there are several manufacturers of electric light carbons who carry on extensive operations by processes which probably are very similar one to another, and which may well be represented by M. Carré’s, whose carbons have the highest reputation. M. Carré prefers a mixture of powdered coke, calcined lampblack, and a syrup made of sugar and gum. The whole is well mixed and incorporated, water being added from time to time to make up for loss by evaporation, and to give the paste the proper degree of consistence. The paste is then subjected to compression, by which it is forced through draw-holes, and the carbons, having been piled up in covered crucibles, are exposed for a certain time to a high temperature.

As a practical illuminant for lighthouses, the arc electric light came into use many years ago (1862) as we have already seen. This was when the generator of the current was the magneto-electro machine; but, now, when this generator has developed into the modern dynamo, the cost of the electric supply has been enormously reduced, so that, power for power, electric lights may be worked at half the former cost, and with greater convenience and certainty. Light for light, electrical illumination is said to be far cheaper than gas. Again, the arc electric light has properties which have caused it to be employed, not only in every important lighthouse in England, France, Russia, America, and elsewhere, but most ships of war are provided with means of projecting a beam of electric light in any direction, in order that the presence of torpedo boats, etc., may be discovered at night, or harbours entered and signals made under circumstances when such operations would be otherwise impossible. It was by the use of the electric light that, in 1886, one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s steamers passed safely through the Suez Canal, at night, and the experiment was so satisfactory, that the canal authorities placed beacons and light-buoys to guide such vessels, as, being provided with electric apparatus, were enabled to hold their proper course between its banks. The use of projected beams for watching the movements of enemies, and for signalling to great distances in time of war, has been recognized by all the great military powers. The advantage of the electrical light in some mines, in subterranean and submarine operations and generally, in work that has to be carried on at night by large bodies of men, is constantly finding illustration. Few readers are unacquainted with the brilliant effect of the arc lamps in exhibitions, parks, &c.; at out of door fêtes, or applied to the illumination of fountains, such as those at the Paris Exhibition of 1889.

The arc lamps are used in series; that is, where there are a certain number of lamps to be supplied, the same electrical current circulates through the whole of them, and this, of course, must have force enough to overcome the resistance of the whole circuit. Thus, at each lamp, the intensity of the illumination must necessarily be very great. A solution was long sought to the problem of so dividing the current energy, that it might be made to produce lights, of moderate intensity, at a greater number of points. When Mr. Edison, shortly after having invented the phonograph, announced that he had solved the problem of the electric light division, there was a great panic amongst the holders of shares in gas companies, and a heavy fall in this kind of stock immediately occurred. As it turned out, the alarm was unnecessary, for gas was not to be superseded, immediately and definitely, by electricity. Nevertheless, it is by virtue of the principle that was contained in Edison’s invention, that electric lighting has assumed the wide-spread importance it has at the present day, and that it is now actually ousting gas as an illuminant in the business and domestic premises of our large towns, and in theatres, libraries, and other places of resort. The principle which has brought about this great development of electric illumination is that shown in a simple form in Fig. 261. It appears, however, that as early as 1841, a platinum wire, made incandescent with a battery current, was proposed as a source of light, and in 1845, carbon was used in the form of slender rods, by King, and also by J. W. Starr, in the United States. Both inventors inclosed their carbons in glass tubes, from which the air was exhausted, so that the carbon might not burn away. In the following year, Greener and Staite turned their attention to lamps of this kind, and, again, in 1849, Petrie worked on the same subject. After that, the problem ceased to engage attention, until, in 1873, a Russian man of science, named Lodyguine, took the matter up and patented a carbon incandescent lamp, which did not, however, prove a practical success, and although the idea was worked out in various ways by Konn, Reynier, Trouvé, and others, the apparatus they designed was, in every case, lacking in simplicity, and certainty of action. The Edison incandescent lamp, the announcement of the discovery of which so fluttered the gas companies, about 1878, was a reversion to the plan of an incandescent metallic wire. This wire was made of an alloy of platinum and iridium, which was adopted by Edison on account of the very high temperature required for its fusion. And in order to prevent the temperature from quite reaching that point, the wire was arranged in a spiral within which was a rod of metal that, by its dilatation with a certain temperature, caused a contact to be made which diverted part of the current through a shorter circuit, and thus lowered the temperature of the spiral to within the assigned limits. But the advantages presented by carbon over metallic conductors led Edison to attempt the formation of filaments by charring first slips of paper, afterwards slips of bamboo. About the same time Mr. J. W. Swan, of Newcastle-on-Tyne, was experimenting in the same direction, and, in the latter part of the year 1880, he exhibited the first incandescent lamps shown in England. Swan’s carbon filaments were prepared from cotton threads which had previously been steeped in dilute sulphuric acid, washed, and passed through draw holes to give them an uniform section. They are thus made perfectly homogeneous throughout, and, after having been wound on pieces of earthenware to the required shape, they are carbonized by packing in powdered charcoal and heating. These filaments are very thin, but solid and elastic. The arrangement of the lamp (see Fig. 280_h_) is extremely simple: the filament of carbon bent into a horse-shoe form, or turned so as to form a loop, is inclosed in a glass bulb of a globular or egg shape, about two inches in diameter. The extremities of the filament are connected in an ingenious manner to two platinum wires that pass outward through the glass into which they are fused, and terminate either in binding screws or in two small loops. The bulb is exhausted first by an ordinary air-pump, and then by a Sprengel mercurial pump, the current of electricity being sent through the filament during the last stages of the process, and finally the bulb is hermetically sealed. The light yielded by these lamps is mild and steady, and its intensity depends on the electric current sent through them; but this may, it is said, be carried as high as to make the light equal to that of twenty candles. Each horse power of force expended on the dynamo suffices to maintain ten of these lamps. At the Exhibition of Electrical Apparatus at Paris in 1881, the Swan lamp received the gold medal as being the best system in its class. The Swan and the Edison patents are now worked together by one Company, and the productions of this Company are very largely used, although there are several more or less modified systems of glow lamps prepared by other manufacturers.

The great advantages offered by electric glow lamps over gas-lights caused them to be speedily adopted by the most enterprising managers of theatres and places of amusement. Mr. D’Oyly Carte had the Savoy Theatre, in London, completely fitted up with these lamps in 1881. The light was soft and agreeable, it did away with the risks of fire both for the audience and the performers: for the footlights and scene-lights were also electric glow lamps, and the coolness of the house and greater purity of the air were at once appreciated. Several other London theatres have since adopted the incandescent electric lamps, and it is obvious that the system will become universal. In all ocean-going passenger steamers, electric lighting of the saloons and cabins is now the rule. No mode of illumination so readily adapts itself to the production of artistic and decorative effects as the glow lamps: for the covering glasses may be tinted of any required shade, and the lights may be placed in any position. Small glow lamps are occasionally used as personal adornments, when placed, for instance, as part of a lady’s head-dress amidst diamonds, a novel effect of great brilliancy is produced. It need hardly be said that in this application the wearer is not required to carry a dynamo about with her, for the electricity is supplied in a manner much more convenient for this purpose by a device presently to be described. For several years electric incandescent lamps, supplied by the like means, have been in action every night in the carriages of the trains running between London and Brighton, and more recently the Company have had electric reading lamps of five candle-power fitted up in the carriages of the main line trains. They are placed at the backs of the seats just above the passengers’ head. When anyone wishes to make use of one of these lamps, he places a penny in a slot, and then, on pressing a knob, the light appears, and at the end of half an hour it is automatically extinguished; but, of course, it can again be made to appear by another penny dropped in the slot, and so on every half-hour as long as may be required.

To maintain the electric light (whether arc or incandescent) quite steady, the greatest uniformity in the speed of the dynamo is essential; and if the prime mover by which it is worked, whether steam-engine, gas-engine, water-wheel, or turbine, is not perfectly regular in its action, the lights will fluctuate in brightness, and thus produce an effect which is very unpleasant. This is entirely obviated by the adjunct we have now to describe, which not only is most efficient as a regulator, but is, moreover, of still more importance by also providing the means of storing up the electrical energy in a portable form. The reader will have understood that in a voltaic cell the production of an electric current is the concomitant of a chemical union of substances within the cell (p. 493). Now, in the experiment shown in Fig. 263 (p. 498), it is the reverse of combination—namely, the decomposition of the water that is supposed to be effected under the influence of the current from a galvanic battery, and the poles are so connected that the direction of the current in the liquid while the decomposition is proceeding is from the wire in the O tube to that in the H tube. If the experiment be interrupted by removing the battery, and then putting a galvanometer (Fig. 258) in its place, the galvanometer will immediately indicate a current passing through the apparatus in a direction the reverse of the former one—that is, in the liquid it goes from H to O, and the volumes of the gases will slowly diminish while water is reproduced by imperceptible and gradual re-combination. Batteries can be made by joining up a series of arrangements like Fig. 263, consisting of nothing but strips of platinum surrounded by hydrogen and oxygen gases and the intervening acidified water. Analogous results are obtainable by cells containing other compounds with suitable metallic poles, for when decomposition has been effected through a series of such cells by a sufficiently powerful current from a primary battery, the series of cells will constitute, on removal of the primary battery, a secondary battery, for when the terminals of this are joined, the current will flow in the reversed direction while the separated parts of the original compounds are re-combining within the cells. These secondary batteries are called also polarisation batteries. A form of secondary battery was contrived some years ago (1859) by M. Gaston Planté, in which the current of the primary battery was made to act on plates of lead immersed in dilute sulphuric acid. The effect was to coat one of the lead plates of each pair with lead oxide; and in the action of the secondary battery this was reversed, and the plates gradually returned to their original condition, when, of course, the current ceased. Some improvements were made in the Planté battery by Faure, who coated one of a pair of very thin lead plates at once with a film of red oxide of lead, and used a layer of felt to separate it from the other plate. Such arrangements have been called “accumulators”; another term applied to them is “storage batteries”; but it is not to be supposed that in them electricity is stored or, so to speak, bottled up. They consist merely of such an arrangement of materials as that when a current (direct, not alternating) from a dynamo is passing, certain substances are placed in a position of chemical separation in such a manner that in re-combining an equable current of electricity is produced in the conductor externally uniting them. We need not notice some slight modifications of the Faure cells that have been lately introduced, as no new principle is involved. The light of incandescent lamps worked by the Faure accumulator is perfectly free from the fluctuations which may usually be noticed when the lamps are directly connected with the dynamo only. Even if the engine should stop altogether, the light may be maintained for hours. The accumulator has also the advantage of giving out the electric energy that may have been imparted to it days before; so that when a house is fitted up with an independent electric light installation, there is no necessity for running the dynamo all the time the lamps are in use, as two or three days weekly may suffice to charge all the accumulators. Then there is the portability of the accumulator, which permits electrical energy to be made use of in situations where dynamos and prime movers would be impossible. It is said that a large Faure cell weighing about 140 lbs. can receive and give out energy equal to one horse power for one hour. In the arrangement for the reading lamps in railway carriages referred to above, accumulators are placed under the seats; and it need hardly be said that when the electric light has been seen in a coiffure, a small Faure cell concealed about the wearer’s person has supplied the current. A very interesting and useful application of the accumulator is the portable electric light lamp for miners made by the Edison-Swan Company. It is simply an incandescent lamp protected by a strong glass cover attached to the side of a cylindrical case containing a four-celled accumulator. This lamp is provided with an ingenious contrivance by which the circuit would be interrupted, if by accident the outer glass cover of the lamp were broken. Let us now see what another new development of the applications of electricity gains by the use of accumulators by turning our attention to the electro-motor.

At the Vienna Exhibition of 1873, the Gramme Company showed two of their machines, and it is said that when one of these machines was at rest, a workman connected the ends of two covered copper wires with the other machine, thinking that these were placed to carry the current from that machine when in movement. Everybody was surprised when, without any power from the machinery, the ring was soon in rapid rotation. These wires were in fact joined up to the other Gramme machine which was already in action, and it was the current from this that set the former in motion. There is no reason why this story should not be perfectly true, although there are good reasons for believing that the electro-motor was the result of no such accidental circumstance. The attractions and repulsions between the poles of electro-magnets was soon seen to supply an available source of motive power, and the subject has been already mentioned on page 518. Professor Jacobi, of St. Petersburg, seems to have been the first who constructed an electro-magnetic engine, the exciting power being the current supplied by a voltaic battery. This was in 1834, and in a few years afterwards the Professor applied his engine to a small paddle-wheel boat, 28 feet long, which was electrically propelled for several days, but at a slow speed. The engine in this case was virtually a magneto-electric machine worked backwards, that is, instead of applying power to turn the machine and so produce a current of electricity, the current was supplied by the battery and produced power. In 1850, an electro-motor of five horse power was shown by an American, Mr. Page, the principle of which may be illustrated by supposing a reversal of the action represented in Fig. 271, thus: if, instead of producing currents by moving the magnet, C, in and out of the coil, A B, we substitute a battery for D, we can, by alternating the direction of the current through the coil, cause a reciprocating motion of the magnet, C, and this again may be described as a magneto-electric machine worked backward. It was soon recognized that no practical electro-motor was adequate to the production of such high powers as the steam engine supplies, and that the cost must necessarily many times exceed that of steam power. But certain advantages, nevertheless, pertained to the electro-motor in certain positions, as instance in safety, and where a small force only was occasionally required. Now, when the Gramme machine was invented to supply currents of electricity under conditions much more favourable than the magneto-electric machines it superseded, and at a cost vastly less than that of any voltaic battery, it is highly improbable that the relation of the new current generator to the production of electro-motive power would long be overlooked.

The electro-motor may, therefore, be considered simply as a dynamo worked backward, and almost any form of dynamo may in this way be used as an electro-motor, that is, a current being supplied either from a battery or from a dynamo, the motor converts the electrical energy into mechanical energy. Any dynamo that supplies a direct and continuous current can thus be used; but there are certain conditions which make it desirable to somewhat modify the proportions and arrangement of the several parts when the machine is for motor purposes.

In general, any source of current may be used, but in the applications of the electro-motor there are chiefly two methods in practice of supplying the current. The one takes the current from a dynamo in motion, the other from an accumulator which has previously been “charged” by a dynamo.

Both of these methods are used in the familiar and interesting application of the electro-motor to the propulsion of carriages on tramways and railways. For the latter, indeed, an attempt was made half-a-century ago on the Edinburgh and Glasgow railway, to employ the force of an electro-magnetic machine actuated by a battery. This was in 1842, and although this electric locomotive was fitted up completely, it did not attain a speed of more than four miles an hour. The weight with the batteries, carriage, etc., exceeded five tons. But in the recent inventions which have been in practical operation in many places, it is found quite easy to dispense with any current producer on the electric locomotive itself, for the electricity is supplied by a fixed dynamo and the current is transmitted along the line by a conductor from which a sliding contact conveys it to the electro-motor, which is attached to the framework of the carriage and acts on the driving axles of the wheels directly or by toothed gear. In such cases the return current is carried either by another conductor or by the rails themselves. In another arrangement one rail conveys the current to the locomotive and the other returns it. When the rails are so used they have, of course, to be insulated from the ground and laid with special electrical contact pieces joining their consecutive lengths, and all the carriage wheels have to be insulated, so that the currents shall flow only through the coils of the electro-motor. A railway on this system has been worked at Berlin for some time, and a short tramway on the same plan has lately been opened at Brighton. The Bessborough and Newry Electric Railway (Ireland) uses a single separate conductor three miles long, and the power is supplied at a very small cost from a dynamo station near the middle of the line, where water power is taken advantage of to drive a large turbine. Quite recently electric propulsion has been adopted on some of the short tunnel lines in London, and it is quite probable that ultimately the system will be adopted throughout the whole course of the underground railways, with the view of obtaining a purer and more agreeable atmosphere.

A very light electric railway has been designed, in which the cars run along rails attached to posts at such a height above the ground as may be required to make the line level, or with only slight gradients. The rails also serve as conductors. This is known as the telepherage system, and it is found to be well adapted for light loads in an undulating country.

The other plan which makes use of accumulators commends itself for application to ordinary tramway carriages, because no conductors are required along the line, and each car can move independently. The chief objection is the great weight of the accumulators and the space they occupy, although they are usually placed under the seats without much inconvenience. There are at present (January, 1890) six electric tramcars running in London, and the accumulator system would no doubt have been applied largely as the motive power for the ordinary street omnibus, but for the difficulty of controlling them under the momentum of the great mass of the accumulators, etc. The same objection lies against the use of the accumulators and motors for propelling tricycles, although such machines have really been used. But accidents such as occasionally happen to such vehicles would be attended with additional risks of injury from the acids of the secondary battery, etc. But there is one mode of using electric propulsion, that is free from every objection and, indeed, offers great advantages. Only two years ago the first electric boat on the Thames was tried experimentally between Richmond and Henley, and the result was entirely in favour of the electric over the steam launch. The Faure battery, or so-called “storage cells,” are arranged beneath the floor of the boat for most of its length in the smaller boats, and the electro-motor is directly coupled with the screw shaft. The electric launch has these advantages: perfect safety, freedom from dirt and smoke, no thumping or vibrating, no noise of steam discharge, or smell of hot oil, no engineer or stoker is required, and much larger space available for passengers. One of these electric launches, not going full speed, is able to travel sixty miles without having the accumulators recharged. A considerable number of these launches are already in use, and many more are in course of construction. They are made of all sizes, from the smallest to those that will carry quite a large company, and may be used for excursion parties on the river. The description of one of these last states that she is 65 feet in length, and 10 feet across the beam. She can carry sixty passengers, and twenty can dine in the saloon at one time. There are lavatories, pantries, dressing rooms, etc., and a brass railed upper deck, with an awning. At night this boat is lighted up with electric glow-lamps, the current for these also being supplied by the accumulators. The Electric Launch Company has stations with Gramme machines at work to charge cells ready to replace exhausted ones at several places, namely Hampton, Staines, Maidenhead, Boulter’s Lock, Henley, Reading and Oxford. There is every prospect of a general extension of the electric propulsion of boats, and visitors to the Electrical Exhibition at Edinburgh, in 1890, will find electric launches taking holiday makers as far as Linlithgow. The boats will be like those on the Thames, fitted with the Immisch motor. Some electricians are now sanguine enough to believe that even for large vessels electricity will yet be able to compete with steam in special cases.

The modes of using electric propulsion that we have just noticed furnish a very interesting chain of conversions of one form of force into another, with a reversal of the order of transformation at a certain point. Let us begin with the carbonic acid gas that existed in the atmosphere of the carboniferous geological period. The solar emanations were absorbed, and used by the leaves of the plants to separate the two elements of the gas,—the plant retaining the one in its substance and returning the other to the air. The plant becomes coal; and ages afterwards the particles of the two separated elements are ready to re-unite and give out in the form of heat all the energy that was absorbed by their separation. This heat is in the steam-engine converted into the energy of mechanical power. This mechanical power is in the dynamo expended in moving copper wires through a magnetic field. Every schoolboy who has played with a common steel magnet—and what boy has not?—knows that the space immediately round the magnet is the seat of strange attractive and repulsive force, for he has felt their pulls and pushes on pieces of iron or steel. This mysterious space is the magnetic field, and although a person would not be able to perceive that mechanical force is expended when he moves a single copper ring across such a field, he will readily become conscious of the fact when he moves a number at once that form a closed circuit; and he should not omit the opportunity of feeling this for himself if he is allowed to turn the handle of such a machine as that represented in Figs. 275 or 277. The mechanical power is absorbed in the dynamo because the movement induces an electric current that would of itself produce motion in the machine in the opposite direction. However, the electricity induced by magnetism and motion is made to pass through the Faure cell or accumulator, when it does chemical work by separating oxide of lead from sulphuric acid, leaving these substances in a position to unite together again, when this action produces a reverse current of electricity through an external metal circuit. The coils of the electro-motor form this circuit; the electricity induces magnetism, and the magnetism gives rise to visible motion and mechanical power.

From what has been already said, it will be obvious that a pair of covered copper wires connecting a dynamo with an electro-motor becomes a very convenient means of carrying power from one place to another. There are situations in which shafts, belts, or any other mechanical expedients are troublesome or impossible to use for this purpose. For instance, a dynamo working at the mouth of a tunnel or coal-pit may be made to drive any machinery within with nothing between but the motionless wires. Or a single dynamo will supply moderate power to a number of small workshops, provided each has an electro-motor, with no other connection than a pair of copper wires. This arrangement is found very advantageous for light work and where power is required occasionally, as in watch-making, the manufacture of philosophical instruments, etc. Such moderate power is occasionally in demand also in private houses, to drive sewing machines, lathes, etc.; and it is obtainable from the same source as the current for lighting. Private installations for lighting purposes usually have a dynamo driven by a gas engine, and working into a set of accumulators. It seems not a little remarkable that if the gas were burnt in the ordinary way instead of being used in the gas engine, it would give only a fraction of the amount of the light it causes to be given out by the electric light lamps. But at the present time, houses and business premises are supplied with electricity by companies who carry electric mains through the streets. In England these electric mains, which are thick insulated copper wires, are inclosed in iron pipes and laid beneath the pavement, like the gas mains. In the United States, where electric illumination is much used, the conductors have been usually carried overhead like telegraph wires, but not a few fatal accidents have occurred from these conductors falling into the streets. There is no reason to doubt but that in a short time it will be as common for households to draw upon such electric mains for their supply of light and power as it now is to draw gas and water from common mains. The electric supply companies have central stations in suitable positions, where very large and powerful dynamos are regularly driven by steam power. These stations are provided with appliances for measuring the currents and for duly controlling the energy sent out. What will appear very extraordinary when we remember that electricity is in itself unknown, is that the quantity supplied to each house or establishment can be actually measured, and is paid for by meter as in the case of gas. As already said (page 498) electricity can only be measured by its effects, and it is the chemical effect which it is found convenient to use for the purpose we are speaking of. The plan is simply this: two plates of zinc dip into a solution of sulphate of zinc, and from the one to the other there is sent through the solution one-thousandth part of the current to be measured. While the current passes, zinc is deposited on the plate towards which the current goes in the solution, and if this plate is periodically weighed this furnishes the measure of the total current. But how is just one-thousandth of the whole current taken off from the rest and made to circulate through the measuring apparatus? This is very easily done by taking advantage of the law of derived circuits, which for our present purpose may be stated thus: when a current of electricity finds two different circuits along which it can pass, it will divide and circulate through both of them, but the greater part will pass through the circuit of less resistance (if there be any inequality), and by adjusting the resistances of the circuits we can divide the current between the two partial or derived circuits in any required proportions. Electric resistances, it may be mentioned, depend upon the length, section, and nature of the conductor, and are very easily measured and adjusted.

While the method just explained serves very well to measure the quantity of electricity that has passed through a conductor in a given period, provided that the current has always been in the same direction, it will be sufficiently obvious that it would fail altogether in the case of alternating currents. And, in fact, even in the case supposed this mode of measurement does not take account of the real energy set in motion. A reference to page 498, where the differences of electric currents are mentioned that are commonly spoken of—tension and quantity—will show that electric effects depend upon more than the quantity of electricity passing. Forms of apparatus have been devised for recording the total energy supplied; but their construction and principles are too complex to be here explained. In some cases high tension currents are required, in others it is quantity and not tension that is sought for; and there are ways of transforming the qualities of currents so that the same source shall supply electricity of either class. An example of this may have been noticed in the action of the Ruhmkorff coil, where the mere interruption of the primary or battery circuit, which possesses so little tension that of itself it could not give rise to a spark, nevertheless produces a wave of electricity in the secondary circuit of a tension so high that sparks several feet long may be produced by it.

A somewhat recent application of the electric current of the dynamo may be just mentioned here. It is what is known as electrical welding, and depends upon the heat developed by currents being proportioned to the electrical resistance for each part of the circuit. The heat thus generated, where the current passes between two surfaces of metal, even of considerable dimensions, is sufficient to bring them to a semi-fluid condition, so that when simply pressed together they coalesce into one mass. In this way pieces of iron work can be welded together in situations where it would be either inconvenient or impossible to heat them by furnaces.

The reader who has followed the last article will probably be prepared to admit that “the magnetic field” is one of the most wonderful things in the whole realm of inorganic nature, as all the powerful effects we have been describing are the results of merely moving wires through it. A wire conveying an electrical current so modifies the space surrounding it, or so acts upon the unknown pervading medium, that conductors moved in it, have other currents generated in them. An intermittent current, like that in the primary circuit of the induction coil, is equivalent to a movement of the magnetic field in regard to the secondary coil, so that the general principle in the coil and the dynamo is fundamentally the same. Quite recently, Professor Elihu Thomson has shown some very novel mechanical effects of repulsions and rotations of conductors placed near the poles of a coil through which rapidly alternating currents are passing. [1890.]

We already hear of natural forces which have hitherto in a manner run to waste being now utilised in man’s service by the advantage taken of the capability of a slender wire to convey power. A notable instance is in the case of the famous Falls of Niagara. Here the head of water is used to drive turbines; our readers must not run away with any notion of huge water-wheels being placed below the falls. But from the high level of the water above the falls a tunnel has been cut which brings the water into pipes 7½ feet in diameter, and these deliver it into three turbines, in passing through which it develops a force of 5,000 horse power, and this force is communicated to a steel shaft 2½ feet in diameter, connected with the revolving parts of the dynamo. Mr. G. Forbes, the engineer, states that the company who have undertaken this enterprise are supplying, with a handsome profit to themselves, electrical current or power at ⅛th of a penny per unit, for which English companies charge sixpence. That is, Niagara supplies power at 1/48th of the price it can be obtained from coal.

The fact that mechanical power can be brought from a distance to everyone’s door by a slender wire, and at small cost, suggests the possibility of great social and industrial changes being effected in the future by that one condition. Think of the abolition of factory chimneys and smoke, nay, even of the abolition of the factory system itself, for cheap power transmission seems to promise much in that direction, and there is a shadowing forth of still more in

THE NEW ELECTRICITY.

The Leyden jar and a few of its most obvious and common effects have been touched upon already, (page 490); but the phenomena which are revealed by a careful study of its charge and discharge show that these are by no means of the simple kind that has generally been supposed. Thus, for instance, if the magnetising effects of what is called current electricity be borne in mind, especially the definiteness of this action as regards the direction of the current (cf. Fig. 257), it would follow that if instead of the iron bar in Fig. 265 we place within the coil some unmagnetised steel needles we should find after passing a current or discharge that these have become converted into permanent magnets, and that their north poles are always towards the left of the supposed current. Years ago experiments were made to ascertain whether the discharges of a Leyden jar repeatedly passed through a coil would magnetise needles in the same way, because it had been assumed that the discharge is simply a current of extremely short duration and of quite definite direction. As far back as 1824 it had, however, been observed that the needles were magnetised sometimes in the wrong direction, yet no attempt was made to explain this—it was sometimes merely mentioned in the books as “anomalous magnetisation.” Dr. Henry of Washington, U.S.A., experimented on the subject, and in 1842 referred this action to a condition of the discharge which had never before been suggested. He says “we must admit the existence of a principal discharge in one direction, and then several reflex actions backward and forward, each more feeble than the preceding, until the equilibrium is obtained.” Some five years afterwards Helmholtz had independently arrived at the same conclusion, and from the fact that when a succession of Leyden jar discharges are sent through the voltameter (Fig. 263) the water is indeed decomposed, but both oxygen and hydrogen are evolved at each electrode. Sir William Thomson (now Lord Kelvin) examined the question from a theoretical point of view, and in a masterly mathematical paper published by him in 1853 not only showed that the discharge must be of an oscillating character, but gave the form of equation by which the rate of oscillation is determined.

Faraday proved, as has already been stated, that the matter of the dielectric takes part in such condensing actions as that of the Leyden jar. The electrical charge enters into the glass, the particles of which are thrown into a certain state of strain or tension (which Faraday called polarisation), and the discharge of the jar is their release from that tension. So that it appears that whatever electricity may be, it can in some way become bound up with the particles of ordinary matter like glass and other dielectrics, and exert force upon them, which force acts always in two opposite directions. It is the opposition of the form or direction in which the electrical effect is manifested that gave rise to the conception of the two “fluids”—the “positive” and the “negative.” If these “fluids” really existed it would surely have been possible to give to an insulated body an absolute charge of either of them. But this can never be done; if, for instance, you have in the middle of a room a metallic sphere charged with positive electricity, the necessary condition is that on the walls of the apartment or on surrounding objects there is an exactly equivalent quantity or negative electricity.

The number of oscillations or alternate momentary currents in a single discharge of a Leyden jar is enormous. Theory shows that under ordinary circumstances they must be enumerated by hundreds of thousands, if not by millions; that is, the apparently instantaneous spark is really made up of say a million surgings to and fro of the electric influence. But theory also shows that the frequency of these oscillations can be controlled or adjusted through an indefinite range. A general notion of the requisite conditions may be obtained by the analogy of sound, and for this we may take the familiar case of the strings of a musical instrument, say the violin, or the harp. Everybody knows that when a stretched string or wire is pulled a little aside it is in a state of lateral strain, striving by its elastic force to return to its position of rest, and if it is suddenly let go it not only rapidly regains that position, but by the inertia of its motion is carried beyond it against its elastic force, which, however, again brings it back, and the movement is continued nearly up to the point at which it was originally released, this swinging movement persisting for an indefinite period, during which the vibrations, which have an ascertainable and perfectly regular frequency, are communicated to the sounding-board of the instrument and from that to the air, by which they are conveyed to the ear and affect the auditor as a musical note, which note is higher as the number of vibrations per second is greater. Everybody will have observed that in the violin the note yielded by each open string is higher as the tension becomes greater by turning the peg to tighten it; that the same string will, without any change in its tension, yield higher notes as shorter lengths of it are employed. Another circumstance upon which the pitch of the note depends may also be illustrated in the violin, in which it will be noted that the G string, which gives the lowest notes, is loaded with wire wound spirally round it. Here, then, are three circumstances that collectively determine the pitch or number of vibrations of a string—tension, length, weight; and if you give the measures of these to a mathematician he can tell you the note the string will emit, for the number of vibrations is given (when the measures are expressed in the proper units) by the formula

√t n = —————— 2l√w

This shows that we have only to adjust suitably the tension, length, and weight of a string in order to make it vibrate at any rate we please. Now in the oscillation of currents in the Leyden jar discharge there are conditions which correspond, by analogy at least, with those that determine the vibrations of a stretched string. These conditions are of course electrical, and they are definable in terms of electric units, which need not be discussed here. As we are leading the reader to the modern view of electricity, which sets aside the fluid theories and regards electricity as having no separate existence, but as being merely the manifestation of some condition of a universally pervading medium, the same, in fact, as the luminiferous ether, it is curious to remark that these electrical oscillations would seem to attribute to the incompressible and imponderable ether something very much like the characteristic property of matter we call inertia, by virtue of which the released cord flies past its position of equilibrium to the other side. Or may this quality be dependent on the matter of the dielectric in which the ether is, as it were, entangled?

The oscillatory character of the Leyden jar discharge was elegantly demonstrated before a large audience in a lecture given by Professor O. Lodge at the Royal Institution a few years ago. Clearly it is impossible to render perceptible to the senses the millions of periodic discharges that take place in the marvellously short space of time taken up by a spark, but by doing what is analogous to slackening the tension of the stretched string or increasing its length, that is by increasing the static capacity, which means using a large number of jars combined into a battery, and at the same time causing the discharge to pass through coils (the effect of these is to increase the self-induction of the circuit—called also impedance), an arrangement corresponding with loading the string, Dr. Lodge was able to bring down the rate of oscillation to 5,000 per second, when, instead of the crack of the ordinary discharge, a very shrill continuous sound was heard. The addition of another coil gave another load, and when the rate was thus reduced to about 500, the note emitted was that of the C above the middle A of the piano. With the rate of oscillation thus reduced, it became easy to render the discontinuity of the discharge visible by means of revolving mirrors, as in the well-known acoustical demonstrations.

Professor Lodge has devised an experiment which again shows the analogy of electrical oscillations with those by which sound is produced. It is well known that a vibrating tuning-fork will set another fork of the same pitch to vibrate also by mere approximation. A and B (Fig. 280_k_) are two exactly similar Leyden jars, the inner and outer coatings of each being connected by a wire enclosing a considerable area in its circuit, which in the case of A contains an air gap across which sparks pass when the coatings are connected with the poles of an electrical machine. The circuit of B is provided with an adjustable sliding piece C, and the coatings are almost connected with each other by a strip of tinfoil hanging over the rim but not quite reaching to the outer coating. When the jars are placed so that their wire circuits are parallel, and sparks are passing across the air interval of A’s circuit, a position of the slider on the other can be found when sparks also pass between the tin-foil and the outer coating. But if the slider be moved from this position, the two circuits will no longer be in unison, and the sparks in B will cease. This response of the oscillations in one jar to those set up in another of the same vibratory period is called electrical resonance.

Dr. Hertz, a professor in the University of Bonn, has opened out new paths to investigators by a brilliant series of researches which have shown that in the dielectric surrounding an electrical system executing very rapid oscillations there are waves of electro-motive and magnetic force. These researches are not capable of any condensed description here, and the reasoning is of a kind that appears mainly to the expert physicist. One of his modes of investigation required oscillations of extreme rapidity, and he obtained them by attaching to each pole of an induction coil a metal plate, and between these plates, which were in the same vertical plane, passed a stout wire interrupted by an air gap in its centre provided with small brass balls. The rate of oscillation of this arrangement was calculated as the hundred-millionth part of 1·4 second. In conjunction with this system Hertz made use of a very simple apparatus he called a resonator, which consisted merely of a piece of copper wire bent into a circle of about 28 inches diameter. The ends of the wire did not, however, meet, but were fitted with two balls, or with a ball and a point, and an arrangement by which the air gap between them could be very finely adjusted and measured. This resonator was, of course, prepared as to be in electrical tune with the original vibrator, and with it Hertz was able to examine the condition of the surrounding space. When held in the hand near the vibrator he found that sparks crossed the air space in the resonator, and that the length of the air space across which the sparks would pass varied with the position of the resonator. When the plane of the resonator was parallel with the metal planes of the vibrator and its axis in the horizontal line drawn perpendicularly through the vibrator’s air space, the sparks passed readily when the air space of the resonator was at the same time vertically above or below its centre, but they ceased entirely when it was level with the centre. He obtained these sparks when the resonator was held—in free space, be it understood—in the above-mentioned position even at a distance from the vibrator of 13 yds., the length of the apartment. By examining the results with other positions of his resonator and by other and varied experiments, Hertz was able to prove the existence of definite waves of electro-magnetic and electro-motive forces, to measure their lengths, and to show that they are capable of reflection, refraction, and even polarization by the same laws that hold with the extremely short but enormously rapid vibrations constituting light. It may here be mentioned that the existence of currents in the resonator can be shown by a Geissler tube being made to take the place of the air space, which tube is thus lighted up without any metallic or visible connection with any electrical apparatus whatever, the only requisite conditions being that its circuit be tuned to the vibrator, and in a certain position in relation to the axis of the spark space of the latter. Hertz has also shown that electro-magnetic disturbances (transversal waves) are propagated in space with a determinate velocity akin to that of light, and in short the outcome of his investigations, as well as of those undertaken by others, has been a vindication of Clerk Maxwell’s splendid theory by which light is regarded as an electro-magnetic action. Professor Righi of Bologna, having succeeded in obtaining shorter electrical waves than anyone before—namely, 4/10ths of an inch instead of about 20 inches—was able with them to repeat all the phenomena of optics such as reflection, refraction, circular polarization, interference, &c. It appears then almost certain that light and electro-magnetic waves or radiations are but one and the same affection of a pervading medium we call the ether.

By following up in certain directions lines of research suggested by the investigations of Maxwell, Lodge, Hertz and others, and by an unreserved acceptance of the ether theory of light, electricity and magnetism, some wonderful practical results have recently been obtained by M. Nikola Tesla, an electrical engineer now resident in New York. The experiments shown by Tesla in his public lectures have excited great interest in scientific circles, and have by many persons been witnessed with something like astonishment.

One of the first objects of M. Tesla was to obtain alternating currents of high tension and great frequency. It may be seen from Fig. 272 that the movement of coils of wire in a magnetic field generates currents, and it has been stated that these currents are in alternately opposite directions as the coils approach or recede from the magnetic poles. In the machine represented in Fig. 280_a_, each revolution would produce 16 reversals of current. Tesla constructed a rotatory machine which gave 20,000 alternations of current in one second, because it had 400 poles and could be rotated at a very high speed. But of course the number of poles and the speed of the machine could not be increased beyond certain practical limits. By a happy application of the known principle of harmonic oscillations, in which all the rotatory movements of fly-wheels, coils and poles could be dispensed with, Tesla simplified the alternate current generator, reducing the moving parts to the minimum at the same time that he obtained a greater number of alternations and almost perfect regularity in their periodicity. The way in which this has been accomplished may be gathered from a careful inspection of Fig. 280_l_ compared with the following explanation. This illustration, it should be understood, is merely a diagram in which details of mechanism are altogether omitted, and only so much shown as will serve to explain the principle. We shall take the mechanical part first, and direct the reader’s attention to the means by which an iron rod is made to perform very rapid to-and-fro movements in the direction of its length, and to do that with perfectly isochronous periods, which may be made longer or shorter at will, and which are quite independent of very considerable variations in the motive power. The diagram represents the apparatus in section, and the central part of it marked by letters P and P´ is a piston through which passes what may be called a piston-rod A, which projects some distance out of the cylinder at both ends. The piston is shown in the diagram in its central position, where the impelling power has no action to move it as will presently be seen. This moving power we may assume to be the compressed air applied through the ports I I´. Just to the right of the upper one of these on the diagram will be observed in the piston a slot S opening into a hollow T, which communicates directly with the space on the left of the piston. The same arrangement, with directions reversed, is seen on the other side of the piston. If now the piston were pushed a little to the left of the position shown in the diagram, the compressed air rushing from I through the slot into the opening S T would impel the piston towards the right, and it would be carried onward by its inertia beyond the position shown in the figure towards the right, but in doing this the access of the compressed air on the left would be cut off, and the slot communicating with the space on the right hand would allow the compressed air to act in the space P, checking the further advance of the piston to the right, acting like a spring or elastic cushion, and again driving the piston to the left, during which movement the air that has done its work is allowed to escape at the outlet O O. The same cycle of operations will be rapidly repeated, but the rate of oscillation admits of control, for the larger the air chamber in which the air is compressed by the momentum of the piston and rod, the less will it be compressed and the less powerfully it will resist, while with a smaller capacity of air-chamber the more powerful will be the back spring of the imprisoned air. On the other hand, the mass that is moved may be increased; that is the weight of the rod, &c., may be increased. In any case the oscillations will be perfectly regular, because the force which tends to bring the piston to its position of equilibrium will be always proportionate to its distance from that point. So that we have here a rod shooting in and out shuttle-wise with the utmost regularity and with almost any desired rapidity, controllable under precisely the like conditions as the stretched string already mentioned, for as the tension of the string is the measure of the force with which it strives to regain its position of equilibrium, so the compression of air in the chamber behind the piston; and as the loaded string vibrates slower, so will the loaded piston. So much for the mechanical part of this machine, for we may omit all details of valves, &c. The electrical arrangement is very simple and of the greatest efficiency. On each projecting end of the piston are wound coils of insulated copper wire, which being shot in and out across a powerful magnetic field between the jaws of very large electro-magnets M M´ cut the “lines of force” to the best advantage, and from these coils alternating currents of high tension and frequency are gathered up. The vibrating rod is steadied by working in bearings (not shown). The electro-magnets are actuated as usual by coils of insulated wire surrounding their iron cores. In the motion of the moving coils there are electrical forces called into play which in mechanical effect control the movement in the same way as the air-springs, and as these electrical forces admit of certain adjustments and have calculable effects, the mechanical period of the machine and the electrical one can be made to accord, and thus to, as it were, sustain each other, and assure a perfectly isochronous periodicity, even with considerable variations of the impelling force. Though we have supposed compressed air as the actuating agent, steam has been applied in some slightly modified forms of the machine, and sometimes at the high pressure of 350 lbs. per square inch. Such is Tesla’s alternating current producer, or the Tesla Oscillator, as it has been called. This, of course, is a very different thing from the vibrator of disruptive discharge already mentioned in connection with the experiments of Professor Hertz. Tesla also uses the disruptive discharge, and what with the high frequency and the great tension of his currents, he obtains electric oscillations of hitherto unequalled rapidity, calculable at thousands of millions per second. He claims, indeed, to be able to agitate the ether at rates of undulation comparable with those of light itself (500 billions per second). Some of the experiments he has shown certainly lend support to such an explanation. The lighting of electric lamps with but one metallic connection, and that held in a person’s hand, and causing Geissler tubes to light up without any metallic connections whatever, and making gas at ordinary pressures luminous, a lump of charcoal contained in a closed glass vessel to become red-hot while the vessel is merely held in the hand, are certainly phenomena that cannot be explained on the old lines. The space between two large surfaces of metal 15 feet apart, and forming the poles of an oscillatory system, is shown to be full of light-forming influences, as when phosphorescent substances contained in closed glass vessels glow intensely, the glass being apparently no obstacle. According to Tesla, you make space and matter equally permeable to ethereal undulations when these are tuned, so to speak, to the proper frequency.

Many of the strange effects Tesla has shown are referable to the principle of electric resonance; such are the powers of a coil with no metallic connections with any other apparatus and removed, by a distance of many feet, from any current-conveying wires. Tesla’s workshop was an apartment 40 feet long and 20 wide, and the wires connecting the poles of his oscillator were carried round the walls, while in the centre of the workshop stood a very large but entirely insulated coil, between the terminals of which an ordinary incandescent lamp was placed. This lamp was brilliantly illuminated when the oscillator was in action. The electric qualities of this coil were so adjusted that its currents came into tune with the ethereal vibrations propagated from the conductor round the room. But further, a single hoop of copper wire of the proper diameter and thickness could be brought into unison with the coil, and when held in the hand over the latter, even at a considerable distance, incandescent lamps attached to it were lighted up by the induced currents. Many other novel experiments have been shown by M. Tesla, but they need not here be described, as they have yet to be connected with the logical study of the entire class of phenomena. M. Tesla speaks somewhat sanguinely of being ultimately able to convey signals, and even power, to a distance, not merely with one wire but with no wires at all! Another thing he looks forward to is to set the electricity, or rather the ether that interpenetrates the matter of the whole earth, into a state of agitation. This seems what is commercially termed “a large order;” but we have seen that every Leyden jar, every coil, and in fact every electrical system, has its own period, and if by any possibility we could discover, or by chance hit upon the earth’s electric vibration period, it is not antecedently impossible that even the comparatively small efforts of such oscillatory vibrations as we could produce, would by their accumulation agitate the earth’s ether. It is well known that very small impulses, so tuned as to correspond with the natural period of a considerable mass, will produce striking mechanical effects. Thus, a troop of soldiers passing over a bridge have often been known to break down a structure that would have supported their mere weight many times over, because they were all marching together and with a step corresponding in time with the oscillatory period of the bridge. It is now always enjoined in the military orders that troops in crossing a bridge must “break step.” Another familiar illustration of the accumulation of small synchronous impulses is the experiment of singing into a glass goblet the note corresponding with its vibration period. The singer merely by sustaining this note for a short time often succeeds in shivering the glass into fragments. M. Tesla believes that he has already succeeded in agitating the earth’s ether to some extent; he does at least obtain flaming purple streamers passing into the air from one end of a coil, while the other is connected with the earth.

These discoveries and theories appear likely to lead to many unforeseen results, valuable for both science and its applications, and such as may far surpass the expectations of those who take less enthusiastic views of the matter than M. Tesla and his friends do. The theoretical properties of the ether and the conditions of it, which are held capable of making it the scene and the medium of all the hitherto so-called ponderable and imponderable forces, have not been completely worked out. The experiments that have been already made show that disturbances of very different kinds may be propagated in the ether by undulations of any length from less than 1/60000th part of an inch, as in the case of violet light already spoken of, to the 1,200 miles attributed to certain electrical conditions.

The foregoing sentences, describing the discoveries of Hertz and others, had not long been penned before it had become possible to announce that they had borne fruit in as extraordinary an invention as could have distinguished the close of an extraordinary century. It is the realization of what the most accomplished electrician would not long before have pronounced a dream—namely, wireless telegraphy. The general principle of it should not be obscure after the account of the “Hertzian waves”; but our space does not permit a description of details of its working out in a practical form by a young Italian electrician, Signor Marconi. We have already seen that a Geissler tube, when its circuit is properly attuned, can be lighted up by the magneto-electric disturbance propagated without material contacts, and this itself would constitute a method of signalling to a distance. On the same principle, a discharge may be determined by the “wave” between conductors in certain adjustable conditions of electric tension, and in this way local circuits may be brought into play, and ordinary telegraphic effects produced, as described in the following article. The actual apparatus to receive the ethereal impulses is extremely simple—merely a little fine metallic dust (nickel and silver) in a glass tube included in the resonator circuit by a wire at each end, touching the dust. This gathers together, or coheres (hence the apparatus is called the coherer), under the magneto-electric influence, a local battery discharge then passes, completing a circuit, and the dust has to be shaken loose again by a mechanical agitation. Marconi has been able to signal over a distance of forty-three miles.

THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.

More than two centuries ago a learned Italian Jesuit, named Strada, gave a fanciful account of a method by which he supposed two persons might communicate with each other, however far they might be separated. He conceived two needles magnetized by a loadstone of such virtue, that the needles balanced on separate pivots ever afterwards pointed in parallel directions; and if one were turned to any point, the other also sympathetically moved in complete accordance with it. The happy possessors of these sympathetic needles, each having his needle mounted on a dial marked with the same letters and words similarly inscribed, would be able to communicate their thoughts to each other at preconcerted hours, by movements and pauses of the wonderful needles. The poet Akenside, when describing, in his “Pleasures of the Imagination,” the effect of association in bringing ideas before our minds, illustrates his point by a happy allusion to Strada’s conceit. Here is the passage:

“For when the different images of things, By chance combined, have struck the attentive soul With deeper impulse, or, connected long, Have drawn her frequent eye; howe’er distinct The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain From that conjunction an eternal tie And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind Recall one partner of the various league— Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise. ‘Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold, Two faithful needles, from the informing touch Of the same parent stone, together drew Its mystic virtue, and at first conspired With fatal impulse quivering to the pole. Then—though disjoined by kingdoms, though the main Rolled its broad surge betwixt, and different stars Beheld their wakeful motions—yet preserved The former friendship, and remembered still The alliance of their birth. Whate’er the line Which one possessed, nor pause nor quiet knew The sure associate, ere, with trembling speed, He found its path, and fixed unerring there.”

In our own day this fancy of Strada’s has been literally and completely realized in all save the convenient portability of the sympathetic dials; but this and the other forms of apparatus which are now so familiar in electric telegraphy were produced by no sudden inspiration occurring to a single individual. Great inventions are ever the outcome not of the labours of one but of a hundred minds, and the progress of the electric telegraph might be traced, step by step, from the first suggestions, made more than a century ago, of employing, for the communication of intelligence at a distance, the imperfect electric means then known. The men who then attempted to utilize the mysterious agency of electricity failed to produce a practical telegraph, because the conditions of electrical excitation known at that time gave no scope for the realization of their project. Not the less do they deserve our grateful remembrance for the faith and energy with which they strove to overcome the difficulties of their task. Voltaic electricity was first proposed as the means of conveying signals to a distance in 1808, immediately after the discovery of the power of the pile to decompose water; and the method of communicating the signals was based upon this property. Sömmering proposed to arrange thirty-five pairs of electrodes, formed by gold pins passed through the bottom of a glass vessel containing acidulated water. Each pair of pins was marked by a letter of the alphabet or a numeral, and attached to distinct wires, which could be put into connection with a pile at the sending station. The signals were made by the gas evolved from these electrodes indicating the letter intended. The number of wires required and the slowness of working were great objections, and this system never came into practical use, although it was afterwards proposed to diminish the number of the wires from thirty-five to two—by so varying the amounts of gas given off and the periods of time as to form an intelligible system of signals. Ten or twelve years after, Mr. Ronalds, of Hammersmith, invented an ingenious system by which letters on a dial could be pointed out at a distance by frictional electricity. Two dials, on which the letters, &c., were marked, were each placed behind a screen having an aperture, which permitted only one letter to be seen at once; and the dial was mounted on the seconds arbor of a clock with a dead-beat escapement. A pair of pith balls hung in front, insulated and connected by means of an insulated wire with the similar pair at the other end of the line, where the other clock and dial were placed. The clocks were regulated to go as nearly as possible at the same rate, so that at each end of the line the same letters were simultaneously displayed. It was easy, however, at any time to start the clocks together at the same letter by a signal previously agreed upon, and all that was really required was a synchronous motion of the discs during the time the signals were being sent. The insulated wire received from a small electrical machine a charge, which caused the pith balls at both ends to diverge; and the moment the wire was discharged, the balls collapsed suddenly and simultaneously, and this discharge was effected by the sender of the message at the instant that the letter he wished to indicate appeared at the opening in front of his dial. Since the same letter was at the same instant visible at the other end also, it was indicated to the receiver of the message by the collapse of the pith balls. Ronalds worked this telegraph experimentally with a wire 525 ft. long, but it was never adopted practically. On communicating to the Admiralty the power of his invention, he was informed that “telegraphs of any kind were wholly unnecessary, and no other than the one in use would be adopted.”

The memorable discovery of electro-magnetism by Œrsted in 1819 was soon followed by attempts to apply it to the production of signals at a distance. Ampère first pointed out the possibility of making an electric telegraph with needles surrounded by wires; but he proposed to have a separate needle and wire for each signal to be transmitted. If Ampère had but thought of producing signals by different combinations of two movements, as Schweigger had before suggested for Sömmering’s telegraph, thus making two wires and two needles suffice, the practical introduction of the electric telegraph would have dated some twenty years earlier than it actually did. In 1835 Baron Schilling exhibited an electric telegraph with five magnetic needles, and he afterwards improved upon it so far as to reduce the number of needles and conductors to one—for to him the happy thought seems first to have occurred that one needle could be made to produce many signals by different combinations of its movements—sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left. Thus two movements to the left might stand for A, three for B, four for C, one to left followed by one to left for D, and so on. Schilling’s apparatus does not appear to have had the requisite qualities for practical working on the large scale. From this time, however, telegraphic inventions succeeded each other rapidly, and we meet with the names of Gauss, Weber, Steinheil, and others, as inventors and discoverers in the region of practical science which was now fairly opened, The first two used the magneto-electric machine to give motion to the needle; and the thought of using the metals of the railway line as conductors having occurred to Gauss, he found, on making the attempt, that the insulation was imperfect, but he perceived that the great apparent conductibility of the earth would allow of its being substituted for one of the metallic communicators.

But the first who succeeded, after long and persevering effort, in giving a practical character to the electric telegraph, was undoubtedly Professor Wheatstone. He had for some years been engaged in electrical researches before, in 1837–-a memorable year for telegraphic inventions—he took out a patent in conjunction with Mr. W. Fothergill Cooke. In their telegraph there were five magnetic needles, arranged in a horizontal row, each needle being in a vertical position, and the various letters of the alphabet were indicated by the convergence of the needles towards the point at which the letter was marked on the dial. The first electric telegraph constructed in England was made on this system on the London and Blackwall Railway. In 1838, Messrs. Wheatstone and Cooke had reduced the number of needles to two, and many other improvements were effected in the apparatus for signalling, it being made possible for any number of intermediate stations to receive the messages. Several great railway companies erected lines with five lines of wire, but the expense of so many conductors was found to be considerable, and Messrs. Cooke and Wheatstone, after reducing the number of needles and conductors to two, ultimately (1845) patented an instrument with a single needle. It was about this time that an incident occurred which strongly drew the attention of the general public to the electric telegraph, which had, up to that time, been considered as the more immediate concern of the railway companies. A foul crime had been committed at Salthill, by the murder of a woman named Hart; and Tawell, the suspected murderer, was traced to Slough station, and there it was found he had taken the train to London; a description of his person was telegraphed, with instructions to the police to watch his movements on his arrival at Paddington. He was accordingly followed, apprehended, tried, convicted, and executed. This incident has been graphically and circumstantially described by Sir Francis B. Head, in connection with an anecdote recording a curiously expressed recognition of the value of the telegraph in furthering the ends of justice. We give the passage in full:

“Whatever may have been his fears, his hopes, his fancies, or his thoughts, there suddenly flashed along the wires of the electric telegraph, which were stretched close beside him, the following words: ‘A murder has just been committed at Salthill, and the suspected murderer was seen to take a first-class ticket for London by the train which left Slough at 7·42 p.m. He is in the garb of a Quaker, with a brown great-coat on, which reaches nearly down to his feet. He is in the last compartment of the second first-class carriage.’ And yet, fast as these words flew like lightning past him, the information they contained, with all its details, as well as every secret thought that had preceded them, had already consecutively flown millions of times faster; indeed, at the very instant that, within the walls of the little cottage at Slough, there had been uttered that dreadful scream, it had simultaneously reached the judgment-seat of Heaven! On arriving at the Paddington Station, after mingling for some moments with the crowd, he got into an omnibus, and as it rumbled along he probably felt that his identity was every minute becoming confounded and confused by the exchange of fellow-passengers for strangers, that was constantly taking place. But all the time he was thinking, the cad of the omnibus—a policeman in disguise—knew that he held his victim like a rat in a cage. Without, however, apparently taking the slightest notice of him, he took one sixpence, gave change for a shilling, handed out this lady, stuffed in that one, until, arriving at the Bank, the guilty man, stooping as he walked towards the carriage door, descended the steps, paid his fare, crossed over to the Duke of Wellington’s statue, where, pausing for a few moments, anxiously to gaze around him, he proceeded to the Jerusalem Coffee-house, thence over London Bridge to the Leopard Coffee-house in the Borough, and, finally, to a lodging-house in Scott’s Yard, Cannon Street. He probably fancied that, by making so many turns and doubles, he had not only effectually puzzled all pursuit, but that his appearance at so many coffee-houses would assist him, if necessary, in proving an alibi; but, whatever may have been his motives or his thoughts, he had scarcely entered the lodging when the policeman—who, like a wolf, had followed him every step of the way—opening his door, very calmly said to him—the words, no doubt, were infinitely more appalling to him even than the scream that had been haunting him—‘Haven’t you just come from Slough?’ The monosyllable, ‘No,’ confusedly uttered in reply, substantiated his guilt. The policeman made him his prisoner; he was thrown into jail, tried, found guilty of wilful murder, and hanged. A few months afterwards, we happened to be travelling by rail from Paddington to Slough, in a carriage filled with people all strangers to one another. Like English travellers, they were mute. For nearly fifteen miles no one had uttered a single word, until a short-bodied, short-necked, short-nosed, exceedingly respectable-looking man in the corner, fixing his eyes on the apparently fleeting posts and rails of the electric telegraph, significantly nodded to us as he muttered aloud, ‘Them’s the cords that hung John Tawell!’”

So far we have followed Wheatstone and Cooke, because these gentlemen were the first who in any country made the electric telegraph a success on the great scale. Elsewhere than in England, laboratories and observatories had been connected by experimental lines, and models had been exhibited to Emperors, but these two Englishmen were the first to construct a telegraph for practical use. It must not, however, be supposed that they are entitled to be considered the exclusive inventors of the electric telegraph, for we have already named other distinguished investigators who contributed their share to this remarkable invention. And some years before Wheatstone and Cooke had patented their first needle telegraph, the first ideas of a system which has largely superseded the needles for ordinary telegraphic purposes, had presented themselves to a mind capable of developing them into the most efficient form of telegraphic apparatus which we possess. In October, 1832, among the passengers on board the steamship Sully, bound from France to the United States, was a talented American artist who had gained some reputation in his profession. A casual conversation with his fellow-passengers on electricity, and the plan by which Franklin drew it from the clouds along a slender wire, suggested to the artist the possibility of thus communicating intelligence by signals at a distance. He named his notion to a fellow-passenger, Dr. Jackson, an American professor, who had devoted some attention to electrical science, and this gentleman suggested several possible (and impossible) methods in which the thing might, as he thought, be accomplished. None of these suggestions, however, indicated the direction in which the idea afterwards took practical form in Morse’s hands. Jackson had among his baggage in the hold, and therefore inaccessible on the voyage, a galvanic battery and an electro-magnet, and these he described to the painter by the aid of rough sketches. When, some years afterwards, Morse had realized his ideas of electric communication, and success was bringing him the favour of fortune, Jackson advanced a claim to a share in the invention, and a famous lawsuit, Jackson v. Morse, was ended by a verdict in favour of Morse, which public and scientific opinion has unanimously endorsed. In reference to this matter, Mr. R. Sabine, the author of an excellent little treatise on “The History and Progress of the Electric Telegraph,” has thus placed the subject in its true light:

“Two men came together. A seed-word, sown, perhaps, by some purposeless remark, took root in fertile soil. The one, profiting by that which he had seen and read of, made suggestions, and gave explanations of phenomena and constructions only imperfectly understood by himself, and entirely new to the other. The theme interested both, and became a subject of daily conversation. When they parted, the one forgot or was indifferent to the matter, whilst the other, more in earnest, followed it up with diligence, toiling and scheming ways and means to realize what had only been a dream common to both. His labours brought him to the adoption of a method not discussed between them, and Morse became the acknowledged inventor of a great system. Fame and fortune smiling upon the inventor, it was natural enough that Jackson, awakening from his unfortunate indolence, should remember his share in their earlier interchange of ideas, that had, perhaps, first directed Morse’s attention to the subject of telegraphy. And, although we are compelled to pronounce dishonest those attempts which Jackson made to claim the later and proper invention of Morse—that of the electro-magnetic recorder—and strong as is our confidence in the spotless integrity of our friend, we cannot entirely ignore Jackson—little as he has done—nor deny him an inferior place amongst those men whose names are associated with the history and progress of the electric telegraph in America.”

From the time of this chance conversation with Dr. Jackson, Morse devoted his mind entirely to the subject of telegraphic communication, and although then more than forty years of age, he abandoned the profession in which he had already gained some distinction, and with the energy and elastic power of adaptability which characterize the American mind, he gave himself up to this new pursuit to such good purpose, that a few years afterwards saw his telegraph system completely established in the United States, where the lines now exceed 20,000 miles in length. At the instigation of the late Emperor of the French, the Governments of France, Belgium, Holland, Austria, Sweden, Russia, Turkey, and the Papal States, combined to award to Professor Morse, in recognition of his services to practical science, the sum of £16,000. It was in 1836 that Morse had first brought his notions into a practical form, but his apparatus has since received many improvements at his own hands, or by the useful modifications of it which have been proposed by others. The transmitting key invented by Morse has proved a valuable piece of apparatus, and its simplicity has contributed much to the success of his invention. Telegraphs on this system were erected in America in 1837, and the Morse apparatus is now more extensively used than any other in every country.

In 1840 Professor Wheatstone had succeeded in most ingeniously applying electro-magnetism in such a manner as actually to realize Strada’s sympathetic needles, by having the letters of the alphabet arranged round the circumference of a circle, and pointed at by a revolving hand. Such a dial is provided at each end of the line, and the sender of the message has only to make the index of his own dial pause for an instant at any letter; the hand of his correspondent’s dial will also pause at the same letter. These dial telegraphs are particularly convenient for many purposes, as they do not require a trained telegraphist to read or send the messages. Wheatstone’s plan has been greatly simplified by Breguet, of Paris, and others, and it is much used in mercantile and public establishments. From the foregoing discursive historical indication of the progress of the electric telegraph we shall now proceed to describe the systems most commonly employed in practical telegraphy, with a brief reference to some other interesting forms; and in following these descriptions, the reader will find the advantage of an acquaintance with the electrical facts discussed in the last article, with which facts we shall presume he has become to a certain extent familiar.

In every telegraphic system there are three distinct portions of the apparatus, which may be separately considered, as they may be variously combined. We have—

1º. The apparatus for producing the electricity, such as batteries, magneto-electric machines, &c.

2º. The conductors, or wires, which convey the electricity.

3º. The apparatus for sending and for receiving the messages.

Of the first we shall have little to add to what has been said in the last article; and before entering upon the description of the second, it will be better to discuss the third division.

TELEGRAPHIC INSTRUMENTS.

Telegraphs may conveniently be classed according to the mode in which the actions of the sender produce their effect at the point where the message is received. A first class may include those in which the current is made to deflect magnetized needles; a second may comprise those in which the current, by magnetizing soft iron, causes an index to travel along a dial and point to the letter intended; a third may embrace those in which the same action on soft iron is made to print the despatches, either in ordinary type or in conventional signs; while in a fourth class we may put the instruments which give their indications by sounds only. It is obvious that in some of these systems signs only are used, and a special training and acquaintance with the symbols is necessary, while in the rest the ordinary alphabetic letters are shown or recorded. In the former case the apparatus is simpler, and therefore for the general business of public telegraphy it is almost exclusively employed; while for private purposes, where it is often required that the messages should be dispatched and received by persons not acquainted with the symbolic language, the dial telegraph, or that which prints the message in ordinary characters, will continue to be employed, in spite of the greater complexity and greater liability to derangement of the apparatus.

In the needle telegraphs the essential part of the apparatus is a multiplier (page 493), having its needle mounted vertically on a horizontal axis, to which is also attached an indicator, visible on the face of the instrument, and formed either of a light strip of wood, or of another magnetized needle, having its poles placed in the reverse position to those of the needle within the coil. When the current is sent through the latter, the index is deflected to the right or left, according to the direction in which the current passes. Fig. 282 represents the exterior of one of Wheatstone and Cooke’s double-needle instruments, now almost entirely superseded, where needles are used at all, by the single-needle instrument. The face of the instrument is marked with letters and signs, which were supposed to aid the memory of the telegraphist, and the movements of the needles were chosen rather with that view than any other. We need not here give the code of signals, as the double instrument is now obsolete, and the code for the single-needle instrument, which was devised by Wheatstone and Cooke, has been in most cases superseded by one corresponding with the Morse code, a deflection to the right representing a dot, and a deflection to the left a dash.

The smaller case surmounting the instrument, Fig. 282, contains a bell or alarum, which serves to call the attention of the clerk at the receiving station. The first electric bell-alarum was invented by Wheatstone and Cooke. It was simply a clock alarum, put in motion by a wound-up spring. The spring was released at the proper moment by a detent, which was removed by the attraction of a soft iron armature to the core of a small electro-magnet, formed by the line wire itself; but when the current, on account of the length of the line, was too weak to produce a sufficiently strong electro-magnet, Wheatstone caused it to close the circuit of a local battery. The electric alarum has been modified in a thousand ways, and as electric alarums or bells are now coming into common use in hotels, and even private houses, we give in Fig. 283 a representation of one of the simplest forms, in which the bell is rung continuously by the electric current so long as the circuit is closed. The action is very simple: a soft iron armature, A, is attached to the steel spring, B, and prolonged into a hammer, C, which strikes the bell, D, every time the armature is attracted to the electro-magnet. The armature and the spring, E, form part of the circuit, which is continued by connectors to F, and through the coils to G. The spring, E, does not follow the armature in its motion towards the electro-magnet, and consequently the circuit is broken before the armature touches the magnet; but the hammer strikes the bell, and the elasticity of the spring, B, brings the armature back into contact with E, the circuit is closed, and the motions are repeated, so that the bell is struck a rapid succession of blows. This make-and-break movement is precisely similar to that with which Ruhmkorff’s coils are usually provided.

Below the dial of the instrument, in Fig. 282, may be seen two handles. Each of these is connected with an arrangement constituting the transmitting apparatus, by which the metallic contacts are varied according to the position of the handles. When the handle is vertical, all communication with the battery in connection with the instrument is cut off, but the coils are ready to receive any current from the line-wires. When the handle is turned to the right or left, the contacts are such that the battery current flows into the line, and deflects to the right or left the needles of both receiving and transmitting instruments. The single-needle instrument as now made is of a very simple and inexpensive construction, and it is the form principally used in connection with the working of lines of railway. One may see at every station in the United Kingdom the little vertical needle, mounted in the centre of a small perfectly plain green dial-plate; for the letters and signs with which it was formerly the practice to cover the dial have been found to distract the eye more than they aid the memory. A boy will after a few weeks’ practice learn to read the signals and to transmit messages with considerable rapidity.

The field telegraph lines, which are used in actual warfare to enable the commander of an army to communicate with every part of his forces, require as the essential condition for their construction rapidity of erection and removal, and the greatest possible simplicity and portability in the sending and receiving instruments. The wires are fastened to trees, or other fixed supports, where such are available, but artificial supports are provided in light poles which admit of being readily planted in the ground and removed. In cases where it is inexpedient or impossible to use these, the conductor may be laid along the ground, but must then be well insulated with some non-conducting material, which is capable of withstanding the action of the weather. A kind of cable is usually employed, in which is the conductor, made of copper, protected and strengthened by hemp fibres and covered with some non-conducting material. No form of needle telegraph instrument could be simpler than that represented in Fig. 284, which has been designed for military purposes. The communicator, or transmitting apparatus, here shows an arrangement very compact, and not easily deranged. The springs, A B, press against the piece of metal marked C, with which good contact is insured by providing the springs with several projecting steel points. D, E are finger-keys of ebonite or ivory; underneath are two points of a metallic conductor on which the springs can be pressed down by a touch of the finger. This conductor is in communication with the binding-screw, F, from which a wire proceeds to the negative or zinc end of the battery, while the piece, C, is in metallic connection with G, to which a wire proceeding to the positive or copper end of the battery is attached. From B a wire, H, communicates through the hinge with one end of the coil, the upper end of which is connected through the upper hinge with a binding-screw not visible in the figure, and to this the end of the line conductor is attached. From A a wire K passes to another binding-screw, by which the earth connection is made. A current arriving by the line traverses the coils and passes through H and B into C, hence by A into the earth through K. When D is depressed the current from the battery passing from G through C, A, and K, into the earth, and thus to the distant station, returns through the coils of the instrument there and along the line wire, through the coils, L L, and by H, B, D and F, to the negative pole of the battery. The reader will have little difficulty in tracing the course of the reverse currents, whether sent or received, which deflect the needles in the opposite direction.

The field telegraph instrument selected by the War Department of the United States Government is also extremely simple, communicating its signals, not by the deflections of a needle, but by the blows on an electro-magnet of its armature. The letters are indicated by various combinations of two signals—one, a single stroke of the armature; and the other, two blows in very rapid succession. The alphabet used is the “General Service Flag Code” of the American army and navy, and the signal numerals of this code are indicated by contacts of the transmitting key—one contact producing a single blow of the armature, implying the numeral 1, and two rapidly succeeding contacts causing two blows, which stand for the numeral 2. The signals are read merely by the sound made by the stroke of the armature. In the table below the code is given, dots being used to represent the contacts of the key in the “sending” instrument, and the blows of the armature in the “receiving” instrument—the single dots standing for one contact or sound, and the double dots for the double blows:

┌────────┬──────────┬────────────────────┐ │Letters.│Flag Code.│ Telegraph Signals. │ ├────────┼──────────┼────────────────────┤ │ A │2 2 │·· ·· │ │ B │2 1 1 2 │·· · · ·· │ │ C │1 2 1 │· ·· · │ │ D │2 2 2 │·· ·· ·· │ │ E │1 2 │· ·· │ │ F │2 2 2 1 │·· ·· ·· · │ │ G │2 2 1 1 │·· ·· · · │ │ H │1 2 2 │· ·· ·· │ │ I │1 │· │ │ J │1 1 2 2 │· · ·· ·· │ │ K │2 1 2 1 │·· · ·· · │ │ L │2 2 1 │·· ·· · │ │ M │1 2 2 1 │· ·· ·· · │ │ N │1 1 │· · │ │ O │2 1 │·· · │ │ P │1 2 1 2 │· ·· · ·· │ │ Q │1 2 1 1 │· ·· · · │ │ R │2 1 1 │·· · · │ │ S │2 1 2 │·· · ·· │ │ T │2 │·· │ │ U │1 1 2 │· · ·· │ │ V │1 2 2 2 │· ·· ·· ·· │ │ W │1 1 2 1 │· · ·· · │ │ X │2 1 2 2 │·· · ·· ·· │ │ Y │1 1 1 │· · · │ │ Z │2 2 2 2 │·· ·· ·· ·· │ └────────┴──────────┴────────────────────┘

There are similar signals for the numerals and for a few often-recurring syllables.

The telegraphs we have hitherto described leave no record of the despatches sent, and hence the messages cannot be read at leisure, and errors which may occur in the transmission cannot be traced to their source. A system which registers the messages as actually received has plainly many advantages over those which merely give a visible or audible signal without leaving any trace. Hence many contrivances have been proposed for making the receiving apparatus print the message in ordinary characters. Such instruments are necessarily very much more complicated in their construction than those we have already mentioned, and by no means so simple as the system we are about to describe, namely, the Morse Telegraph, which is now so largely used, being universally adopted in America and on the continent of Europe; and, since the telegraphic communication in Great Britain came into the hands of the Post-office authorities, here, also, the Morse is the system most approved.

The general arrangement of the transmitters, batteries, receiving instruments, &c., should be first studied in its simplest form, as represented by the diagram, Fig. 285. M represents the vertical coils of an electro-magnet upon which we are supposed to be looking down; the armature, A, is attached to a lever, F, which, by the attraction of the electro-magnet is therefore drawn down. In the position of the connections, as represented, no current is passing, but if K be pressed down so as to make connection at 1, at the same time it is broken at 2, a current will pass in from the positive pole of battery, B, into the line by 1, 3, L, L´, and through 3´, 2´ through the coils of the electro-magnet at M´ into the earth, and so back to the negative pole, Z. The armature, A´, will be attracted so long as the current continues. Similarly, contact made at 1´ and broken at 2´, will affect the electro-magnet, M, from the battery at B´. It should be noticed here that it is not a question of the reversal of currents sent from the same battery; the key merely enables the operator to send a current in one direction, so as to affect the distant electro-magnet whenever or so long as he depresses the key. We shall now examine the construction of the Morse receiving apparatus, one of the most complete forms of which is depicted in Fig. 286. In the present description we wish the reader to consider only the portion of the apparatus towards the left, and to suppose the absence of the electro-magnet at the right-hand side, with all the appliances immediately connected with it. He must regard the electro-magnet, A, as corresponding with M´ in Fig. 285, and remember that it is in the power of the distant operator at K to throw the current of his battery through the coils of A, by simply depressing his key. When the current passes the armature, B, it is attracted, and the lever, C, to which it is attached, turns on its bearings at D, and the end, E, of its longer arm is pressed upwards. At this end of the lever, in the earlier form of the instrument, was a blunt steel point which, while the armature was attracted to the electro-magnet, was pressed into a shallow groove in a metallic roller. Between the roller and the steel point a paper ribbon, half an inch wide, K, was unwound from the drum, L, by the two rollers, M and N, which grip the paper between them as they are turned by clockwork within the case, F.

An important improvement was effected when, instead of steel points for embossing the message, the Morse instrument was provided with an arrangement for printing the signals in ink; since the pressure required for embossing the paper is considerably greater than that needed merely to bring it into contact with the edge of a little inked disc. In the inking arrangement the strip of paper travels just below the margin of a vertical disc, turned by the clockwork, and having its plane parallel to the length of the paper strip. The narrow edge of this disc is kept charged with printer’s ink, which it receives from a roller. The end of the lever connected with the armature of the electro-magnet is formed of a light strip of metal carrying a narrow projection at the end, over which the paper passes, just beneath, but not touching, the inking disc. When the current passes, the little projection is lifted up, and raises the paper into contact with the ink, printing either a dot or a dash according to the duration of the current. The amount of force required to raise an inch or two of the length of the paper ribbon through a space not greater than the twentieth of an inch is but small, and much less than would be required to emboss the paper; so that in a great many cases the part of the apparatus which is represented in Fig. 286, on the right, may be dispensed with. In other cases it is, however, necessary; as when, from the length of the line, the currents are too feeble to give clear indications with the printing lever; and we shall, therefore, presently describe its arrangement and purpose.

The clockwork is actuated by a spring, wound by the handle G, but its action is suspended by a detent, which is released by touching the lever H. When the clockwork is in action and the current constantly circulating in the coils, a continuous line, parallel to the length of the ribbon, would be printed upon it, in consequence of the contact with the inking-disc, P, being maintained; but when a momentary current only rushes through the coils, the armature attracted but for an instant, gives rise to merely a dot on the passing paper, while a current of a little duration will cause the paper to be marked with a short line or dash.

The dot and the dash are the elementary signs of the Morse code of signals, and these are producible according to the time the contact key is held down at the distant station. By employing various combinations of these two signs, the letters of the alphabet, numerals, &c., are indicated. In selecting the combinations Professor Morse had regard to the frequency with which the different letters recur in the English language. Thus, for the letter E, which is more frequently used than any other, the symbol chosen was a single dot; and for T, which is the next most frequently employed, the dash was plainly the most appropriate; then the four only possible combinations of the signs in pairs fell to the next most frequent letters, and so on. The following table gives the complete Morse code. The eye of the reader will doubtless detect a kind of symmetry in the arrangement of the signs for the first five and last five numerals:

ALPHABET.

┌──────────────────────────┬─────────┐ │ Letter. │ Sign. │ ├──────────────────────────┼─────────┤ │ A │·- │ │ Ä │·-·- │ │ B │-··· │ │ C │-·-· │ │ D │-·· │ │ E │· │ │ É │··-·· │ │ F │··-· │ │ G │--· │ │ H │···· │ │ I │·· │ │ J │·--- │ │ K │-·- │ │ L │·-·· │ │ M │-- │ │ N │-· │ │ O │--- │ │ Ö │---· │ │ P │·--· │ │ Q │--·- │ │ R │·-· │ │ S │··· │ │ T │- │ │ U │··- │ │ Ü │··-- │ │ V │···- │ │ W │·-- │ │ X │-··- │ │ Y │-·-- │ │ Z │--·· │ │ Ch │---- │ └──────────────────────────┴─────────┘

NUMERALS.

┌──────────────────────────┬─────────┐ │ Numeral. │ Sign. │ ├──────────────────────────┼─────────┤ │ 1 │·---- │ │ 2 │··--- │ │ 3 │···-- │ │ 4 │····- │ │ 5 │····· │ │ 6 │-···· │ │ 7 │--··· │ │ 8 │---·· │ │ 9 │----· │ │ 0 │----- │ └──────────────────────────┴─────────┘

PUNCTUATION, &c.

┌──────────────────────────┬─────────┐ │ │ Sign. │ ├──────────────────────────┼─────────┤ │Full stop │······ │ │Colon │---··· │ │Semicolon │-·-·-· │ │Comma │·-·-·- │ │Interrogation │··--·· │ │Exclamation │--··-- │ │Hyphen │-····- │ │Apostrophe │·----· │ │[6]Fraction-line │------ │ │[7]Inverted commas │·-··-· │ │[7]Parenthesis │-·--·- │ │Italics or underlined │··--·- │ │New line │·-·-·· │ └──────────────────────────┴─────────┘

Footnote 6:

To be placed between the numerator and denominator of a vulgar fraction.

Footnote 7:

To be placed before and after the words to which they refer.

OFFICIAL SIGNALS.

┌──────────────────────────┬─────────┐ │ │ Sign. │ ├──────────────────────────┼─────────┤ │Public message │··· │ │Official Telegraph message│·- │ │Private message │·--· │ │Call │-·-·-·- │ │Correction, or rub out │···-· │ │Interruption │·········│ │Conclusion │·-·-·-· │ │Wait │·-··· │ │Receipt │·-··-··-·│ └──────────────────────────┴─────────┘

The length of a dot being taken as a unit, the length of a = 3 dots. dash

The space between the signs composing a letter = 1 dot.

The space between two letters of a word = 3 dots.

The space between two following words = 6 dots.

Fig. 287 is a view of the Morse transmitting key. A B is a brass lever, moving in bearings at C, and provided at the end of its longer arm with a large knob or button of some insulating material. Steel pins are screwed in at B and D, and they are so adjusted that while that at B is pressed against the projection, E, by the action of the spring, F, when the knob, K, is pressed, contact is broken at B, and established at D. D and E are each provided with a binding-screw, so that wires may be attached in the manner indicated in Fig. 285. When the key is in the position shown, a current arriving by the line-wire passes from the fulcrum, C, of the lever through the contacts into the apparatus. When the knob is pressed down the battery current enters the lever by the contact at D, and passes into the line from the fulcrum, C. The clerks who are called upon to transmit messages usually soon learn to time the contacts very accurately in accordance with the code of signals, so as to produce the dashes and lines with accuracy. However, with certain persons some difficulty was found in acquiring the requisite uniformity, and to obviate any objection on this score, Morse invented an arrangement for facilitating the signalling, which is represented in Fig. 288. This is a smooth tablet of a non-conducting substance, such as ivory, except the shaded portions, which are plates of metal having their surfaces even with that of the ivory, and all soldered to a plate of metal beneath the ivory, which places them all in communication with each other and with the binding-screw, C. The lengths of the strips of metal and those of the spaces between them correspond with the dots and dashes of the Morse alphabet as marked on the tablet. The battery wire is connected with the binding-screw, C, and the line-wire terminates in an elastic and flexible coil of insulated wire, which is attached to a short rod having an insulated handle and terminated by a blunt platinum point. This the transmitter takes in his hand and draws uniformly along the line of metal strips belonging to the letter which he wishes to telegraph. The circuit is closed while the point of the style is passing across the metallic strips. This arrangement appears to be but little used, but it is nevertheless admirable for its simplicity, and is described here as a good illustration of the mode in which the varied duration of the contacts is able to produce the signals of the Morse alphabet. With the ordinary transmitting key a clerk is able to telegraph, on the average, twenty or twenty-five words in a minute, but the receiving apparatus is capable of recording three times as many. Morse also invented a system of transmitting the messages automatically, by setting up the message in a kind of type, just as ordinary letters are arranged for printing. The type, if it may be so called, had simple projections like the slips of metal, corresponding with each letter in Fig. 288. The lines of the message were drawn under a contact-lever, which closed the circuit when lifted up by the projections. Thus the speed of transmission could be very greatly increased, and a single wire and apparatus had its capacity of conveying a great number of messages in a given time proportionately enlarged.

We have now to ask the reader’s attention to the details of the apparatus in Fig. 286, the use of which has not already been pointed out. The electro-magnet, O O´, and the parts immediately connected with it, form what is called a relay. The object of this may be illustrated by supposing that the instrument is at one end of a long line, such as that between Edinburgh and London. Let us suppose it is at Edinburgh: the currents sent from London by a battery of convenient size might not be powerful enough to magnetize the soft iron of A with sufficient intensity to give clearness to the signals. They are, therefore, made to circulate in the electro-magnet, O, where they act by attracting the armature, W, which has the form of a split tube of soft iron, attached to a very light lever, Q, adjusted with great delicacy, and so that it moves by little magnetic force. The end of the lever works between two adjustable screws, R and S, which are electrically insulated, except that R is in communication with one extremity of the coils of the electro-magnet, A. Q is in metallic communication through the pillar, T, and the binding-screw, U, with the zinc end of a battery at Edinburgh, which is called the local battery, the other pole of which communicates with the other ends of the coils, A, through the screw, U´. When no current from London is passing through O, Q is held down by the spring, W´, and the circuit of the local battery is broken; but the instant the line-current passes, the armature, W, is attracted, and Q makes contact with R, the current from the local battery rushes through the coils, A, and the appropriate movements of the printing lever are effected by its action. X is a spring for drawing down the lever, and it is provided with a screw for adjusting its tension, and Y, Z, are screws for limiting the extent of motion of the lever; under P is the little projection by which the band of paper is pressed against the inking-disc; l and e are respectively the screws for the line and earth connections.

An extremely ingenious system of signalling, by which the speed could be greatly increased, has been devised by Sir Charles Wheatstone, and is largely adopted by the British postal authorities. In this system the message is first translated into telegraphic language by a machine, which punches certain holes in a strip of stiff paper. The apparatus originally designed for this purpose by the inventor is thus described by him in the Juror’s Report, International Exhibition of 1862:

“Long strips of paper are perforated by a machine constructed for the purpose, with apertures grouped to represent the letters of the alphabet and other signs. A strip thus prepared is placed in an instrument associated with a source of electric power, which, on being set in motion, moves it along, and causes it to act on two pins in such a manner that when one of them is elevated the current is transmitted to the telegraphic circuit in one direction, when the other is elevated it is transmitted in the reverse direction. The elevations and depressions of these pins are governed by the apertures and intervening intervals. These currents, following each other indifferently in these two opposite directions, act upon a writing instrument at a distant station in such a manner as to produce corresponding marks on a slip of paper, moved by appropriate mechanism.

“The first apparatus is a perforator, an instrument for piercing the slips of paper with the apertures in the order required to form the message. The slip of paper passes through a guiding groove, at the bottom of which an opening is made sufficiently large to admit of the to-and-fro motion of the upper end of a frame containing three punches, the extremities of which are in the same transverse line. Each of these punches, the middle one of which is smaller than the two external ones, may be separately elevated by the pressure of a finger-key.

“By the pressure of either finger-key, simultaneously with the elevation of its corresponding punch, in order to perforate the paper, two different movements are successively produced: first, the raising of a clip which holds the paper firmly in its position; and secondly, the advancing motion of the frame containing the three punches, by which the punch which is raised carries the slip of paper forward the proper distance. During the reaction of the key consequent on the removal of the pressure, the clip first fastens the paper, and then the frame falls back to its normal position. The two external keys and punches are employed to make the holes, which, grouped together, represent letters and other characters, and the middle punch to make holes which mark the intervals between the letters.

“The second apparatus is the transmitter, the object of which is to receive the slips of paper prepared by the perforator, and to transmit the currents in the order and direction corresponding to the holes perforated in the slip. This it effects by mechanism somewhat similar to that by which the perforator performs its functions. An eccentric produces and regulates the occurrence of three distinct movements: 1. The to-and-fro motion of a small frame which contains a groove fitted to receive the slip of paper, and to carry it forward by its advancing motion. 2. The elevation and depression of a spring-clip, which holds the slip of paper firmly during the receding motion, but allows it to move freely during the advancing motion. 3. The simultaneous elevation of three wires placed parallel to each other, resting at one of their ends over the axis of the eccentric, and their free ends entering corresponding holes in the grooved frame. These three wires are not fixed to the axis of the eccentric, but each end of them rests against it by the upward pressure of a spring; so that when a light pressure is exerted on the free end of either of them, it is capable of being separately depressed. When the slip of paper is not inserted the eccentric is in action; a pin attached to each of the external wires touches during the advancing and receding motions of the frame a different spring; and an arrangement is adopted, by means of insulation and contacts properly applied, by which, while one of the wires is elevated, the other remains depressed; the current passes to the telegraphic circuit in one direction, and passes in the other direction when the wire before elevated is depressed, and vice versâ; but while both wires are simultaneously elevated or depressed the passing of the current is interrupted. When the prepared slip of paper is inserted in the groove, and moved forward whenever the end of one of the wires enters an aperture in its corresponding row, the current passes in one direction, and when the end of the other wire enters an aperture of the other row, it passes in the other direction. By this means the currents are made to succeed each other automatically in their proper order and direction to give the requisite variety of signals. The middle wire only acts as a guide during the operation of the current.

“The wheel which drives the eccentric may be moved by the hand, or by the application of any motive power. Where the movement of the transmitter is effected by machinery, any number may be attended to by one or two assistants. This transmitter requires only a single telegraphic wire.

“The third apparatus is the recording or printing apparatus, which prints or impresses legible marks on a strip of paper, corresponding in their arrangement with the apertures in the perforated paper. The pens or styles are elevated or depressed by their connection with the moving parts of the electro-magnets. The pens are entirely independent of each other in their action, and are so arranged that when the current passes through the coils of the electro-magnet in one direction, one of the pens is depressed, and when it passes in the contrary direction the other is depressed; when the currents cease, light springs restore the pens to their elevated points. The mode of supplying the pens with ink is the following: A reservoir about an eighth of an inch deep, and of any convenient length and breath, is made in a piece of metal, the interior of which may be gilt in order to avoid the corrosive action of the ink; at the bottom of this reservoir are two holes, sufficiently small to prevent by capillary attraction the ink from flowing through them; the ends of the pens are placed immediately above these small apertures, which they enter when the electro-magnets act upon them, carrying with them a sufficient charge of ink to make a legible mark on a ribbon of paper passing beneath them. The motion of the paper ribbon is produced and regulated by apparatus similar to those employed in other register and printing telegraphs.”

The mode by which Wheatstone proposed to indicate the letters was novel, consisting in dots only, the numbers and positions of which in two lines along the paper ribbon distinguished the letters—the system of combining the symbols being still identical with the Morse code, only the dash was replaced by a dot in the lower lines:

WHEATSTONE’S DOT SIGNALS.

˙⠄ ⠄˙˙˙ ⠄˙⠄˙ ⠄˙˙ ˙ ˙˙⠄˙ ⠄⠄˙ ˙˙˙˙ ˙˙ ˙⠄⠄⠄ A B C D E F G H I J

MORSE’S DOT AND DASH.

·- -··· -·-· -·· · ··-· -· ···· ·· ·- A B C D E F G H I J

A single dot in the upper line stood for E, in the lower line for T; a dot in the upper line, followed by one in the lower line a little to the right, represented A; one in the lower line, followed by another in the upper line, indicated N; and so on. By the dot printing it is said that Wheatstone would signal 700 letters per minute. There were, however, objections to the new code of signals: all the world had agreed to use the Morse alphabet, and it was perhaps less liable to incorrect reading; and for other reasons this more rapid signalling was unsuitable for submarine lines. The apparatus has therefore been modified to suit the dot and dash system of signals, and great improvements have been effected by Sir Charles on the original instruments, with a view of increasing the rapidity of transmission as much as possible. The paper as punched for the Morse signals shows a row of equidistant holes in the middle, by which the paper is guided uniformly forward, and in the outer rows are holes arranged in pairs, either exactly opposite to each other or obliquely—the former produce dots at the receiving station, the latter dashes. From 60 to 100 words can thus be sent and printed in one minute, and the automatic transmitting system can be applied to the needle, or any other form of telegraph.

After a clerk has for some time been habituated to working with the Morse instrument, he is able to read the message from the different sounds made by the armature, as dashes or dots are respectively marked, and he usually listens to the message, and transcribes it at once into ordinary language by the ear alone. This observation soon led to the adoption of sound alone as the means of signalling, and an instrument on this plan has already been referred to.

Among the more remarkable forms of recording telegraphs, that of Hughes may be mentioned, in which the message is printed at the receiving station in distinct Roman characters; and as only a single instantaneous current is required to be sent for each letter, the speed with which a message can be dispatched is about three times as great as with the Morse instrument. These advantages are, however, obtained only at the cost of great delicacy and complexity in the apparatus, so that it is unfit for ordinary use, although it is much employed on important lines, where competent operators and skilled mechanics and electricians are at hand to keep it duly regulated. This machine is too complicated for a full description in these pages, although it is the best form of type-printing telegraph, and possesses a special feature in the fact that the printing is done whilst the wheel carrying the types is in rapid rotation. The reader will find full and untechnical descriptions of this and of all the more important forms of telegraphic apparatus in Mr. R. Sabine’s useful “History and Progress of the Electric Telegraph,” or in Lardner’s work as edited by Sir Charles Bright.

From the numerous forms of dial telegraphs we select two for description. All these instruments are characterized by what is called the “step-by-step” movement, and differ in their mechanical details, and in the nature of the apparatus for producing the currents, some being driven by electro-magnets and others by galvanic batteries. Their principle may be easily explained. Suppose that a ratchet-wheel, having twenty-six teeth, is mounted on an axis carrying a hand over a dial having the letters of the alphabet inscribed upon it. A simple arrangement in connection with an electro-magnet, somewhat like the escapement of a clock, will serve to advance the wheel by one tooth each time a current passes. The diagram, Fig. 289, will at once make this principle clear. E is the electro-magnet, F the armature, separated by the spring, S, from the magnet, except when the current passes, when the catch, C, draws down the tooth in which it is engaged, so that a tooth passes under the point at D; and when the current ceases, the spring, S, brings up the catch to engage the succeeding tooth, and thus the hand moves step by step in the direction of the arrow, advancing each time the electric circuit is closed by one twenty-sixth of a revolution. In Fig. 290 is represented lecture-table models of a step-by-step indicating and transmitting instrument, as constructed by M. Froment, of Paris. These instruments are supposed to be at the extremities of a long line of wire. The left-hand figure is the manipulator, or sending instrument, in which the operator has merely to quickly turn round the index in the direction of the hands of a watch, by means of the knob, P, until it points to the desired letter, pause at the letter for an instant, and then quickly continue the movement until his index points to the cross at the top of the dial, where he pauses if the word is spelt out, and, if not, continues the rotation until he arrives at the next letter, and so on. All these movements and pauses the hand on the indicator will accurately repeat, and the reason of this may be seen by observing that the battery contacts are made by the projections on the metallic wheel, R, which turn with the index. The spring, N, is always in contact with the wheel, but the spring, M, has such a shape that contact is alternately made and broken as the projections and spaces pass it. It is obvious that the needle of the indicator will therefore advance over the same letters as the index of the communicator.

A very elegant dial instrument has been invented by Sir Charles Wheatstone, in which magneto-electric currents are made use of. In Fig. 291 communicator and indicator are represented mounted in one case, or small box. The larger dial is the communicator, and its circumference is divided into thirty equal spaces, in which are the twenty-six letters of the alphabet, three punctuation marks, and a +. In an inner circle are two series of numerals and other signs. About the circumference of the dial are thirty small buttons or projecting keys, conveniently arranged, so as to be readily depressed by the touch of a finger. Inside of the box a strong permanent horse-shoe magnet is fixed, and near its poles a pair of armatures of soft iron cores with insulated wire coils revolve when the handle, A, is turned, as in the machines described in the last article. In this manner a series of waves or short currents of electricity are produced in the conductors when the circuit is complete, and the currents are alternately in opposite directions, so that fifteen revolutions of the coils will produce fifteen currents in one direction and fifteen in the other. A pinion on the same spindle as the coils works with a wheel on the axis carrying the pointer on the dial, so that the pointer makes a complete revolution as often as the handle, A, makes fifteen turns. Each of the thirty currents will pass through the indicator, I, and through the line to the distant station, where they will, by a step-by-step movement, advance the needle of the indicator. So that the hand of the dial and the needle of the indicator at the sending station, and that of the indicator at the distant station, will all simultaneously be pointing to the same letter on their respective dials; and they would continue to move round these, ever pointing to the same letter, so long as the handle, A, is turned. How, then, is the sender to cause the needle of his correspondent’s instrument to pause at any desired letter? Not by stopping the revolution of the handle, A, for that could not be done so as to send just the right number of currents, inasmuch as the rotating armatures could not be instantly stopped. The mode of causing the indicators to pause at any required letter is as simple as it is ingenious. It has been already mentioned that the step-by-step movement takes place at every current which passes through the line, including the two indicators, and that thirty such currents pass at each revolution of the pointer of the communicator. But when these currents no longer flow, the indicators, of course, stop; and the stoppage of the movements is reconciled with the continuous production of the currents by having a series of little levers, each connected with one of the buttons, and so arranged that when one of these has been pushed down, the lever stops the revolution when it has come round of an arm on the same central axis as the pointer, and riding loosely on a hollow spindle, which bears the toothed wheel, driven by the pinion already spoken of. The projecting arm is provided with a spring, which falls between the teeth of the wheel, so that the arm is with certainty carried round with the wheel. But where a button has been pushed down, its lever catches the arm, lifting its spring away from the teeth of the wheel. So long as the key remains down, the arrested arm makes a short metallic circuit by its contact, and no currents pass into the line, for they take the shortest path. The key is raised only when another is depressed, and then the arm and the pointer immediately resume their revolution until they again become stationary at the letter corresponding with the key which has been pushed down. Suppose the key of +, the zero of the dial, to be down, which is the proper condition of the apparatus when a message has to be dispatched. The operator having rung a bell at the distant end, to call the attention of the person who receives his message, begins to turn the handle, A, at the rate of about two revolutions per second. In this state of affairs no current is passing into the line, and the fingers of both his communicator and indicator remain stationary, as does also that of the indicator at the distant end of the line. Now, suppose he has to spell the word “FOX.” He turns the handle A continuously with his right hand the whole time he is sending the message; and, manipulating the keys with his left, he depresses that opposite to the letter F. By this action the key opposite + is raised, for the levers are pressed into notches against a watch-chain, which has just enough slack to allow one lever to enter a notch, and therefore the pressure of another lever always raises the key last depressed. When the operator presses down the F key, the + rises, the radial arm is instantly released, and with the index is carried on to F, where it stops; and the contacts will have, during that movement, sent six currents into the line, so that the fingers of both indicators will also point to F. When the pointer of the communicator has made just a visible pause at F, he pushes down the key of O, and all the three pointers recommence their journeys towards that letter. The operator must, of course, wait until they have reached it and paused an instant, when he depresses the button opposite X; and when the index has pointed at that, he pushes down the + key, whereby the fingers all arrest their movements at that point, indicating that the word is completed. In the case supposed the word is completed by a single revolution of the pointers; but this is, of course, not usually the case; thus, in indicating the syllable “PON,” nearly three complete revolutions would be required.

This admirable little instrument was designed for the use of private persons, and is largely used in London and elsewhere. Its great compactness and simplicity of operation render it highly suitable for this purpose. There is no battery required, and all the inconvenient attention demanded by a battery is therefore dispensed with. On the other hand, the magnets gradually lose their power, and after a time must be re-magnetized; and the electro-motive force developed in these instruments is insufficient for lengths of line much exceeding 100 miles. For shorter lines, and for the purposes for which they are designed, these instruments are perfection.

Very interesting forms of telegraph are those in which a despatch is not merely written or printed, but actually transcribed as a facsimile of the writing in the original; and in this way it is possible for a design to be drawn telegraphically at the distance of hundreds of miles. Like the Hughes’ printing telegraph, the instruments which produce these apparently marvellous results require synchronous movements at the two stations. But although they are scientifically successful, there appears to be no public demand for these copying telegraphs. One of the best known is Bonelli’s, which dispatches its messages automatically when they have been set up in raised metal types precisely similar to the Roman capitals in the type of the ordinary printer. In Bonelli’s and most other copying telegraphs the impressions are produced by chemical decompositions—effected at the receiving station on the paper prepared to receive the message. By Bonelli’s instrument it is said that when the type has been set up, messages can be sent at the extraordinary rate of 1,200 words in one minute of time! The action of this system is such that it is proved to be possible to reproduce in a few seconds—at York, say—the very characters of a page of type the moment before set up in London. The limits of our space will not admit of details of this invention; but we here place before the reader a facsimile of the letters printed by it at the receiving stations.

We have to describe two other forms of instruments for receiving telegraphic signals, both contrived with consummate skill by Sir William Thomson, and, though exhibiting no new principle in any of their parts, both fine examples of beautiful adjustment of materials for a desired end. In these forms of apparatus, the delicacy of the mechanical construction, and the accurate relations of one part to another, have produced results of the greatest practical importance. Fig. 292 represents the mirror galvanometer, an instrument which has not only proved of the highest value in scientific researches, but is of the first importance in submarine telegraphy. It is in principle nothing more than the single-needle telegraph, and it is exceedingly simple in construction. A very small and light magnet, such as might be formed by a fragment of the mainspring of a watch, ⅜ths of an inch long, say, is attached to the back of a little circular mirror, made of extremely thin silvered glass, also about ⅜ths of an inch in diameter. The mirror and magnet are suspended by a single cocoon-fibre, so fine as to be almost invisible, in the centre of a coil, A, of fine silk-covered copper wire. In front of the suspended mirror, in the axis of the coil, is placed a lens of about four feet focal distance, and opposite to this is a screen having a slit, B, in the centre, behind which is placed a paraffin lamp, D. The screen is provided with a paper scale, C, divided into equal parts, and is placed at the distance of about two feet from the little mirror. It follows, from this arrangement, that when the light passing through the slit falls upon the mirror, it is reflected again through the lens, and an image of the slit is seen on the scale. This image is immediately above the slit when the beam falls perpendicularly upon the mirror, and this condition may be brought about by properly placing the apparatus with regard to the magnetic meridian. The directive power of the earth over the little suspended magnet is, however, almost annulled by properly fixing the steel magnet, E, which slides upon the upright rod, so that the suspended magnet is thus free to obey the least force impressed upon it by a current passing through the coil. And when the mirror is deflected through a certain angle, the image on the scale will be deflected to twice that angle, and thus the smallest movements of the suspended magnet are readily recognized; not only by reason of the length of the beam of light, which forms a weightless index, but because they are doubled by this increased angular deflection.

When the signals are being rapidly transmitted through a long submarine line, the currents at the receiving station are much enfeebled and retarded, and the result is that the movements of a suspended needle have by no means the decided character which is seen in the instruments connected with land lines. The signals through a submarine cable could not therefore be received by any apparatus which required a certain strength of current; but the mirror galvanometer indicates every change in the currents, and the apparently irregular motions of the spot of light can be interpreted by a skilled clerk, who, by long experience, recognizes, in quite dissimilar effects, the same signal sent by the clerk at the other end in precisely the same way. Thus a first contact, corresponding with a dot of the Morse alphabet, may cause the light to move some distance on the scale, a second contact immediately succeeding moves it but a little way farther, and a third may occasion a movement hardly perceptible.

The messages sent by the mirror galvanometer must be read as they are received; and, as a telegraphic instrument, it is wanting in the manifest advantages attending a recording instrument. Sir W. Thomson has, however, devised another receiving instrument of great delicacy, which is termed the syphon recorder. We cannot here describe its admirable mechanical and electrical details, but the chief feature is that the attractions and repulsions of the currents are made to produce oscillations in a syphon formed of an extremely fine glass tube, the shorter branch of which dips in a trough of ink, and the longer branch terminates opposite to, but not touching, a band of paper, which is continuously and regularly drawn along by clockwork while the message is being received. The tube is a mere hair-like hollow filament of glass, and the ink, which would not itself flow from a tube of so fine a bore, is squirted out by electrical repulsion when the insulated reservoir in which it is contained is electrified at the receiving station by an ordinary machine. The message as written by this instrument appears thus:

The reader, on comparing these signals with the Morse code on page 560, will have no difficulty in discovering their relation to it.

TELEGRAPHIC LINES.

It now remains to give some account of the line, that is, the conductor by which the sending and receiving instruments are united, and along which the currents flow. Overhead lines are nearly always constructed with iron wires, which are usually ⅙ in. in diameter, and are coated with some substance to protect them from oxidation. Zinc is often used for this purpose, the wire being drawn through melted zinc, by which it becomes covered with a film of this metal—a process known as “galvanizing” iron. Another mode is to cover the wires with tar, or to varnish them from time to time with boiled linseed oil, and this must be done in populous places, where the gases in the air are liable to act upon the zinc. Sometimes underground wires are used, and these are often made of copper, covered with gutta-percha, and are laid in wooden troughs, or in iron pipes. They are protected by having tape or other material, saturated with tar or bitumen, wound round them. The poles employed to suspend the overhead wires are generally made of larch or fir, of such a length that when securely fixed in the ground they rise 12 ft. to 25 ft. above it, and at the top have a diameter of about 5 in. About thirty poles are required for each mile, and every tenth pole forms a “stretching-post,” being made stronger than the others and provided with some appliance by which the wires can be tightened when required. The wires are attached to the posts by insulating supports; but at every pole there is always some “leakage,” the amount of which depends on the form, material, and condition of the insulators. Glass is quite unsuitable, because its surface strongly attracts moisture, which thus forms a conducting film. All things considered, porcelain is found to be the best insulating material for this purpose, since moisture is not readily deposited on its surface, and even rain runs off without wetting it; and it is durable, strong, and clean. Fig. 293 shows a telegraph post, with brown salt-glazed stoneware insulators, shaped like hour-glasses, with a perspective view and section of one of them. Another form of insulator, shown in Fig. 294, has a stalk or hook of porcelain, with a notch, into which the wire is simply lifted, and is protected above by a porcelain bell. This form, or some modification of it, is that most generally used.

It need hardly be remarked that only a single wire is required with most of the modern instruments for communication between any two places. Each of the many wires often seen attached to the telegraph posts along a road or railway represents a distinct line of communication—that is, one wire may connect the two termini, another may join an intermediate station and a terminus, a third may belong to two intermediate stations, and so on. We have already alluded to the discovery by Steinheil of the apparent conducting power of the earth; and if we must continue to think of complete circuits, we must regard the earth as replacing for telegraphic purposes the second or return wire, which was at first supposed essential. For instance, when a battery current had to be sent from Station A, Fig. 295, which we may suppose to be London, to Station B, which we may call Slough, it was at first thought requisite to provide a wire for the return of the current after it had traversed the coils at the receiving station. But now the connections are made as shown in Fig. 296, where the return wire is dispensed with, except a small portion at each end, which is connected with a large plate of copper buried in the earth; the arrows show the direction of the current, according to the commonly received notion. By this plan the current is increased in intensity, for the “earth circuit” appears to offer less resistance than the copper wire. The view, however, which regards the earth not as a conductor in the same sense as the wire, but as the great reservoir or storehouse of electricity, accords better with known facts.

The spread of telegraph lines, and the extent to which this mode of communication is used by the public, may be illustrated by a few particulars regarding the Central Telegraphic Office in London. The management of all the public telegraph lines in Great Britain is now in the hands of the Post Office authorities, and the arrangements at the central office in London are an admirable specimen of administrative organization. The Central Telegraph Office occupies a very large and handsome building opposite the General Post Office, St. Martin’s-le-Grand. In one vast apartment in this building, containing ranges of tables, in all three-quarters of a mile long, may be seen upwards of six hundred telegraph instruments, besides a number of stations for the receipt and transmission of bundles of messages by pneumatic dispatch. The number of clerks employed in working the instruments is 1,200, and about three-fourths of these are females. The wires from each instrument are conducted below the floor of the apartment to a board where they terminate in binding-screws, marked with the number of the instrument. The same board has binding-screws, with battery connections, and others which form the terminals of the telegraph lines, and thus the requisite connections are readily made. The batteries are placed in a lower room, which contains about 23,000 cells of Daniell’s construction, formed into nearly 1,000 distinct batteries, in each of which the number of cells varies according to the length of the line through which the current has to pass. Thus, the battery which supplies the currents that are sent through the coils of the instrument at Edinburgh consists of 60 cells, but one-sixth of that number suffices for some of the short lines. The instrument almost exclusively used is the Morse recorder, and Wheatstone’s automatic punching machine and transmitters are in constant employment. There are also some examples of other instruments to be seen in operation, such as the Hughes type printing telegraph, the American sounder, a few A, B, C, dial instruments, and a solitary specimen of a double-needle instrument. Upwards of 30,000 messages pass through this office each day.

But the most striking achievements in connection with telegraphy are the great submarine lines which unite the Old and New Worlds. Morse and Wheatstone about the same time (1843) independently experimented with sub-aqueous insulated wires, and their success gave rise to numerous projects for submarine lines. How far any of these might have been practical need not here be discussed, but it fortunately happened that some years after this, the electrical properties of gutta-percha were recognized, and this material, so admirably adapted for forming the insulating covering of wires, was taken advantage of by Brett and Co., who obtained the right of establishing an electric telegraph between France and England, and they succeeded in laying down the first submarine cable. This cable extended from Dover to Cape Grisnez near Calais, and the experiment proved successful; but, unfortunately, the cable was severed within a week by the sharp rocks on which it rested near the French coast. It proved, however, the excellent insulating property of the new material, and demonstrated the possibility of submarine telegraphic communication. Another cable was manufactured, in which the gutta-percha core was protected by a covering of iron wires laid specially on the exterior, and thus combining greater security with a far larger amount of tenacity. A view and section of this—the first practically successful submarine cable—are given in Fig. 297 of the real size. It has four separate copper wires, each insulated with a covering of gutta-percha, and the whole was spun with tarred hemp into the form of a rope, and protected with an outer covering of ten of the thickest iron wires wound spirally upon it. The cable when complete was 27 miles in length, and each mile weighed 7 tons. This cable was laid in 1851, and from that time it has been in constant use, with the exception of a few interruptions from accidental ruptures. Its success immediately led to the construction of other cables connecting England with Ireland, Belgium, Holland, &c. In 1855 the practicability of an Atlantic cable was no longer doubted, and £350,000 were soon subscribed by the public for the project. A cable was manufactured weighing 10 tons to the mile, and in August, 1857, 338 miles of it had been successfully paid out by the ships when the cable parted. Better paying-out apparatus was now devised—self-releasing brakes were constructed, so that the cable should not be exposed to too great a strain; and in 1858 another cable, requiring a strain of 3 tons to break it, was manufactured, and the laying of it commenced in mid-ocean—the Mægera and Agamemnon going in opposite directions, and paying out as they proceeded. Twice the cable was severed, twice the ships met and repaired the injury; but the third time, when they were 200 miles apart, the cable again broke. But again the attempt was repeated, and this time success crowned the effort; for on the 5th of August the two continents were telegraphically connected. Unfortunately the electric continuity failed after the cable had been a month in use.

Seven years elapsed before another endeavour was made; but the experience gained in the unsuccessful attempt was not lost; and in 1865 another cable had been constructed, and the Great Eastern was employed in laying it. In this the conductor was composed of seven copper wires twisted into one strand, covered with several layers of insulating material, and covered externally with eleven stout iron wires, each of which was itself protected by a covering of hemp and tar. This cable was 2,600 miles long, and contained 25,000 miles of copper wire, 35,000 miles of iron wire, and 400,000 miles of hempen strands, or more than sufficient to go twenty-four times round the world. It was carefully made, mile by mile, formed into lengths of 800 miles, and shipped on board the Great Eastern in enormous iron tanks, which weighed, with their contents, more than 5,800 tons. This cable was manufactured by Messrs. Glass and Elliot, at Greenwich, to whom the iron wire for the outer covering was furnished by Messrs. Webster and Horsfall, of Birmingham. Fig. 298 represents the workshops with the iron wire in process of making. The great ship sailed from Valentia on the 23rd of July, 1865, and the paying out commenced. Constant communication was kept up with the shore, and signals exchanged with the instrument-room at Valentia, which is represented in Fig. 299, where, among various instruments invented by Sir W. Thompson, may be seen his mirror galvanometer. After several mishaps, which required the cable to be raised for repairs after it had been laid in deep water, the Great Eastern had paid out about 1,186 miles of cable, and was 1,062 miles from Valentia, when a loss of insulation in the cable was discovered by the electricians on board. This indicated some defect in the portion paid out, and the usual work of raising up again had to be once more resorted to. During this process the cable parted, and Fig. 300 shows the scene on board the Great Eastern produced by this occurrence, as represented by an artist of the “Illustrated London News” who accompanied the expedition. The broken cable was caught several times by grapnels, and raised a mile or more from the bottom, but the tackle proved unable to resist the strain, and four times it broke; and after the spot had been marked by buoys, the Great Eastern steamed home to announce the failure of the great enterprise. For this 5,500 miles of cable had altogether been made, and 4,000 miles of it lay uselessly at the bottom of the ocean, after a million and a quarter sterling had been swallowed up in these attempts.

But these disasters did not crush the hopes of the promoters of the great enterprise, and in the following year the Great Eastern again sailed with a new cable, the construction of which is shown of the actual size, in Fig. 301. In this there is a strand of seven twisted copper wires, as before, forming the electric conductor; round this are four coatings of gutta-percha; and surrounding these is a layer of jute, which is protected by ten iron wires (No 10, B.W.G) of Webster and Horsfall’s homogeneous metal, twisted spirally about the cable; and each wire is enveloped in spiral strands of Manilla hemp. The Great Eastern sailed on the 13th of July, and on the 28th the American end of the cable was spliced to the shore section in Newfoundland, and the two continents were again electrically connected. They have since been even more so, for the cable of 1865 was eventually fished up, and its electrical condition was found to be improved rather than injured by its sojourn at the bottom of the Atlantic. It was spliced to a new length of cable, which was successfully laid by the Great Eastern, and was soon joined to a Newfoundland shore cable. There were now two cables connecting England and America, and one connecting America and France has since been laid. At the present time upwards of 20,000 miles of submerged wires are in constant use in various parts of the world.

Certain interesting phenomena have been observed in connection with submarine cables, and some of the notions which were formerly entertained as to the speed of electricity have been abandoned, for it has been ascertained that electricity cannot properly be said to have a velocity, since the same quantity of electricity can be made to traverse the same distance with extremely different speeds. No effect can be perceived in the most delicate instruments in Newfoundland for one-fifth of a second after contact has been made at Valentia; after the lapse of another fifth of a second the received current has attained about seven per cent. of its greatest permanent strength, and in three seconds will have reached it. During the whole of this time the current is flowing into the cable at Valentia with its maximum intensity. Fig. 302 expresses these facts by a mode of representation which is extremely convenient. Along the line O X the regular intervals of time in tenths of seconds are marked, commencing from O, and the intensity of the current at each instant is expressed by the length of the upright line which can be drawn between O X and the curve. The curve therefore exhibits to the eye the state of the current throughout the whole time. If after nearly a second’s contact with the battery the cable be connected with the earth at the distant end, the rising intensity of the current will be checked and then immediately begin to decline somewhat more gradually than it rose, as indicated by the descending branch of the curve in Fig. 302. A little reflection will show the unsuitability for such currents of instruments which require a fixed strength to work them. We may remark that, supposing a receiving instrument were in connection with the Atlantic Cable which required the maximum strength of the received current to work it, the sending clerk would have to maintain contact for three seconds before this intensity would be reached, and then, after putting the cable to earth, he would have to wait some seconds before the current had flowed out. Several seconds would, therefore, be taken up in the transmission of one signal, whereas by means of the mirror galvanometer about one-fourteenth of this time suffices, and the syphon recorder will write the messages twelve times as fast as the Morse instrument. The cause of the gradual rise of the current at the distant end of a submarine cable must be sought for in the fact that the coated wire plays the part of a Leyden jar, and the electricity which pours into it is partly held by an inductive action in the surrounding water. The importance of Sir W. Thomson’s inventions as regards rapidity of signalling, upon which the commercial success of the Atlantic Cable greatly depends, will now be understood.

By furnishing the means of almost instantaneous communication between distant places, the electric telegraph has enabled feats to be performed which appear strangely paradoxical when expressed in ordinary language. When it is mentioned as a sober fact that intelligence of an event may actually reach a place before the time of its occurrence, a very extraordinary and startling statement appears to be made, on account of the ambiguous sense of the word time. Thus it appears very marvellous that details of events which may happen in England in 1876 can be known in America in 1875, but it is certainly true; for, on account of the difference of longitude between London and New York, the hour of the day at the latter place is about six hours behind the time at the former. It might, therefore, well happen that an event occurring in London on the morning of the 1st of January, 1876, might be discussed in New York on the night of the 31st of December, 1875. There are on record many wonderful instances of the celerity with which, thanks to electricity, important speeches delivered at a distant place are placed before the public by the newspapers. And there are stories in circulation concerning incidents of a more romantic character in connection with the telegraph. The American journals not long ago reported that a wealthy Boston merchant, having urged his daughter to marry an unwelcome suitor, the young lady resolved upon at once uniting herself to the man of her choice, who was then in New York, en route for England. The electric wires were put in requisition; she took her place in the telegraph office in Boston, and he in the office in New York, each accompanied by a magistrate; consent was exchanged by electric currents, and the pair were married by telegraph! It is said that the merchant threatened to dispute the validity of the marriage, but he did not carry this threat into execution. The following jeu d’esprit appeared a short time ago in “Nature,” and, we strongly suspect, has been penned by the same hand as the lines quoted from “Blackwood,” on page 508.

ELECTRIC VALENTINE. (Telegraph Clerk ♂ to Telegraph Clerk ♀.)

“‘The tendrils of my soul are twined With thine, though many a mile apart; And thine in close-coiled circuits wind Around the magnet of my heart.

“‘Constant as Daniell, strong as Grove; Seething through all its depths like Smee; My heart pours forth its tide of love, And all its circuits close in thee.

“‘Oh tell me, when along the line From my full heart the message flows, What currents are induced in thine? One click from thee will end my woes!’

“Through many an Ohm the Weber flew, And clicked this answer back to me— ‘I am thy Farad, staunch and true, Charged to a Volt with love for thee.’”

[NOTE BY THE EDITOR.—Ohm, standard of electric resistance; Weber, electric current; Volt, electro-motive force; Farad, capacity (of a condenser).]

THE TELEPHONE.

Of more recent invention than any of the classes of instruments already mentioned for electrical communication at a distance is the telephone, which differs widely from the rest in many notable particulars. Though the telephone completely realized what had for years before been the dream of physicists, the first announcement of its capabilities was received, even by the scientific world, with some pause of incredulity; but when its powers were demonstrated, it created no small sensation. It has now, within a few years afterwards, become so familiar as an appliance of ordinary life and business, that people in general are less impressed by the wonder of it than were their fathers half a century ago by the electric telegraphs of Wheatstone and of Morse. Like all other inventions, it was led up to by preceding discoveries and tentative efforts. It will be unnecessary here to trace those successive steps with minuteness, or to attempt to adjust the claims of merit or priority that have been put forward for different inventors, but a notice of some of the stages in the evolution of this wonderful contrivance may be of interest. If the reader has no previous knowledge of the physical nature of sounds in relation to music, and especially to articulate speech, he should now refer to the brief explanation given in a subsequent chapter, at the commencement of the section on the Phonograph. He should, however, bear in mind that in that explanation are included some acoustical discoveries of a later date than some of the inventions we are here to speak of, or, at least, the real causes of which give other qualities than pitch to sound, had not been fully demonstrated when the notion of the electric telephone was conceived.

When the electric telegraph came into use and it was found possible to use it for communication of intelligence to great distances, it is not surprising that the further problem of transmitting by electricity, not signals merely, but audible speech, should be suggested. Perhaps the first scientific person who avowed a belief in the possibility of doing this, and even indicated the direction in which the solution of the problem was to be sought, was a Frenchman of science, M. Charles Bourseul. In 1854, he pointed out that sounds are caused by vibrations, and reach the ear by like vibrations of the intervening medium, and, although he could not say what took place in the modifications of the organs of speech by which syllables are produced, he inferred that these syllables could reach the ear only by vibrations of the medium, and that if these vibrations could be reproduced the syllables would be reproduced. He suggests that a man might speak near a flexible disc, which the vibrations of his voice would throw into oscillatory movements that could be caused to make and break a battery circuit, and that, at a distance, the currents might be arranged to produce the like vibrations in another disc. The weak point of this scheme was the want of any suggestion as to the mode in which this last effect was to be produced. Even when this part of the problem was solved in a few years afterwards, as we shall presently see, it was musical—and not articulate—sound that could be transmitted by an arrangement, using make and break contacts. The reader, who has understood what has been said of electrical currents, and also the account of the compounded vibrations in articulate sounds introduced into our section on the phonograph, should have little difficulty in seeing this must necessarily be the case, for the contacts could only give the succession of the vibrations by currents of equal intensity, and could not, like the yielding wax of the phonograph cylinder, correspond with their relative intensities. M. Bourseul pointed out advantages which would arise from the transmission of speech by electricity, such as simplicity of apparatus and facility in use—for, unlike the telegraph, no skilled operators would be needed—to signal messages, or time spent in spelling out the words letter by letter. He says that he had made some experiments, which promised a favourable result, but demanded time and patience, and that he is certain that, in a more or less distant future, speech will be transmitted by electricity, so that what is spoken in Vienna may be heard in Paris. One cannot help thinking that if M. Bourseul had but pursued his experiments a little longer, he would not improbably have achieved the invention of the speaking telephone, for which the world had to wait twenty years longer. As it is, we cannot but admire his scientific foresight and his confidence in the ultimate realization of his idea.

But before this came to pass, an intermediate stage was reached in the apparatus contrived by M. Reiss, a schoolmaster of Friedrichsdorf, who, in 1860, solved the problem of electrically transmitting musical tones. So far as concerned the reproduction of the sounds, this telephone was founded upon a discovery, made in 1837, by an American physicist, named Page, which was this: At the moment a bar of iron is magnetized, by sending a current through a coil surrounding it, as shown in Fig. 265, a slight but sharp click is heard. The transmitting apparatus was, in principle, Mr. Scott’s phono-autograph (described in the section on the phonograph), which had been invented in 1855. The tracing style of this was replaced in Reiss’ apparatus by a small disc of platinum, connected by a very light spring of the same metal with a binding-screw for the battery connection. Nearly in contact with the little disc was a platinum point, so arranged that the slightest oscillation of the membrane would bring them into actual contact and thus close the circuit. Worthy of remark is the very primitive nature of the materials with which Reiss made his first experimental apparatus. The receptacle for the voice was simply a large bung hollowed out into a conical cavity, and the membrane was supplied by the skin of a German sausage, while the clicking bar of the receiver was a stout knitting needle, surrounded by a coil of covered copper wire and stuck into the bridge of a violin, which, by acting as a sounding board, made the clicks produced in the needle distinctly audible. M. Reiss finally produced his telephone in the form shown in Fig. 302_a_, where I is the receiver; B, the voltaic battery; I I, the receiver; c c is a coil of insulated wire, surrounding a slender iron rod, mounted on the supports, f f, which rest on the sounding board, g g. The transmitter consists of the hollow box, A, provided with a trumpet-mouthed opening in one side and having at the top a circular piece cut out, across which is stretched a membrane with the little disc of platinum, n, fixed in its centre. When a person applying his mouth to A sings into the box, the membrane is thrown into vibrations corresponding with the notes, and at each vibration a contact is made and a click is emitted from the distant sounding box. The tones are concentrated by covering this box with the perforated lid. It was afterwards found that a trumpet mouth fitted into the receiver was still more effective. Reiss tried to use his arrangement for transmitting speech, but without success, although occasionally a syllable could be very indistinctly heard. An instrument, with springs so nicely adjusted that slight vibrations did not separate the platinum from actual contact, but merely caused change of pressure, has indeed been made to convey articulate sounds, although the arrangement was not essentially different from that of M. Reiss. This mode of action is, however, a different thing, and we shall presently see that very effective speech transmitters have been constructed by applying it in a more refined way. This musical telephone could give the pitch of the sounds in the song but not their quality (timbre), and the receiver added to the main system of vibration other sets that belonged to itself, the result being a shrill and by no means pleasing tone, recalling that of a penny trumpet. Messrs. C. and L. Wray afterwards effected some considerable improvements in M. Reiss’s telephone, with the object of intensifying the effects and producing better tones.

A further step towards the speaking telephone may be illustrated by an earlier invention of Mr. Graham Bell, a native of Scotland, who had settled in the United States. Mr. Bell’s inventions, it may be mentioned, were by no means the results of fortunate accidents or of unsought and spontaneous flashes of conception, but rather the outcome of long, patient and systematic studies. His father, Mr. Alexander Melville Bell, of Edinburgh, had assiduously cultivated acoustic science, and had in conjunction with his son, undertaken special researches into the mechanism of the organs of speech, the elements of articulate speech in different languages, and the musical components of vocal sounds. When Graham afterwards pursued these studies in the light of the fuller investigation carried out by Helmholtz, he was naturally led to the application of electricity to acoustic transmission. After some experiments in the production of vowel sounds by combinations of electric tuning forks, he invented a telephone for reproducing musical sounds at a distance, which was a great improvement on that of Reiss, and involved another principle, which indeed is the same as that utilized in his more mature invention of the speaking telephone. As a like explanation of the action would apply in both cases, the reader will find his advantage in following the observations we have to make on the earlier instrument. This consisted of what was virtually two sets of electric tuning forks, each set being acted upon by one electro-magnet. Fig. 302_b_ will suffice to show the general form of the arrangement. A plate of steel is bent twice at right angles longitudinally, and is magnetized so that any transverse slice of it would constitute an ordinary horse shoe magnet. This is seen endways in Fig. 302_b_ at M, and N. and S. will indicate the north and south poles respectively. To each limb of this broad magnet is attached a plate of steel, T, cut into teeth, just in the same way as the steel plate in a common musical box or mechanical piano, except that the teeth are not pointed. These are tuned to give severally in pairs the notes of the musical scale when thrown into vibration. Between the prongs of the series of tuning forks thus formed is an electro-magnet, L, made of a bar of soft iron, I, wound longitudinally by a coil, one end of which makes an earth connection at E and the other is connected by the wire, W W´, to complete the circuit through the coil of the distant apparatus. It will be observed that the receiving and transmitting instruments are exactly alike. Now, suppose one of these teeth is struck or otherwise thrown into vibration, the result will be, since the free ends of the teeth are magnetic poles, that alternating electric currents will be generated in the coil of the electro-magnet (see page 509), and these will flow through the entire circuit, including the coil of the distant instrument, where the magnetism generated will alternately attract and repel the polar extremities of the teeth in the steel plate. It will be understood, of course, that the fellow prong of the fork will vibrate also, and will simultaneously approach to and recede from the soft iron core, so that being of opposite polarity, the effect on the electro-magnet will be doubled. The action on the distant electro-magnet will be a rapid series of reversals of the polarities of the core, and hundreds of times in every second the ends of the steel teeth will be alternately attracted and repelled. But not all of these will thereby be thrown into vibration—only the one pair which were tuned into unison with the former can and will respond to that particular series of impulses, and the consequence will be that the same note will be emitted by the receiving instrument. If two or more notes of the transmitter be simultaneously thrown into vibration, the same notes will be heard from the receiver, for each series of currents will flow along the wire independently, just as if the other did not exist, and each will produce its particular effect on the transmitter. In this way an air played on the one instrument is heard also from the other, with all its accents and combinations. But more than this, if a tune be played on a musical instrument near the sender, or if a song be sung, the air will be reproduced by the distant receiver. The reason of this is that the steel tongues take up, or are thrown into movement by, the vibrations that have the same periodicity. The manner in which a vibratory body responds to impulses of its own periodicity may be easily shown by exposing the wires of a piano and raising the dampers, when, if a note be sung near the instrument, it will be found that a number of the wires respond, namely, those that are capable of vibrating synchronously with the constituent vibrations of the voice, for neither a voice nor a sounding wire gives forth one simple system of vibrations, the audible effect being due to the superposition or composition of several diverse elementary systems. With the same arrangement another experiment may be made, as an illustration of a matter important for our subject. Let the different vowels be sung to the piano-wire on the same note or pitch, and in the responses to each a difference of the quality of the sound will be noticed, although the piano will not distinctly give back the vowel itself. It would, however, do so if a number of its wires were strung with certain definite relations in pitch to that of the fundamental note and in unison with the voice components of the vowel sound.

It has been said above that two systems of electrical currents of different periodicity would flow along one wire independently of each other, but it should be explained that this takes place by a composition of the currents, for it is evident that at any given instant the wire can only be in one of three conditions, viz.: (1) with no current flowing; (2) with a current in the positive direction; (3) with a current in the negative direction. Such must always be the case, and, therefore, it should be clearly understood how this is consistent with the superposition of currents of different periodicities, a matter which the diagram, Fig. 302_c_, is intended to illustrate. Suppose the flow of time to be represented by the dotted lines from a to b, the whole length of which we may call 1/100th of a second, and that the current passing through the wire is represented in intensity and direction by the plain lines; the intensity by distance above or below the dotted line; the direction being positive where the plain line is above, and negative when it is below the dotted straight line, and of course no current at all occurs at the instant when the change of direction takes place. The line A will thus represent alternating currents, rising and sinking in intensity, and changing from one direction to the other, going through 600 regularly recurring phases in one second of time. Similarly, B may represent another series of currents, having here a periodicity of 500 in one second of time. These are here supposed to have greater intensity than the former. If the two currents are sent through one wire their effects are superposed, so that the actual electrical state of the wire would be represented by the curve C, which is compounded from the two others, and where it will be observed the rise and fall of the current, its maxima and minima, no longer recur at regular intervals within the space of the 1/100th of the second, the whole of that period being taken up by a less regular series of changes, the cycle being repeated only 100 times in the second. The same diagram might serve to illustrate the motions of, say, a particle of air or the drum of the ear in acoustic vibration, the distances above and below the straight line being taken to represent the displacements from the position of rest on one side and the other. If the sounds of an organ or piano consisted of only these primary vibrations, B would roughly[8] represent the movements of the wires, the air and the drum of the ear, when the note si{3}_ was sounded alone; A when the note re{4}_ was more faintly sounded alone, and then C, if these notes were sounded together, would correspond with the movements of the drum of the ear. The movements it actually makes when we hear speech, or even a single musical note, are, however, a thousand-fold more complex, for no musical instrument gives out a note with a single set of vibrations, the fundamental one being always accompanied by other sets diversely related to it, according to the class of instrument. In some cases, fifteen or sixteen sets of vibrations have been distinguished along with the fundamental note, without exhausting the possible number. Of a like order of complexity will be the currents which the wire of a speaking telephone must convey, and the difference between the undulatory nature of the currents in Bell’s musical telephone and any produced by mere make and break contacts, as in Reiss’ arrangement, will be obvious, and recognized as an important step towards the solution of the problem of transmitting speech. When Mr. Bell invented his instrument, he was seeking for a method of simultaneously transmitting by one wire several messages by audible signs merely; and by the method used in his musical telephone this is practicable, for all that would be required would be pairs of transmitters and receivers, each adjusted to one single particular note. Another point that should be noted is that in the Bell musical telephone no battery is used, for the currents are those generated by magneto-electric induction, and the circuit through the wires and coils are completed by earth connections.

Footnote 8:

The lines A and B in the diagram have not harmonic ordinates.

[Music]

In passing from the invention of the musical to that of the speaking telephone, Mr. Bell passed from the more complex to the more simple instrument, for of all apparatus by which communication can be carried on at a distance, the Bell speaking telephone is one of the simplest. He had only to make its vibrating disc of Scott’s phono-autograph into a magnetized body, capable of producing currents in an electro-magnet coil in the same way as did the vibrating plates in his musical telephone. The Bell speaking telephone was publicly exhibited for the first time at Philadelphia, in 1876, and was shown the same year to the British Association by Sir William Thomson, who pronounced it the wonder of wonders. For the first time in England, the instrument in a still simpler form was exhibited by Mr. Preece, at the Plymouth meeting of the British Association in 1877, and of nearly the same construction as is still often used, although, as we shall presently see, for battery telephones the transmitting apparatus is now made of larger dimensions, of a different shape and on a different principle. We shall describe the simple form in which transmitter and receiver are identical, each consisting externally of a small cylindrical wooden or ebonite box, and with a handle three or four inches in length of the same material. Fig. 302_d_ is a section of the instrument where N S is a cylindrical steel magnet, on one end of which is wound the small coil B, made of fine silk covered copper wire, the extremities of which pass through the handle M at f f, and are connected by the binding screws I I´ with the line wire C C´. Close to the coil covered end of the magnet is a very thin diaphragm of iron, L L´, and when this is thrown into vibration by the voice speaking into the trumpet-mouth opening, R R´, its movements produce currents in the coil according to the principles that have already been explained, for it will be observed that the iron disc is magnetized by the inductive action of the permanent magnet N S. These currents passing through the coil of the receiving instrument raise or lower the intensity of the magnetic force in it, so that the distant disc reproduces the vibrations of the transmitter. Such is at least an obvious explanation of the action of this very simple arrangement; but from a number of experiments and observations that have been made with modifications of the instruments, it would appear that other and much more complex phenomena concur in producing the effects. It has indeed been suggested—and the idea is supported by numerous experiments—that, in these telephonic transmissions of speech, vibrations are concerned which are not at all of the mechanical kind we have been dealing with in these explanations, but are molecular.

The Bell telephone is used by speaking distinctly before the mouth-piece of the transmitter, while the listener at the other end of the line applies the mouth-piece of his instrument to his ear, and one wire is sufficient with good earth connections, although sometimes a second wire is employed to complete the circuit. It is also found advantageous to have two instruments in the circuit at each end, so that one may be held to the ear while the operator is speaking through the other. In this way, a rapid conversation can be carried on with the greatest ease, or again, an instrument may be held at each ear, by which arrangement the words are more distinctly heard. It is not necessary to shout, as this has no effect, but to speak with a clear intonation, and some voices are found to suit better than others. The vowel sounds are best transmitted, except that of the English e, which, with the letters g, j, k, and q, are always somewhat imperfectly transmitted. A song is very distinctly heard, both in the words and the air, and the voice of the person singing is readily recognized. Several instruments may be included in one circuit at different stations, so that half a dozen persons may take part in a conversation, and questions and answers may be understood even when crossing each other. If two distinct telephone circuits have their wires laid for a certain distance (two miles) near each other, say a foot or more apart, and without any connection whatever, listeners at the end of the one line will hear the conversation exchanged through the other line. Other forms of the instruments have been arranged, by which a large audience may hear sounds produced at a distance, as, for instance, when a cornet-à-piston was played in London, it was heard by thousands of people assembled in the Corn Exchange at Basingstoke.

It would be impossible within our limits to even briefly describe the great number of improvements and modifications of Bell’s system that were devised by various persons soon after the invention was brought out, and many additional complications were introduced into some of the arrangements. Advantage was also taken to a greater or less extent of another principle affecting the strength of electric currents, to which we have now to call the reader’s attention, and to exemplify by one of the simplest instruments, leaving detailed accounts of the various forms in which it has been applied to be found in special treatises. The reader should first turn back to page 400, where he will see an expression of the strength of a battery current. It will be observed that the current may be increased or diminished by diminishing or increasing R, the external resistance, without changing the other terms. Now M. Du Moncel discovered, as far back as 1856, that an increase of pressure between two conductors in contact, and conveying a current, caused a diminution of the electrical resistance, and this discovery was utilized for telephonic purposes by Mr. Edison in his invention of the carbon transmitter (1876). In this there is no magnet, and a stretched membrane may take the place of the metallic plate, although a circle of photographers’ ferro-type plate gives better results. A pad of india-rubber, cork, or other material is fixed on the plate, and rests upon a carbon disc, which again is in contact with a metallic conductor. Between the latter and the carbon the current from a constant battery passes. When the plate is thrown into vibration by speaking into the mouth-piece, the variations of pressure conveyed to the carbon cause variations in the resistance of its electrical contact, and thus a series of undulations are produced in the current, and these affect the electro-magnet of a Bell receiving instrument in the circuit as before, so that the sounds are reproduced. It is now time to say a word about the share in the invention of the speaking telephone which has been claimed by Mr. Elisha Gray, also of the United States, who, at the time Mr. Bell applied for the patent for his instruments, produced drawings and descriptions of a plan he had devised for transmitting speech by undulating electrical currents, and it has been admitted that the plan he had conceived was perfect in principle. He proposed to use a battery current, and his receiving instrument was nearly the same as Bell’s. The undulations of the current were also determined, as in Edison’s telephone, by changes in the external resistance, but this was effected in a different, though equally simple manner. To a membrane stretched across the lower end of a short wide tube that formed the mouth-piece of the transmitter, and was placed vertically, was attached a piece of platinum wire, conveying the current and dipping into a liquid of moderate conductivity, but not quite touching another platinum electrode fixed at the bottom of the vessel containing the liquid. The space of liquid traversed by the current being thus varied by the oscillations of the membrane, the resulting variations of the resistance produced the requisite undulations in the intensity of the current. Both Mr. Bell and Mr. Gray applied for patents on the 14th February, 1876, but the American Patent Office recognized the claim of the former as prior.

Du Moncel’s observation was applied by Mr. Hughes in the construction of an instrument, which he named the microphone. This was in the same year that Edison had brought out his carbon telephone, and a certain similarity, resulting from the identity of the principle employed, led to an acrimonious controversy on what were supposed to be rival claims. But the microphone differs so much in arrangement and performance from the other instrument as to constitute a distinct invention. The instrument, if it may be so called, is simplicity itself, in the form represented in Fig. 302_e_, which is one of the most sensitive. There, C and C´ are two small blocks of carbon, fixed on a small upright piece of wood. Two cup shaped cavities are hollowed out in the carbon blocks, and these serve to hold loosely, in a nearly vertical position, a small rod of gas retort carbon pointed at the ends. This rod is only about one inch in length, and the lower end merely rests on the bottom of the cup in C´, while the other is capable of moving about in the upper cavity, the vertical position being nearly maintained in a state of unstable equilibrium. The carbons are in the circuit of a voltaic cell or small battery, B, in the line through a Bell receiving instrument, which may be at a distance. When the microphone is to be used, it is placed on a table with a cushion or several folds of wadding beneath its base. If the receiver be applied to the ear of a listener, he will distinctly hear every word pronounced by one speaking near the microphone, even in a low tone; but a loud voice may be heard when the speaker is 20 or 30 feet from the instrument. The minutest vibrations conveyed to the stand are perceived at the receiver as loud noises. The tread of a fly walking over the board, S, is heard like the tramp of a horse, and the ticks of a watch are audible in the receiver when the ear is several inches away from it. The slight touch of a feather on the stand is distinctly audible, and a current of air impinging upon it is reproduced as the noise of a stream of water. The microphone is, in fact, the most sensitive detector of vibrations that is known, and its employment as a transmitter has brought the telephone to its present perfection. It has been constructed in an endless variety of forms, according to the purposes for which it is intended, and its simplicity is as wonderful as its extreme sensitiveness. We will further illustrate these qualities by an experiment of Mr. Willoughby Smith’s on the same principle. Instead of the two carbon blocks, he laid on the table, in parallel positions, two small rat tail files, and completed the circuit by a third file, laid across the others at right angles. This arrangement constituted so sensitive a transmitter that the listener at the distant Bell receiver could hear even the faint sound of the speaker’s breathing. Even three common pins, similarly crossed, make an effective transmitter. The feebleness of the variations in the current requisite to make the Bell receiver produce sounds is extraordinary, and a very weak battery current is sufficient, even under the circumstances of ordinary practical use. Still more remarkable is the fact that in favourable conditions the microphone is capable of transmitting sound without any battery at all, but merely with connections to earth, when the ticking of a watch placed upon the stand has been distinctly heard at the distance of nearly one-third of a mile, and speech, also, has been transmitted with unusual distinctness with the battery left out and merely a few drops of water placed at the carbon contacts; indeed, it is said that, even without the water, the voice may be heard. This effect has been attributed to the carbons and water forming a battery themselves, and in the latter to the moisture of the speaker’s breath supplying the fluid element. But, again, the microphone will not only transmit speech, but, under certain arrangements, it will reproduce it (when one of the carbon electrodes is attached to a membrane), although the result is less distinct than with the Bell receiver. It is, however, not so easy to explain how mere variations of current intensity can produce the effect where there can be no magnetic attractions and repulsions. We must, no doubt, look for the cause in some other property of electric currents. The transmitters used in various lines of telephonic communication, erected by the Post Office or by companies in Great Britain, are generally applications of the principle of the microphone, and not of that of either Mr. Bell’s or Mr. Edison’s original instrument. But more recently, Mr. Edison has most ingeniously adapted variations of sliding friction, as modified by the action of the undulatory current on a liquid electrolyte between the sliding surfaces to the production of a loud speaking telephonic receiver—that is, one by which the sounds are made audible to a large assembly. From this instrument, the notes of a cornet-à-piston, played in Brighton, have been distinctly heard throughout a large hall in London.

Another curious transmitter is formed of a fine jet of water traversed by an electric current. Acoustic vibrations are easily set up in the jet, and these modify its conductivity so as to produce corresponding undulations of current intensity.

It would take long to point out the many scientific applications of so sensitive an instrument as the microphone with its Bell receiver. As a medium for conveying speech to a distance, whether for purposes of peace or war, its use is sufficiently obvious. Some curiosities of musical transmission have been noticed, and such experiments are repeated from time to time with increasing success. It has been applied to many purposes in surgery and medicine. In many cases of deafness it has made conversation easy. Even the passage of the molecules of gases, when diffusing through porous partitions, Mr. Chandler Roberts has by its means made audible. The distances to which speech can now be transmitted are considerable, as conversations have been carried on by persons nearly 300 miles apart.

LIGHTHOUSES.

Who does not regard with interest the lighthouses which at night throw their friendly beams across the sea, to guide the mariner in his course, and warn him of perils from sunken rock or treacherous shoal? The modern lighthouse, with its beautiful appliances, is entirely the result of the applied science of our age; and it affords a fine example of the manner in which experiments, carried on to determine natural laws apparently of an abstract character and without any obvious direct utility, give rise to inventions of the highest importance and most extended usefulness. The lofty structures which were erected near certain ancient harbours, and of which the Pharos of Alexandria is the most memorable example, burned on their summits open fires of wood; and whatever beacons existed from that time down to the end of last century were merely blazing fires of wood or coal. The lighthouses of the South Foreland, which were established in 1634, displayed coal fires until 1790, and the lighthouses in the Isle of Man were first illuminated with oil only in 1816. Down to the beginning of the present century, therefore, the modern lighthouses showed no improvement on the ancient plan. Even the Tour de Cordouan, at the mouth of the Garonne river, which was completed in 1610, and is one of the most famous of modern lighthouses, from its great height (200 ft.), and the care which has always been given to render it efficient, showed down to 1780 merely a fire of billets of wood, the upward loss of the light being diminished by a rude reflector in the form of an inverted cone. In the improved means of obtaining artificial light, and in the admirable optical apparatus by which that light is utilized, we find the vast superiority of modern lighthouses. But these are sometimes erected on isolated, and almost submerged, rocks, exposed to the fury of the waves. The difficulties which have to be overcome in their construction cause some lighthouse towers to rank among the best specimens of engineering skill. We may, therefore, consider under the present head—the towers; the sources of light; the optical apparatus and its accessories.

One of the best-known lighthouses on the English coast is that on the Eddystone Rock, about 14 miles S.S.W. from Plymouth. The structure which now[9] stands upon this rock was the work of Smeaton, and was completed in 1759. The stones forming the lower courses of this tower, which is represented in Fig. 303, half in section and half in elevation, are dovetailed into the rock itself and into each other. The masonry is carried up in a solid mass for about 12 ft., the stone used being granite, which also constitutes the whole of the exterior masonry. The four upper apartments are formed with arched roofs, the side-thrust of which is counteracted by iron chains surrounding the tower. These chains, which are bedded in lead, were placed in their positions while hot, and by their contraction bound the structure together with great force. The masonry of the tower is 68 ft. high, and this is surmounted by the light-room, the total height from the lowest course of stonework to the gilt ball at the top being 94 ft., or nearly half that of the London Monument. The diameter at the base is 26 ft., and that at the top 15 ft. The light-room is of an octagonal shape, and is made of iron framework, glazed with thick plate glass. Below this are two store-rooms, a kitchen, and a bed-room. The Eddystone has now breasted the storms of more than a hundred years, and it remains as firm as the rock it is built on. Fig. 304 is a picture of this noble lighthouse, with the British fleet passing close to it, during a furious gale on the 22nd of October, 1859, or exactly a century after the completion of the structure. The incident of the man in the water, which occupies the foreground, is not an imaginary one, for it is recorded that the Trafalgar stopped in the midst of the storm to pick up a man who had fallen overboard. For eighteen hours the ships encountered the fury of the tempest, keeping out at sea in open order throughout the night. They wore in at dawn, came up the Channel in line of battle, steamed into Portland, and took up their anchorage without the loss of a sail, a spar, or a rope-yarn.

Footnote 9:

Smeaton’s tower proving unsafe, has since been taken down and replaced, in 1882, by one from Mr. Douglass’ design.

The lighthouse tower on the Bell Rock is 100 ft. high, 42 ft. in diameter at the base, and 15 ft. at the top. The Inchcape Rock, on which it is placed, is the scene of Southey’s ballad of “Ralph the Rover,” and the lighthouse here is one of the most serviceable on the Scottish coast, for the dangerous spot on which it is placed lies in the direct track of all vessels entering the Firth of Tay from the German Ocean. The rock is submerged at spring tides to the depth of 12 ft. The tower bears a close resemblance in shape to that of the Eddystone: it is circular and faced with massive blocks of granite. The lower part, to the height of 30 ft., is solid, and the door is reached by a bronze ladder. The building contains five apartments, and a cistern for storing fresh water for the use of the keepers, who have sometimes to remain in their solitary situation for six or eight weeks together, the weather preventing the possibility of any communication with the shore.

Still loftier than the tower on the Bell Rock is that which rises in the midst of the Skerryvore Reef, 12 miles from Tyree, a small island off the coast of Argyleshire. This building may be taken as a typical specimen of a detached lighthouse, and the difficulties overcome in its construction attest the skill of the engineer, Mr. Alan Stevenson, who has written a highly interesting account of the work. The rocks here are of gneiss, an extremely hard formation, and their surfaces are worn as smooth as glass by the action of the water. On one of a numerous series of these small islets, where only a narrow strip of rock, a few feet wide, remains above the surface at high water, and this divided by rugged lumps into narrow gullies, through which the sea constantly rushes, the lighthouse is built. The work was commenced in 1838 by the erection of a temporary wooden barrack on piles at a little distance from the site chosen for the foundation. In a gale during the winter the whole of this structure was swept away in one night. Another, more strongly secured, was built the following summer, and in this Mr. Stevenson and his men remained sometimes for fourteen days together, the weather preventing any passage to or from the shore: here the men were sometimes awakened from their hard-earned repose by the water pouring over the roof, and by its rushing through the crevices, while the erection swayed and reeled on its supports. Mr. Stevenson relates that one night the men became so alarmed for the stability of their shelter that some descended, and sought in cold and darkness a firmer footing on the rocks. Two summers were occupied in cutting the foundations, and the blasting of the rock in so narrow a space was an operation attended with no little danger. A small harbour had to be formed at the rocks for the vessels bringing the ready-prepared stones of the building from the quarries, where also piers were built expressly for the shipment of the materials. In designing his tower, the engineer preferred to oppose the force of the waves by the weight of his structure, rather than to rely on dovetailed or joggled-jointed stones. Measurements were made of the force of the waves, which at Skerryvore was sometimes equivalent to a pressure of 4,335 lbs. on the square foot; and calculations based on these measurements showed that the mere weight of the superstructure would amply suffice to keep the stones immovable. Nearly 59,000 cubic feet of stone were used, or about five times the quantity contained in the Eddystone Lighthouse, and the total cost of the building was £87,000.

The use of iron, as a building material advantageously replacing stone, has extended to lighthouses, and many have been constructed entirely of cast and wrought iron, or partly of iron and partly of gun-metal, which is not readily acted on by the sea spray. Such lighthouses are cheap, easily and quickly erected, strong enough to bear shocks and vibrations, and proof against fire, lightning, and earthquakes. The lighthouse on Morant Point, Jamaica, is made of iron, cast in England; and it was erected in a few months at a cost of one-third of that of a stone tower of the same altitude. Its height is 105 ft., and the shaft is formed of iron plates in segments of 10 ft. high, which are bolted together at their flanges. At Gibbs Hill, Bermuda, is a lighthouse 130 ft. high, constructed in the same manner.

So inefficient, inconvenient, and uncertain were the lamps or other means of artificial illumination known up to nearly the beginning of the present century, that nothing better could be found for the Eddystone Lighthouse for forty years after its erection than tallow candles stuck in a hoop—a means of illumination which would scarcely now be tolerated even in a booth at a village fair. To M. Argand, a Frenchman, we are indebted for the first great improvement in lamps. The admirable invention which bears his name is, as everybody knows, an oil lamp with a tubular wick, which occupies the annular space between two metallic tubes, in such a manner that a current of air rises through the inner tube, and thus reaches the interior of the flame. This current, and the current which supplies the exterior, are increased by surrounding the flame with a tall glass chimney; and a contraction of the chimney, just above the flame, aids greatly in distributing the air, so as to insure the complete combustion of the oil. In the original lamp the supply of oil to the flame depended on the capillary attraction in the meshes of the wick. M. Carcel applied clockwork to continuously pump up the oil into the burner, so that, by overflowing, it was maintained at an invariable level. This arrangement added greatly to the intensity and steadiness of the light; and, on account of the uniformity of its flame, the Carcel lamp has been selected as a standard to which, in France, photometric determinations are referred.

The power of the Argand lamp, as employed in lighthouses, is greatly increased by the plan of employing several concentric wicks instead of one. Between these wicks there are, of course, open spaces, through which the air obtains access to the flame, and the current of air is made more rapid by the use of a very tall chimney. The large amount of heat produced by the combustion of so much oil in a small space is partly carried off by the excess of oil which is made to overflow the burner—about four times the quantity consumed being constantly pumped up into the burner for this purpose. Lighthouse lamps are made with two, three, and four wicks; and the oil is forced up in the burners either by clockwork or by the pressure of a piston loaded with a weight. The following table gives the sizes of the burners and the illuminating powers of the lamps:

┌──────┬──────┬────────┬─────────┐ │Order │Number│Diameter│Intensity│ │ of │ of │ in │of Light │ │Light.│Wicks.│inches. │in Carcel│ │ │ │ │ Lamps. │ ├──────┼──────┼────────┼─────────┤ │ 1 │ 4 │3½ │ 23│ │ 2 │ 3 │2–15/16 │ 15│ │ 3 │ 2 │1¾ │ 5│ └──────┴──────┴────────┴─────────┘

The quantity of oil consumed in these lamps is less than that proportional to the increase of the light:—for example, although the four-wick lamp gives twenty-three times the light of the simple Argand, it only consumes nineteen times the quantity of oil. The oil used in these lamps is colza; but experiments have been made with a view of introducing petroleum, which has the advantages, not only of being cheaper and uncongealable by cold, but of giving a whiter and more brilliant light. Hitherto, however, this substance has answered only with lamps of one wick.

Coal-gas has been applied to the illumination of lighthouses, and as it gives a light of great brilliancy and steadiness, when consumed in proper burners, it has certain advantages over oil lamps, which have caused it to be employed in situations where a supply can be readily obtained. The light produced by lime, ignited by the combustion of coal-gas or hydrogen mixed with oxygen, has also been suggested; but this plan is not without risk of interruptions and of dangerous accidents, and it has been considered inadvisable to entrust the apparatus to the persons who commonly take charge of lighthouses.

The electric light has been very successfully applied in certain lighthouses, since the mode of producing steady currents by magneto-electric[10] machines has come into use. The lighthouses at the South Foreland have been thus illuminated by a machine constructed by Mr. Holmes in 1862. A very powerful electric light is exhibited from the lighthouse on Cape Grisnez; and the adoption of this source of light has been extending, as it is far more intense than any other artificial light, and can be sent in more concentrated beams across the sea, on account of its being emitted from a space which is practically a point. These circumstances cause the beams of the electric light to possess greater power of penetrating the atmosphere than those from any other source.

Footnote 10:

Now superseded by the dynamo-electric machines.

But it is perhaps in the optical apparatus of lighthouses that the greatest improvements and most admirable inventions are to be found. When only the blaze of an open fire furnished the guide to the mariner, the means resorted to in order to throw across the sea the light which issued from the flames upwards or landwards, appear to have been of the rudest kind, even where such attempts were made at all. The inverted cone on the Tour de Cordouan has been already mentioned, and we read of cases in which screens of sheet brass were placed on the landward side, to throw back the light seaward.

Here it may be proper to examine the conditions which determine how the light can be made most available for the guidance of the mariner. Everybody knows that the light from a luminous body spreads out from it in all directions equally. Thus, if we simply place an electric light on a tower such as that on the Bell Rock, but few of the luminous rays can benefit the mariner: namely, those which fall upon the sea or are directed to the horizon. A much larger portion of the light will stream upwards and be lost in space; another part will descend towards the base of the tower, and be equally wasted. Again, if the situation of our lighthouse were on the shore of the mainland, all the light which passes landwards, whether horizontally or not, would be entirely lost for our purpose. Even if, in the case of an isolated lighthouse, we can send out all the light in a nearly level zone over the sea to the horizon, the intensity of the illumination will diminish, on account of the widening space, as the distance increases. The question, therefore, arises whether it is possible to send the whole of the light in one unbroken beam, not liable to this kind of enfeeblement, so that the only loss it can experience may be absorption by the imperfectly transparent atmosphere.

There are two means of gathering up all the otherwise useless beams, and sending them in such a direction as to reach the eye of the distant mariner. The one is by reflection from mirrors, and the other by refraction through lenses. The apparatus employed in the first process is termed catoptric, and in the latter dioptric.

When a luminous point is placed at the focus of a parabolic mirror, all the rays which fall upon the mirror are reflected by it in a direction parallel to its axis, so that they form a cylindrical beam. This is the method which was adopted in the first improvements effected in lighthouses. The parabolic reflector was first used at the Tour de Cordouan in 1780, and soon afterwards metallic reflectors became the ordinary appliances of lighthouses, and they are still largely used. Such reflectors are made of sheet copper, thickly plated with silver, about 6 oz. of this metal being applied to 16 oz. of copper. They are formed by carefully beating a circular sheet of the plated copper into a concave shape, which is finally brought to the exact curve by the aid of gauges, and is then turned and polished. The largest of these reflectors have a diameter of 2 ft. at the mouth, as it is termed, for the reflector comes forward in advance of the lamp, the chimney and burner passing through openings in the metal. The flame of the lamp occupies such a position that its brightest part is in the focus of the mirror; but since the focus is a point merely, whereas the flame has a certain magnitude, it follows that the want of coincidence of the other luminous points with the focus produces a certain divergence in the reflected rays, so that the beam is not accurately cylindrical. This, however, is far from being a disadvantage practically, for it has the effect of widening a little the strip of sea illuminated by the beams. But all that portion of the light which escapes from the mouth of the mirror without being reflected is radiated in the ordinary manner, and is practically lost. We shall presently see how even this light may be gathered up and brought into the main beam.

Let us suppose a number of such reflectors, each with its own lamp, placed in a horizontal circle, so as to throw their beams towards different points of the compass. If eight lamps were so placed, eight beams of light would stream out across the water, like eight spokes of a wheel; eight sectors would, however, be left unilluminated, and for ships in these spaces the lighthouse would be virtually non-existent: its rays could only reach vessels within the eight narrow strips traversed by the beams. If we double the number of reflectors in the circle, or if we arrange another series of eight in a circle above or below the others, so that a lamp in the second circle coincides vertically with an interval in the first, the effect will be that we shall have sixteen beams, and sixteen dark sectors, instead of eight; that is, only a very small part of the expanse of water will receive the benefit of the light. It must be remembered that the breadth of the cylindrical beam would not be greater than the diameter of the mirrors, and that the space illuminated by it has the same breadth at all distances; or rather, that this is nearly the case, for the light does not all issue precisely from the focus of the mirror. Thus, even if we use a very great number of mirrors, we shall succeed in illuminating but an extremely small proportion of the sea horizon. This evil is met by giving a horizontal rotatory motion to the reflectors, causing the beams to sweep over the whole expanse of the waters; and thus from every ship the light will be visible for an instant. The rotation is produced by clockwork, duly regulated, so that an uniform motion is obtained. The regular appearances and eclipses of the light prevent the mariner from mistaking for a lighthouse a bright star near the horizon or an accidental fire on the coast; and, further, it being necessary that the lighthouses along any particular coast should be readily distinguishable from each other, it becomes easy, by assigning to each lighthouse a different period of revolution, to individualize them, so that the mariner shall be in no danger of confounding one with another.

But when the lighthouses on a certain extent of coast are numerous, this mode of distinguishing them becomes inconvenient, as mistakes might easily be made in small differences of time; and it would be inexpedient to keep long intervals of darkness. Hence other methods have been resorted to in addition—such as red lights, or lights alternately red and white. The following are the distinctions made use of among the Scottish lighthouses, including the double lighthouses, which give a leading line to the navigator:

1. Fixed lights. 2. Revolving lights. 3. Revolving, with red and white beams alternately. 4. Revolving, with alternately two white beams and one red. 5. Revolving, with alternately two red beams and one white. 6. Flashing, in which the light increases and decreases at regular intervals. 7. Intermittent, in which, by means of a revolving screen, the light is abruptly cut off and exhibited. 8. Double fixed lights. 9. Double revolving lights, which appear and disappear at the same instant.

The efficiency of reflectors depends on the state of polish of the surface, and even with the most brilliant polish there is a very large loss of light: in the ordinary condition of lighthouse reflectors, it is found that one-half of the light is lost at the surface of the mirrors. An attempt was made in England, about the beginning of the present century, to substitute glass lenses for mirrors. But it was found that, in spite of the loss occurring in reflection, the mirrors produced a more intense beam. No doubt the person who made the attempt did not observe the true conditions of the problem. It was Fresnel, the illustrious Frenchman, whose name has already been mentioned in these pages, who successfully solved the problem. He saw that it would be necessary to give the lenses a short focal length, and at the same time to have their diameters very great. The dimensions required by these conditions far exceeded any that could be given to lenses formed in the ordinary manner; and even if they could be so formed, the great thickness of glass which would be necessary would diminish the transparency, and unduly increase the weight of the apparatus to the detriment of the revolving apparatus. An idea now occurred to Fresnel’s mind, which, although similar to previous projects, he conceived independently, and was undoubtedly the first to carry out. This was the idea of the lentille à échelons, or “lens in steps.” The construction of this will be understood from Fig. 305, where a b is a section of a lens in steps, and the dotted line, c, shows the thickness an ordinary lens of the diameter a b would have. Fresnel kept only the marginal part of such a lens; and inside of the ring formed by this, he fitted the margin of a second large lens having the same focal distance; inside of this another ring, and so on; and in the centre a large lens of moderate thickness. He also placed above and below the lens the concentric prisms, e e´ and f f´, which, by refraction and total reflections (see page 399), send the rays parallel to the axis of the lens. Fresnel also contrived methods of economically grinding such lenses and prisms with precision.

Fresnel saw that it would be useless to apply lenses in lighthouse illumination unless the intensity of the light given out by the single-wick Argand lamps then in use could be considerably increased, without much enlarging the flame. Accordingly he devoted himself, in conjunction with his friend Arago, to this preliminary consideration. Their studies and experiments led them to the construction of the lamp with several concentric wicks—by which a brilliancy of light is obtainable twenty-five times greater than that of the single-wick Argand. The light which the improved lamp, when combined with Fresnel’s lenses, could send to the horizon, was equivalent to that which would be given by the united beams of 4,000 Argand lamps without optical apparatus; and it was eight times greater than any which could be produced by the reflectors then in use. The first apparatus constructed on Fresnel’s plan was placed on the Tour de Cordouan in July, 1823.

France led the van in the erection of the most perfect lighthouses in the world, and it was not until 1835 that, by the strenuous advocacy of Mr. Alan Stevenson, a dioptric apparatus was employed in a British lighthouse; but at the present time Fresnel’s principle has been adopted in the majority of British lighthouses. Fig. 305 is a part elevation, with the section, of a catadioptric apparatus of the first class. In plan it is a regular octagon, and it sends out eight beams, which are directed to the horizon, and made to sweep over the sea by its regular rotation, produced by clockwork contained in the case, A. The whole frame is very accurately balanced, and turns on its bearings, and the rollers, h, h, with great smoothness and steadiness. The moving power is given by the descent of a weight attached to a chain or cord, which is wound round a barrel. One train of wheels is connected with apparatus for regulating the speed, and to this an indicator is attached which registers the number of revolutions made in an hour. There is also a contrivance of some kind for maintaining the motion while the weight is being wound up. The reader will observe that all the light of the lamp, L, is utilized, except that which is directed towards the base and top of the apparatus—a quantity less than one-fifth of the whole. About 45 per cent. of the light emitted by the lamp falls on the refracting lenses; 22½ on the upper reflecting prisms; and 13½ on the lower reflecting prisms. The brightest part of the flame is placed so that the beams from it are directed towards the sea horizon, and the space between the horizon and the neighbourhood of the lighthouse receives ample light from the other parts of the flame. Thus a ship, or any part of the sea within the range of the lighthouse, will see the light appearing at regular intervals, as one after another of the eight beams passes across it, the intervals being one eighth of the time in which the apparatus completes its revolution. The zones of totally reflecting prisms, shown at e e´, f f´, Fig. 305, were not adopted in British lighthouses until 1844, when the Skerryvore light was exhibited with the complete apparatus represented in the drawing.

The optical apparatus for lighthouses is constructed of certain sizes, adapted to the different situations in which it is to be used. The apparatus we have just described is made in six forms, according to the order of light required. The first three orders are for sea lights, the rest for harbour lights; and the following are the dimensions of the apparatus for each order of revolving or fixed lights:

┌─────────────┬─────────────┬─────────────┬───────────────────────────┐ │ Order. │ Height in │ Internal │ Number of Reflecting │ │ │ Inches. │ Diameter in │ Prisms. │ │ │ │ Inches. │ │ ├─────────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┬─────────────┤ │ │ │ │ In Upper │ In Lower │ │ │ │ │ Zone. │ Zone. │ ├─────────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┼─────────────┤ │ 1 │ 106½│ 72½│ 18 │ 8 │ │ 2 │ 83½│ 55 │ 16 │ 4 │ │ 3 │ 61½│ 39½│ 11 │ 4 │ │ 4 │ 29 │ 19¾│ 5 │ 4 │ │ 5 │ 21¾│ 14¾│ 5 │ 4 │ │ 6 │ 17½│ 12 │ 5 │ 4 │ └─────────────┴─────────────┴─────────────┴─────────────┴─────────────┘

When a revolving apparatus of the above description is erected on shore, a reflector of suitable shape and dimensions is placed on the landward side of the lamp, so as to throw its rays back upon itself and towards the lenses which are directed seaward.

Fresnel also constructed glass apparatus for fixed lights. If we require to send the light equally towards the horizon in all directions at once, the problem is capable of solution, either by a proper form of glass apparatus or by a proper form of mirrors. Suppose the section, e c f, Fig. 305, to revolve about a vertical axis passing through the lamp, it would sweep out a form which, when executed in glass, would spread out all the light falling upon it into one horizontal sheet. Fresnel was obliged to content himself with an approximation to this shape, formed by a prismatic frame of many sides, containing straight horizontal bars of glass, having the section e c f. The light is not quite uniformly distributed by such apparatus, but the difficulty and expense attending the formation of prismatic rings were very great when Fresnel constructed this apparatus. Such rings can now be produced economically and accurately, and therefore the fixed-light apparatus is now constructed of circular glass rings, mounted in sections in such a manner that a vertical section through the axis of the apparatus would cut them in the form represented at e c f. Instead of forming the metal framework in which the glass is mounted with vertical ribs, it is made with the ribs placed somewhat diagonally, in order that the dark sectors which would be produced by the shadows of upright ribs may be avoided. It should be understood that the forms of the glass in each side of the octagonal apparatus represented in the figure are produced by the revolution of the same section, e c f, about the horizontal axis, d g.

An ingenious promoter of the catoptric system has contrived to solve the same problem by mirrors. The form of these may be understood by the aid of Fig. 306, which, however, relates to another contrivance. Suppose that the lines A B, A´ B´, are turned about C D as an axis, all three preserving their relative positions, A B and A´ B´ would sweep out two parabolic cones, which would have the property of reflecting in a horizontal direction all rays falling upon them from a lamp placed at L. But glass, as a material for lighthouse apparatus, has so many advantages over metal that it is probable that metallic reflectors will soon be entirely obsolete. The polish of the metal is very readily destroyed, and as it is constantly liable to be tarnished, the frequent cleaning required is apt to produce a scratched state of the surface, even when great care is used. Far greater accuracy of form can be imparted to glass than to metal reflectors. And then there is the great loss of light occurring at even the most highly polished surfaces of metal: a loss which is far greater than that occasioned by the refraction and reflections of the glass apparatus. There are cases, however, in which it is desirable to throw the whole of the light into one beam, and this cannot be done without reflecting the light from one side. Mr. Alan Stevenson contrived an excellent apparatus for this purpose, and the diagram, Fig. 306, will explain its nature. L is a point representing the source of light, A B, B´ A´, a parabolic metallic mirror. All the rays between L A and L B, and all between L A´ and L B´—that is, all those which fall upon the mirror—will be reflected parallel to L G; but those between L B and L B´ would escape from the mouth of the mirror, B B´, as a diverging cone. This is prevented by placing the lens, H I, the focus of which is at L, so as to convert the diverging cone, I L H, into the cylindrical beam, E H I F; and thus half the light emitted from the luminous point is sent in one direction. A hemispherical reflector, C K D, of which L is the centre, receives the other half, which is thus thrown back through L, and then follows the same course as the direct rays. For the metallic reflector, C K D, Mr. Stevenson afterwards substituted a system of glass zones; of which O P Q represents the sections. These had the same effect as the metallic reflectors, without the loss of light occasioned by the latter. The inner surface of the glass, C K D, is hemispherical, and the prismatic zones are such as would be produced by turning the section about L K (or C D) as an axis. The dotted lines show the course of a ray of light, L m, which, meeting the hemispherical surface perpendicularly, passes straight through it, and is totally reflected at m by the inclined surface, and again at n, so that it returns to L by the path n L. Reflecting glass prisms were also substituted for the metallic mirror, A B, B´ A´, and thus the use of metal has been entirely dispensed with in this apparatus. This light has been termed by Mr. Stevenson the holophotal (ὁλο, entire, φως, light). Such an apparatus will form the intensest beam that a given source of illumination can yield. On the other hand, when a fixed light is distributed to the whole horizon simultaneously, the illuminating power of the source is taxed to the utmost. These two cases may be considered the extreme modes of disposing of the light, while the parcelling of it into several beams, as effected by the apparatus represented in Fig. 305, is an intermediate mode.

It may be interesting to mention that the holophotal light at Baccalieu, in Newfoundland, is visible in clear weather from another point 40 miles distant. So long a range as this is seldom possible at sea, on account of the rounded form of the earth rendering it necessary to raise the light nearly 1,000 ft. above the water, if it is required to be visible at 40 miles’ distance. A shorter distance generally suffices for the requirements of the navigator; and therefore lighthouse towers rising from the water are seldom carried to a greater height than something between 100 ft. and 150 ft. A light elevated 100 ft. above the water would be seen from the deck of a vessel 14 miles distant, and from the masthead a much greater distance.

The optical apparatus of a lighthouse is protected by an outer metal framework glazed with thick plate glass. This framework is made of iron, or of gun-metal—the latter being preferred on account of the frequent painting which iron needs in order to preserve it from corrosion. The glass is carefully fitted into the framework, so as to avoid exposure to strains from the shocks and vibrations to which a lighthouse is exposed. The keepers are always provided with a store of panes of glass, ready for fitting into their places in case of accidents. Sometimes the glass is broken by large sea-birds dashing against it, and by pebbles which are thrown up by the waves, or driven by the wind against the panes. It is the interior of this lantern which forms the light-room already spoken of. Great pains have been bestowed on the proper ventilation of these light-rooms, as not only must the air have access to the lamp to supply the flame, but the carbonic acid which escapes from the chimney of the lamp must be promptly removed. Another serious inconvenience of an ill-ventilated light-room would be the condensation, in the inner surface of the plate glass, of the aqueous vapour, which is also a product of the combustion.

The lenses and circular prisms for lighthouses are usually made of crown glass, and are ground by fixing them on a large revolving iron table, on which they are bedded in plaster of Paris and cemented by pitch—great care being taken to place them in the exact position required, for only about one-eighth of an inch is allowed for grinding down to shape the glass as it comes from the moulds. Sand, emery, and finally rouge, are used with water for the grinding and polishing processes. The cost of the optical apparatus alone of a light of the first order, like that shown in Fig. 305, amounts to upwards of £1,500. The lenses and prisms are very carefully adjusted in their framework after this has been fixed, and no plan of testing the adjustment has been found more efficient than that of viewing the sea horizon through them from the position which the flame will occupy.

The men to whom the charge of a lighthouse is confided undertake a duty involving the gravest responsibilities, and demanding unremitting care. In those lighthouses where a number of reflectors are hung upon a revolving frame, the extinction of one lamp may not be a matter of much consequence; but where only one lamp is used, life and death depend upon its burning. To isolated lighthouses—such as those of Skerryvore and the Bell Rock—four keepers are appointed, and one of these is always on shore on leave, so that the men may be relieved at intervals; for it has been found that a residence in these lonely towers cannot be continued long together without bad effects. The duties of the lighthouse-keepers must be performed with the greatest regularity. The glasses of the light-room and the optical apparatus are carefully cleaned every morning; the lamps are supplied with oil, the wicks trimmed or renewed, the machinery oiled and adjusted, and everything prepared in readiness for the evening. At sunset the lamps are lighted, and one keeper takes his watch until midnight, when he is relieved by another, who maintains the vigil till sunrise, when the lamps are extinguished.

The expediency of the regulation appointing three men to be always at the lighthouse may be illustrated by an incident which occurred about the beginning of the present century at the lighthouse on the “Smalls,” a rock in the Bristol Channel. Two keepers held watch over the light on that rock, which for months together is sometimes cut off from all communication with the shore. At the time alluded to, after the weather had for two weeks prevented access to the lighthouse, it was rumoured among the seafaring men of the neighbouring ports that something was wrong at the “Smalls,” for a signal of distress had been observed; but the boats could not go within speaking distance, although many attempts were made to reach the rock. The relatives of the men became anxious, and night after night watched for the light. But the light never failed to appear at the proper hour. After four months came calmer weather, and then a boat brought to shore one lightkeeper alive, the other dead. What the former felt when he found his comrade to be dying in their dreadful isolation, or what his emotions were when he found himself there alone with the lifeless body, is not recorded. But the thought occurred to him that he must not commit the body to the waves, lest any suspicion of foul play might fall upon himself. He therefore contrived a sort of coffin for the dead man, and dragging it up to the gallery of the lighthouse, tied it there. Punctually and faithfully for four long months did he perform all the duties of his position, keeping watch from twilight till dawn in that lonely light-room, while his ghastly charge remained there within sight. But he came on shore strangely altered—a sad, silent, gloomy, worn man—so that even his intimate friends hardly knew him.

Here we close this brief account of the modern lighthouse, and of its beautiful appliances, by which Science “has given new securities to the mariner,” in addition to those with which she furnished him when she showed him the use of the compass, supplied him with the chronometer, and placed the sextant in his hands. How anxiously must the seaman who has been prevented by unfavourable skies from ascertaining his exact position, and has been trusting to the log and the compass to work his reckoning, scan the horizon for the first glimpse of the hospitable light beacon, which seems to say that the country he is approaching has been watching for his coming, and welcomes him to its shores.

PHOTOGRAPHY.

No other of our nineteenth century inventions is at once so beautiful, so precious, so popular, so appreciated as photography. It is exercising a beneficial influence over the social sentiments, the arts, the sciences of the whole world—an influence not the less real because it is wide-spread and unobtrusive. The new art cherishes domestic and friendly feelings by its ever-present transcripts of the familiar faces, keeping fresh the memory of the distant and the dead; it keeps alive our admiration of the great and the good by presenting us with the lineaments of the heroes, the saints, the sages of all lands. It gratifies, by faithful portrayals of scenes of grandeur and beauty, the eyes of him who has neither wealth nor leisure for travel. It has improved pictorial art by sending the painter to the truths of nature; it has reproduced his works with marvellous fidelity; it has set before the multitude the finest works of the sculptor. It is lending invaluable aid to almost every science. The astronomer now derives his mathematical data from the photograph; by its aid the architect superintends the erection of distant buildings, the engineer watches over the progress of his designs in remote lands, the medical man amasses records of morbid anatomy, the geologist studies the anatomy of the earth, the ethnologist obtains faithful transcripts of the features of every race. To the mind of an intelligent reader numberless instances will present themselves, not only of the utility of photography in the narrower sense of the term, but of its higher utility in ministering to our love of the beautiful in art and in nature.

Effects produced by chemical changes to which the rays of the sun give rise are matters of common observation. The fading of the colour in the portions of a fabric which are exposed to the light is a familiar instance; and the bleaching of linen under the influence of sunshine in the presence of moisture is a well-known operation. Decompositions produced by light in certain compounds of silver soon attracted the attention of chemists, and the remarkable activity of the solar rays in causing the combination of hydrogen and chlorine gases has been even made the means of measuring the intensity of light. When equal volumes of these two gases are mixed together in the dark, they may be kept for an indefinite period without change, provided only that the mixture be preserved from access of light. But the instant it is exposed to the direct rays of the sun, or to an intense light, such as that of burning magnesium, the two gases suddenly unite with a loud explosion, in which the glass vessel containing them is shattered into atoms. The product is an intensely acid invisible gas, called hydrochloric acid; and if the mixture is exposed to the diffused light of day, instead of the direct rays of the sun, then the production of hydrochloric acid will take place gradually, and with a rapidity depending on the intensity of the light.

Of vastly more importance than the small operations of the laboratory and the bleach-field are the changes which the sun’s rays silently and unobtrusively effect in the vegetable world. The chemical effect of light here appears to reside in its power of separating oxygen from substances with which it is combined. The green parts of plants absorb from the atmosphere the carbonic acid gas, which is constantly produced by the respiration of men and animals, and by combustion, and other processes. Under the influence of sunshine, this carbonic acid is decomposed within the tissues of the plant; the oxygen is restored to the atmosphere; the carbon with which it was united is retained to build up the structure of the plant. In a similar manner light separates the oxygen from the hydrogen of water, and the former gas is given off by the leaves, while the hydrogen enters into the composition of the plant. The carbon, which forms so large an element in the food of plants, is chiefly obtained in this way; and the abundance of the supply of oxygen thus thrown into the atmosphere may be inferred from the fact that a single leaf of the water-lily will in the course of one summer give off nearly eleven cubic feet of oxygen. But for this continual restoration of oxygen to the atmosphere, animal life would soon disappear from the face of the earth. It is the office of the vegetable world not only to furnish a supply of organic matter as food for animals, but when the materials of that food have been converted into oxidized products in the animal system, and returned to the atmosphere as carbonic acid and aqueous vapour, the sunshine, acting on the vegetable structure (chiefly on the delicate tissue of the leaf), tears apart the oxygen and the other substance. These are, therefore, once more capable of combination, by which they may again supply the animal with heat and the other energies of life.

Those actions of light which have been last referred to are called by the chemist reducing actions, a term which he applies to the cases in which a compound is made to part with its oxygen or other similar element: when the remaining ingredient is a metal, the operation by which the other has been removed is always called reduction. On the other hand, the inverse operations by which oxygen, chlorine, &c., are fixed upon other bodies, are distinguished as processes of oxidation. Light is the means of determining each of these kinds of changes, according to the conditions and the nature of the substances exposed to its action. Thus moist chloride of silver will retain its white colour if preserved in the dark; but if exposed to sunlight, it quickly acquires a violet tint, which deepens in intensity until it has become black. The dark matter was formerly admitted to be silver; for it was known that the finely divided metal has this appearance, that during the process the compound gives off chlorine, and that when nitric acid is poured upon the darkened matter, reddish fumes are given off, exactly as when the acid acts upon pure silver. The use of silver nitrate as a marking-ink for linen depends upon a similar alteration of the salt within the fibres; and the same reduction takes place when to a solution of the nitrate in water organic matter is added. If a piece of white silk be dipped into a solution of chloride of gold, and exposed to the sun’s rays while still wet, the silk becomes first green, then purple, and finally a film of metallic gold will be found overspreading its surface. Many other chlorides and analogous compounds are similarly affected by sunlight. On the other hand, chlorides, as we have already seen, and oxygen, fix on hydrogen and on organic substances with greater energy under the influence of light. A large series of chemical compounds are obtained by means of the augmented affinity of chlorine for hydrogen induced by the rays of the sun.

It was in availing himself of an action of the latter class that, in 1813, Joseph Nicéphore Niepce[11] established photography; for he was the first to obtain a permanent sun-picture. Twelve years before this, Wedgwood and Davy had copied paintings made on glass, and the profiles of objects, the shadows of which were projected upon a piece of white paper, or white leather, saturated with a solution of nitrate of silver. The images so obtained could not be fixed, as no means was then known of removing the silver salts which had not been acted upon during the exposure; and the pictures soon blackened in every part when exposed to the light. The application of the camera obscura, and the fixing of the image so obtained, define the commencement of the art of photography. The process of Niepce, which was termed heliography, was conducted by smearing a highly polished metallic plate with a certain resinous substance known as “bitumen of Judæa,” and this was exposed to the image formed in the camera for some hours. The action of the light was such, that the resin, which before exposure was soluble in oil of lavender, became insoluble in that substance. Hence, on treating the plate after exposure with that solvent, only the deep shadows dissolved away, the lights being represented by the undissolved resin. The brightly polished parts of the plate, which were uncovered by the removal of the resin, appeared dark when made to reflect dark objects, while the resin remaining unchanged on the plate appeared light in comparison.

Footnote 11:

Born at Chalon-sur-Saône, died 1833.

In 1826 a French artist, named Daguerre,[12] who had already made some reputation as a painter of dioramas, entered into a sort of partnership with Niepce, into whose process he introduced some improvements; but, dissatisfied with the slowness of this proceeding, he invented a process of his own, by which pictures of great beauty could be produced with all the shadows, lights, and half-tints faithfully rendered; while the time of exposure in the camera was reduced to twenty minutes. In this process the burnished surface of silver formed the shadows. A plate of copper, coated with pure silver, had the silvered surface polished to the highest degree, and it was then exposed to the vapour of iodine until a thin yellow film had been produced uniformly over the silver. It was then placed in the camera; and, although when withdrawn no image was perceptible, a latent image was nevertheless present; for when the plate was exposed to the vapour of mercury, that substance attached itself to the parts of the plate in proportion as they had been acted upon by the light. Means were adopted by Daguerre for fixing the picture; and after his processes had been made public in 1839, several important improvements were proposed by other persons. By using bromine as well as iodine the sensitiveness of the plates was so much increased that the time required for exposure was reduced to two minutes, so that about the year 1841 portraits began to be taken by this process.

Footnote 12:

L. J. M. Daguerre, born 1787, died 1851.

The world at large, which profits most by great inventions, has little idea at what cost of intense application, concentrated thought, and heroic perseverance, such discoveries are made. What his discovery must have cost Daguerre may be inferred from an anecdote related by J. Baptiste Dumas, the distinguished French chemist and statesman. At the close of one of his popular lectures in 1825–-fourteen years before Daguerre had perfected his process—a lady came up to him and said, “Monsieur Dumas, I have to ask you a question of vital importance to myself. I am the wife of Daguerre, the painter. He has for some time let the idea possess his mind that he can fix the images of the camera. Do you, as a man of science, think it can ever be done, or is my husband mad?” “In the present state of our knowledge we are unable to do it,” replied Dumas; “but I cannot say it will always remain impossible, or set down as mad the man who seeks to do it.” The French Government, with an honourable recognition of the merits of Daguerre, and of Niepce who had passed away poor and almost unknown, awarded to the former a pension of 6,000 francs (£240), and to Isidore Niepce, the son of the latter, a pension of 4,000 francs, one-half to be continued to their widows.

But Daguerre’s process had no sooner been brought to perfection than it began to be supplanted by a rival method, devised by an Englishman, Mr. Fox Talbot, who had published his process six months before that of Daguerre was given to the world, and who, therefore, was unacquainted with the details of the latter. The first of Mr. Talbot’s publications contained only an improved mode of preparing a sensitive paper for copying prints, by applying them to it and causing the light to pass through the paper of the print, so that the parts of the sensitive paper protected by the opaque black lines were not acted upon by the light. The paper was first dipped in a solution of chloride of sodium, and then in one of nitrate of silver, the result being the formation in the pores of the paper of chloride of silver, a substance much more quickly affected by light than the nitrate of silver used by Davy and Wedgwood. The impression so obtained was a negative, that is, the lights and shades of the original were reversed; but when this negative was again copied by the same process, it produced a perfect copy of the original print, for the lights and shades were of course reversed from those in the negative proof. Thus from one negative any number of positive or natural copies could be produced; and this point in Mr. Talbot’s invention is one great feature of photography as now practised. In 1841, Mr. Talbot obtained a patent for a process he called the Calotype, but which, in his honour, has since been known as the Talbotype. A sheet of paper is soaked, first in a solution of nitrate of silver, and then in one of iodide of potassium, by which it becomes covered with iodide of silver; it may then be dried. It is prepared for the camera by brushing it over with a solution of gallic acid containing a little nitrate of silver. By this last process its sensitiveness is greatly increased, and an exposure in the camera for a few seconds, or minutes, according to the power of the light, suffices to impress the paper with a latent or invisible image, which reveals itself when the paper is treated with a fresh portion of the gallic acid mixture. The Talbotype is the foundation of the methods of photography now in general use; but, before we describe these, it may be proper to mention some other substances which have been found sensitive to light, and to discuss the nature of the invisible images which are first produced in these processes.

The art of photography has outstripped the science—in other words, the nature and laws of the chemical actions by which its beautiful effects are produced are not yet clearly understood, and some quite recent discoveries seem to show that we have yet much to learn before a complete theory of the chemical action of light can be proposed. Some results which have been established may be mentioned, as they show those curious effects of light to be more general than would be supposed from a description of photographic processes dependent on silver salts only. It has been found that certain acids, certain salts, and certain compounds containing only two elements—of which one is a metal—have a tendency to split up, or resolve themselves into their several constituents, when exposed to the action of light. On the other hand, chlorine, bromine, and iodine exhibit, under the same conditions, an exalted affinity for the hydrogen of organic matters. These tendencies concur when the compounds above referred to are associated with organic materials, as in photography. Solution of nitrate of silver is blackened when it is exposed to light on a piece of paper which has been dipped into the solution; but a piece of white unglazed porcelain similarly treated shows no change. A solution of nitrate of uranium in pure water is not changed by light; but a solution of the same salt in alcohol becomes green, and deposits oxide of uranium. The reducing action of the light is insufficient of itself to accomplish the decomposition of the salt in the first case; but the presence of the organic matter determines this decomposition in the second case. Bichromate of potassium is by itself not easily decomposed by light; but when it is mixed with sugar, starch, gum, or gelatine, the sunbeams readily reduce it. It is remarkable that the gelatine, gum, or starch becomes insoluble by thus taking up oxygen, and the gelatine loses its property of swelling up in water. We shall presently see the advantages which have been drawn from these circumstances.

It is not necessary that the light should act upon both the organic substance and the oxidizing substance at the same time. If paper impregnated with iodide of silver and gallic acid be placed in the camera, the image soon appears; but if, as in the Talbotype, the iodide of silver only be acted upon by the light, no image is perceptible on withdrawing the paper from the camera. The action of the light has nevertheless imparted to the silver salt a tendency to reduction; for when the paper is afterwards dipped into a solution of gallic acid, the image immediately appears. In order to distinguish these two actions, the substance which receives and preserves the latent impression from the light is called the sensitive substance, and that which reveals the latent image is termed the developing substance. A considerable number of substances having this relation to each other have been observed, and the following table of instances—cited by Niepce de Saint-Victor, the nephew of the original inventor—will give some idea of their variety:

┌───────────────────┬────────────────────────┬────────────────────────┐ │ Sensitive │ Developing Substance. │ Results. │ │ Substances in the │ │ │ │ paper exposed to │ │ │ │ the action of the │ │ │ │ Light. │ │ │ ├───────────────────┼────────────────────────┼────────────────────────┤ │None, i.e., plain│A salt of silver │Black image. │ │ paper. │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │Nitrate of silver, │Gallic acid, or sulphate│Black image. │ │ or iodide of │ of iron. │ │ │ silver. │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │{ Water │By prolonged action of │ │ │ │ light, a grey image of│ │ │ │ protoxide of uranium; │ │ │ │ the image disappears │ │ │ │ when paper is kept in │ │ │ │ the dark, but shows │ │ │ │ itself again in the │ │ │ │ light. │ │Nitrate of uranium.│{ │ │ │ │{ Red prussiate of │Intensely red positive │ │ │ potash │ image; becomes blue by│ │ │ │ sulphate of iron. │ │ │ │ │ │Nitrate of uranium │Nitrate of silver or │Unchangeable │ │ and tartaric │ chloride of gold. │ images—resembling │ │ acid. │ │ those of ordinary │ │ │ │ photographs. │ │ │ │ │ │Chloride of gold. │Nitrate of uranium, │. . . . . . │ │ │ sulphate of iron, │ │ │ │ sulphate of copper, │ │ │ │ bichloride of mercury,│ │ │ │ salt of tin. │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │{ Sulphate of iron │Blue-black image. │ │Gallic acid. │{ │ │ │ │{ Red prussiate of │Blue image. │ │ │ potash │ │ │ │ │ │ │Red prussiate of │Water, bichloride of │Blue image, hastened by │ │ potash. │ mercury, gallic acid, │ acids and by heat. │ │ │ salt of silver, salt │ │ │ │ of cobalt. │ │ │ │ │ │ │Bichloride of │Protochloride of tin, │. . . . . . │ │ mercury. │ soda, potash, sulphide│ │ │ │ of sodium. │ │ │ │ │ │ │Chromic acid, or │Salts of silver │Purple-red positive │ │ bichromate of │ │ image. │ │ potash. │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │{ Blue litmus │Red image. │ │Starch. │{ Iodide of potassium │Reddish brown image. │ │ │{ White indigo │Blue positive image. │ │ │{ Campeachy wood │Red positive image. │ └───────────────────┴────────────────────────┴────────────────────────┘

These are only a few of the instances in which actions of this kind have been observed. It is remarkable that the order of the first two columns in this table may be inverted without changing the result. Thus, instead of exposing iodide of silver to the light and developing the image with gallic acid, one may expose a paper saturated with gallic acid solution, and develop with iodide of potassium and nitrate of silver. The first reaction noted in the table deserves some remark: it is not peculiar to paper, but is common to most organic materials, such as albumen, collodion starch, fabrics, and indeed to organic matters in general, provided they are not of a black colour. Tartaric acid, sulphate of quinine, and nitrate of uranium increase this sensibility. The paper which has been impressed preserves its undeveloped image for a prolonged period if kept in darkness; and it has been found that one piece of paper can impart the image to another by simple contact in the dark. What is still more remarkable, the invisible impressions on a piece of paper may be transferred to another not in contact by merely placing it opposite the first, and separated by an interval of a quarter of an inch. No satisfactory explanation of these phenomena has been advanced, but many conjectures have been made. One of these supposes that some unknown intermediate products are formed, which are, in the case of the latent image on paper, very oxidizable; but in the case of silver salts, &c., very reducible, so that the addition of a silver salt in the first case, and of organic matter in the second, only completes the phenomena by ordinary chemical action. Niepce de Saint-Victor, however, found that a surface of freshly broken porcelain alone will receive a latent impression from light, and will reduce in those places sensitive salts of silver. He believes that the light in these latent images is simply stored up, and that its energy remains fixed to the surfaces until the occasion of its producing a chemical action.

When a pure solar spectrum is made to fall upon paper rendered sensitive by silver salts, the effect is observed to be greatest near the Fraunhofer line H (No. 1, Plate XVII.), and it is prolonged with decreasing intensity beyond the violet end of the spectrum, while towards the other end it terminates about the line F. When other sensitive substances are used, the range of photographic power in the spectrum is modified. It has been found that when a daguerrotype plate which has been impressed by the light in the camera is afterwards exposed to the red or yellow rays of the spectrum, it loses its property of condensing the mercurial vapours. This destruction of photographic impression by red or yellow light has a practical application of great importance, for it permits the processes of preparing paper and plates to be carried on in a laboratory lighted by windows having yellow or red, instead of the ordinary colourless, glass. Thus we see that it is by no means the whole of the solar rays which are concerned in producing photographic images; nay, there are some which even tend to destroy the impressions produced by others. The fact that it is not the light, but only certain rays in the sunbeam, may be proved very conclusively by an experiment with a glass bulb filled with a mixture of equal volumes of hydrogen and chlorine gases. When such a bulb is exposed to the light of the sun or of burning magnesium, which is made to reach it by passing through a piece of red glass, no explosion takes place; but if the bulb be covered only with a piece of blue or violet glass, the explosion is produced just as quickly as if it were exposed to the unaltered rays.

The visible spectrum obtained in the experiment described on page 318 is far from constituting the only radiations which reach us from the sun. For invisible beams of heat, less refrangible than the red rays, are found beyond the red end of the spectrum; and another invisible spectrum stretches far beyond the violet end, formed of rays recognized only by their chemical activity. It is these which effect photographic actions, and though they are in part more highly refrangible than any of the rays producing the visible spectrum, a large portion are refracted within its limits, so that the maximum of photographic action in a spectrum is usually near the violet end. When we wish to examine the spectrum of the heat rays, it is necessary to replace the glass prism by one made of rock salt, for glass absorbs these heat rays. It also intercepts a great part of the most refrangible rays; for when a prism of quartz is substituted for the glass one, the spectrum becomes greatly extended at the violet end. The dark Fraunhofer lines which cross the visible spectrum are represented also in great numbers in the invisible spectrum: in photographs of the ultra-violet rays more than 700 dark lines have been counted. It has been proposed to employ quartz lenses in the photographic camera; but there is reason to believe that the increased transparency of such lenses for the chemical rays would be counterbalanced by certain disadvantages attending the use of quartz.

The beauty of the images which are formed in the camera obscura long ago gave rise to the desire of fixing them permanently. We know how perfectly photography has already satisfied that desire, so far as the forms are concerned. The very perfection of the results obtained in this direction increases our regret at our inability to fix also the colours, and secure the picture, not in grey or brown tones of reduced silver, but with all the glowing hues of nature. An observation made by Herschel, Davy, and others, seemed at one time to hold out hopes of a possible realization of chromatic photographs. It was noticed that the images developed upon chloride of silver, of the different parts of the solar spectrum, partook somewhat of the colours of the rays which produced them. Edmond Becquerel made a plate of polished silver, placed in dilute hydrochloric acid, form the positive pole of a battery. The plate thus became coated with an extremely thin layer of chloride of silver, which, as its thickness augmented, exhibited the series of colours due to the action of light on thin films. The operation was stopped when the plate had become of a violet colour for the second time; it was then washed, dried, polished with the finest tripoli, and heated to 212° F., the whole of these operations having been carried on in the dark. When this plate was exposed for about two hours to the solar spectrum, fixed by proper appliances which counteracted the apparent motion of the sun, the luminous rays were found to have impressed the plate with their respective colours. The yellow was somewhat pale, but the red, green, and violet were exhibited in their true tints. A theoretical explanation has been advanced, which supposes that yellow light, for example, renders the surface of the plate on which it falls peculiarly capable of receiving and transmitting vibrations corresponding to those of yellow light. Just as a stretched cord responds to its own musical note, the modified plate gives back, out of all the vibrations which fall upon it in ordinary light, only those of which it has itself acquired the periodicity. But since the plate has not lost its sensitiveness to take on other rates of vibrations, it receives other impressions, which first weaken and then overcome the former, and, therefore, the colour necessarily vanishes. This kind of difficulty seems to be a necessary concomitant of every attempt in this direction; and all the hopes founded on results yet obtained have been disappointed by the rapid fading of the images.

The comparative cheapness and convenience of Talbot’s process, and especially the facilities which it afforded for the multiplication of proofs, gave an immense impulse to photographic art. But the irregular and fibrous structure of paper prevented the attainment of the beautiful sharpness of outline and clear definition of detail which the plates of Daguerre presented. Sir John Herschel suggested the use of glass plates coated with sensitive photographic films, and Niepce de Saint-Victor succeeded in fixing upon glass layers of albumen (white of egg) containing the silver salts, a method which is still used to some extent. The art received, however, its greatest stimulus from the improvements which ensued on the application of collodion to this purpose. Collodion (κολλα, glue; in allusion to its adhesiveness) is the name which has been given to a solution in ether of gun-cotton, or of a substance nearly allied to it. Its employment was suggested by Le Grey of Paris, but the late Mr. Archer was the first to carry the idea into practice, and the process which he described in “The Chemist,” in 1851, is virtually that which is now almost universally adopted. This process has now been tested, for nearly a quarter of a century, by the united experience of photographers all over the world, and it is agreed that it is surpassed by no other, for it secures every quality which a photograph can possess.[13] The minor details of the method can be, and are, infinitely varied; scarcely two experienced photographers will be found working the process in identically the same manner throughout. Before giving an outline of the collodion process, it may be well to say something respecting the chief instrument of photography—the camera.

Footnote 13:

(1875) But see below, page 541.

The ordinary photographic camera is almost too well known to require description. In its simplest form, Fig. 308, it is merely a rectangular box, in front of which is placed the lens, which slides in a tube, that its position may be adjusted so as to bring the rays to a focus on the surface of a piece of ground glass at the opposite end. This glass is fitted into a light frame, which slides in grooves, so that it can be raised vertically out of its position, and replaced by another frame, B, which contains a recess for the reception for the sensitive plate, and a sliding screen which protects it from light until the right moment. When this frame is placed in the camera, the sensitive surface occupies the same position as that of the ground glass, and the sliding screen is drawn up the moment before the operator removes from the front of the lens a cap which he places there after adjusting the focus. The sliding screen is usually made with a narrow strip at the lower part, joined to the rest by a hinge, so that when it has been drawn up it may be retained in its position, and placed out of the way, by being folded down horizontally. There is commonly provision for two plates in one frame, the slides, &c., being doubled, and the plates placed back to back, as shown at B, Fig. 308. The camera is usually made in two parts, as shown in the figure, that at the back sliding within the other, so that a wider range for adjustment is obtained, and the same camera may even be used with lenses of different focal lengths. Many improvements have been made in the camera, by which it has been rendered more portable, and capable of more adjustments to suit varying circumstances. Fig. 309 represents a “bellows” or folding camera, which appears to supply every requirement for the studio. It is copied from Messrs. Negretti and Zambra’s catalogue, as are also the other figures of photographic apparatus here given. Fig. 307 represents a camera for taking stereoscopic views, fitted with two lenses, so that the two views are taken simultaneously on one plate.

No piece of apparatus used by the photographer is of so much importance as the lens; for good pictures cannot be obtained without well-defined, sharp images on the sensitive plate, and these images must have sufficient intensity to produce the required amount of chemical action in a short space of time. The formation of an image by means of a lens which is thickest at the centre is tolerably familiar to everybody; for most persons must have noticed that the lens of a pair of spectacles, or of an eye-glass, will produce an inverted image of the window-frame on a sheet of white paper, held a certain distance behind the lens. But the diagrams by which the paths of the rays are usually represented seem to convey a false impression to an ordinary reader, who usually goes away with the idea that somehow three rays are sent off by the object, and that one goes through the middle of the lens, and the other two meet it and produce an image. Let us suppose that, by means of a circular eye-glass, the image of a window is projected on a piece of white paper: a straight line passing through the centre of the glass perpendicular to its plane will meet the window and image each at a certain point. The point in which it meets the image is the focus of innumerable rays, which issue from the point in the window; that is, of the whole light sent out in every direction by the point a certain portion falls upon the lens, and by the refraction it undergoes in passing through it, the rays are again brought together at the point in the image. Thus the original point in the object is the apex of a solid cone of rays (if we may say so), of which the lens is the base, and the point in the image is the apex of another cone, having also the lens as its base. These cones would be termed right cones, because their bases are perpendicular to their axes, or central lines. But they represent the rays from only one point of the object. Let us now consider how the image of another point is formed, say one in the highest part of the object which forms an image on the screen. Those rays which are sent out by this point, and fall upon the lens, form now an oblique cone, of which the lens is the base, and the central ray will pass through the middle of the lens and continue its journey on the other side with little or no change of direction, forming also the axis of another oblique cone, constituted of the refracted rays, all of which will meet together at the lowest part of the image. Similar cones of incident and refracted rays, all having the lens as base, and all of them cones more or less oblique, will be formed by the light from each point of the object. Thus, the rays which issue from each point are brought together again in a series of points which have the same position with regard to each other, and collectively form an inverted image.

On carefully looking at the image, say of a window-frame, formed by a simple lens, the reader will observe two defects. The first is that the image cannot be made equally clear and well defined at the centre and at the edges: the adjustment which gives clear definition of one part leaves the other with blurred outlines. The second defect, which is best seen with large lenses, consists in coloured fringes surrounding the outlines of the objects. This depends upon the unequal refrangibility of the various rays, but it is obviated in achromatic lenses, which are formed of two or more different kinds of glass, so adapted that the refracting power of the compound lens is retained, and the most powerful rays of the spectrum are brought to a common focus. Such are the lenses always used in the photographic camera, and the skill of the optician is taxed to so combine them as to obtain, not only the union of the principal rays in one focus, but the greatest possible flatness of field in the image, the largest amount of light, the widest angle without distortion of the picture, and other qualities.

Photographers have even been so fastidious in the matter of lenses as to require all the perfection of finish which is given to the object-glasses of astronomical telescopes. Mr. Dallmeyer has made photographic lenses which cost upwards of £250; but it is doubtful whether the pictures formed by these would show any marked superiority over those produced by lenses costing only one-fifth of that amount. Fig. 310 shows the construction of the combination usually employed for taking photographic portraits. A is a section showing the forms and positions of the different lenses; B is an external view of the brass mounting of the lens. It is provided with a flange, C, which is attached by screws to the woodwork of the camera; and within the short tube, of which this is a part, slides the tube carrying the lenses, being furnished with a rack and pinion moved by the milled head, E. D is a cap for covering up the front of the sliding tube. A slit in the tube admits of plates of metal, perforated with circular openings, being inserted. The openings are of various sizes; and these “stops” or diaphragms enable the operator to regulate the amount of light; and to cut off when required the rays passing through the marginal parts of the lens.

It now remains to describe in a few words a method of photography which was, and still is, much practised, namely, the collodion process. The collodion solution is prepared by dissolving one part of pyroxylin (gun-cotton) in ninety parts of ether and sixty of alcohol. The pyroxylin for this purpose may be obtained by steeping cotton-wool for a few minutes in a mixture of nitre and sulphuric acid, with certain precautions which need not here be mentioned. To the solution of collodion is added a certain quantity of iodide of potassium, or of iodide of ammonium; and sometimes other substances also are mixed with the solution with a view of increasing the sensitiveness of the plate when ready for exposure. Some of the collodion solution is poured on a well-cleaned plate of glass, which is placed horizontally; it spreads over the plate, and the excess having been poured back into the bottle, the evaporation of the liquids leaves the glass covered with a thin uniform transparent film, which firmly adheres. The next operation is to render the plate sensitive by means of the “silver bath.” This is a neutral solution of nitrate of silver, one part to fifteen of pure water, which is placed in a trough of glass or porcelain, Fig. 311. By the aid of a proper support the plate is introduced quickly and steadily into the solution, immediately after the collodion film has been formed on its surface. In two or three minutes the layer of collodion becomes impregnated with iodide of silver, and when taken out of the bath, the plate exhibits a creamy-looking surface. The operation of sensitizing the plate by the silver bath must be performed in a room to which no light has access, except that which has passed through red or yellow glass, or a semi-transparent yellow screen.

The plate is now ready for immediate exposure in the camera. It is placed in the dark slide, in which it is conveyed to the camera; and there the image of the object is allowed to fall upon it for a time, which varies, according to the intensity of the light and the nature of the object, from 3 seconds to 45 seconds. The slide is withdrawn from the camera, and taken again to the “dark” room, i.e., where only yellow or red light can reach it. If the plate be now examined, it will be found to present no trace of an image. A latent one, however, exists; and it is developed by pouring over the plate a solution of pyrogallic acid—one part to 480 of water, with commonly a little alcohol and acetic acid added. When it is desired to intensify the image still more, a few drops of the nitrate of silver solution is added to the developing solution immediately before pouring it on the plate. When the picture has become sufficiently distinct, it is washed with pure water, and then immersed in a strong solution of hyposulphite of soda. The last operation is termed by photographers “fixing” the picture, and the substance employed in it is invaluable to the art. It acts as a ready solvent of all the salts of silver which remain on the plate; and the discovery of this property of the hyposulphites by Sir J. Herschel, in 1839, marked an era in photography. The picture is then thoroughly washed in cold water, in order that the hyposulphite of soda may be entirely dissolved out. It is then dried, warmed before a fire, and finally the film is covered with a coat of transparent varnish, by which it is protected from mechanical injury. The image here is negative—that is, the strongest lights of the object appear as the darkest tints in the picture, and vice versâ. From it any number of positive pictures may be obtained by means of the sensitive paper prepared with chloride of silver as in Fox Talbot’s plan.

As it is a tedious, and perhaps, in some cases, an impossible operation to completely remove all traces of silver salts and hyposulphites from photographs, they have frequently been found to fade; but this is rarely the case with well-prepared specimens. Processes have, however, been devised by which absolute permanence is secured for the photograph. One of the best of these is known as the Carbon Printing Process, and, as improved by Mr. Swan, it is thus practised:

A solution of gelatine is coloured by the addition of Indian ink, or any other pigment which will give the desired tone. This solution is spread over sheets of paper which are then dried. In this condition the paper may be preserved for any length of time without any special precautions. When it is required for use, it is floated, with the gelatine-covered side downwards, in a solution of bichromate of potash, and then dried; but these operations must be carried on in the dark. The paper is exposed under a negative photograph, with which its prepared side is in contact. The effect of the light is to render insoluble the gelatine on all those parts on which it has fallen, and this action extends to a depth in the layer proportionate to the intensity of the illumination. The object is, therefore, to wash away all the soluble gelatine and the colour with which it is mixed; but this soluble gelatine is mainly on the side of the film which is in contact with the paper. The gelatine surface is therefore made to adhere to another piece of paper by means of some substance insoluble in water; and when this has been done, the whole is immersed in warm water. Then the soluble gelatine is soon dissolved; the first paper floats off, and the insoluble gelatine, holding the Indian ink or other colouring matter in its substance, remains attached by the cement. As the thickness of the layer rendered insoluble is in proportion to the intensity of the light passing through each part of the negative, the picture will be presented in all the proper gradations of light and shade.

The “wet collodion” process, that has been described on the preceding page, maintained an almost undisputed hold for more than twenty years in the practice of photography in all branches, and it was not until after the publication of the first edition of the present work that a new era in the art was commenced by the introduction of what is known as the dry plate gelatino-bromide process, to which the present enormous popularity of photography as a recreative art is due. The difficulties of manipulation, the necessity for extensive experience, and for special and cumbersome appliances were obstacles it at once removed. And not only so, but the whole scope of the art was extended; for work that was before supposed impracticable, even to the most expert professional photographer, became the amusement of the amateur. Here, we may remark in passing, that photography is greatly indebted for this, and many other improvements, to the enthusiasm of the amateur, which has accelerated the development of the art to a remarkable extent. The collodion process itself admitted of being modified as a dry plate method, by coating the film with a preservative solution of tannin, gum, albumen, or other substance, and then drying the plates, of course in a dark place. This plan made it possible to practise out-door photography with ease, and such plates were, at one time, much used for landscape photography, but they have now been almost superseded by the gelatine plates. It was Mr. Bennet, who, in 1874, first introduced the use of sensitive emulsions of gelatine, and the advantages offered by their use, caused them to be soon adopted by landscape and amateur photographers. In 1878, Mr. Bennet showed, that these plates could be made wonderfully rapid in their action, so that portraits, etc., could be taken by them in an unprecedentedly short time. The preparation of the dry gelatine plates was then commenced on a large scale, and these were found so convenient, and reliable in use, that they were adopted by the professional photographers, who had hitherto adhered to the wet collodion and silver bath, from long habit and established associations. The collodion processes are, however, still much used, and are preferred by many to the gelatine plates; indeed, it is admitted, that only by the former can certain desirable qualities of negatives be obtained, which are of great importance in some applications of the art.

There are, it need hardly be said, many modifications of the processes recommended for preparing gelatino-bromide dry plates, and each manufacturer of the various kinds offered for sale has, no doubt, his own special plan and formula. In all, a very fine and carefully selected quality of gelatine is the medium in which the sensitive salts are embedded. An “emulsion” is prepared by adding to warm gelatine solution exactly determined quantities of solutions of certain compounds, of which a bromide (usually bromide of potassium) and silver nitrate are the essential ones, together with a small proportion of iodide of potassium. Minute quantities of iodine, hydrochloric acid, etc., are also often prescribed as additions. The mixture has to be heated, at the boiling temperature, for three quarters of an hour, then cooled, and mixed with more gelatine solution, or, instead of using acid and iodine and boiling, a little ammonia is added. When cold and set, the gelatine is washed with cold water, while squeezed through canvas, or after it has been cut into thin strips. It is then drained, dissolved at a gentle heat, and filtered warm. The clean glass plates are coated over with it, at the temperature of 120° F., and are set aside in a perfectly horizontal position until the gelatine has set, when they are placed for twenty-four hours in a drying cupboard, maintained at 80° F. It will be understood that these operations are conducted in a room where no light enters, except through a frame of ruby-coloured glass, and the plates, when dry, are carefully packed and stored in light-tight boxes. They are marvellously sensitive, and receive the photographic impression in about one-sixtieth (1/60th) of the time required for wet collodion plates. Half a second exposure in the camera may be sufficient to impress the image of a well lighted landscape, even when a very small stop is used, and it is not unusual to employ for extra sensitive plates, a so-called “instantaneous shutter,” when the exposure may be no more than 1/80th to 1/100th of a second, and yet obtain a perfectly strong image. Dry plates are manufactured in vast numbers in many large establishments, and the operations are carried on to a great extent by the aid of machinery, by which the plates are uniformly coated and automatically carried into drying chambers, etc.

If photography were popular before the introduction of the dry gelatino-bromide plates, it has since become a hundred-fold more so. Indeed, the camera is now seen everywhere, and few are the family circles in which at least one amateur practitioner of the art is not to be found; indeed, the technical terms of the art have become “Familiar in their mouths as household words.” The daguerrotype, notwithstanding its cost, had no sooner become a practicable process for taking likenesses, than it began to supersede miniature painting, and how rapidly it rose into general favour may be inferred from the fact that, in 1850, ten years after its introduction, it was estimated that in the United States of America, at least ten thousand persons had made it their profession, and, probably half as many more were occupied in making and selling chemicals, plates, cameras, lenses, mounting cases, and other apparatus connected with its practice. Such being the demand for photographic portraits, at the period when the sitter had, as we have already seen, to remain motionless for two whole minutes in sunlight, we can hardly be surprised at the increased popularity the art has acquired in the last decade, when a picture can be produced with one-hundredth the length of sitting, and at about the same reduction of cost. It may here be mentioned, that Daguerre’s process is still occasionally used for special purposes; it was, for instance, the method selected for obtaining the photographic records in the expedition sent out by the French Government, in 1874, to observe the transit of Venus.

The dry plate processes have given an immense impulse to landscape photography, and travellers have been able to bring back authentic representations of the scenery and inhabitants from every part of the globe. This advantage arises from the fact that having the camera, and its appurtenances, the tourist or traveller is not obliged to carry anything about with him except his plates, and when these have once been exposed in the camera, and stowed away in light-tight boxes, the latent images may be developed months, or even years, afterwards. But glass plates are heavy, and are liable to accidental breakage. Inventive ingenuity has been actively at work for the past few years, to find a means of obviating these remaining inconveniences. The first method adopted was to employ paper instead of glass, as a support for the sensitive gelatine film. The paper, having been cut to the proper size, is placed on a film-carrier, which is usually a thin plate of ebonite, by which the paper is kept flat. These carriers take the place of the glass plates in the ordinary dark slide, and after exposure in the usual way, the papers are removed in the dark room and made up into light-tight packages, where, of course, a large number will occupy but a small space, and the weight of them be wholly negligible. Many persons make use of this arrangement, which has the advantages of simplicity and of requiring no special apparatus. But an improvement was soon brought out, which consists in substituting for the carriers and pieces of sensitive paper a continuous roll of the material. For this purpose a special piece of apparatus, called the roll-holder, is made to take the place of the dark slide at the back of the camera. The arrangement will be readily understood from Fig. 311_a_. The figure shows the apparatus in section, but only the disposition of the principal parts, most of the mechanical details being omitted. R R´ are two metallic or wooden rollers, which admit of being readily put in their places and taken out. Upon one of these, R, the full length of the material is previously wound, and the free end is passed over another roller, r´, and across the opening at E O, where the exposure is made. There is in front of this a dark slide (not here shown) to be drawn up when everything is ready for uncovering the lens. Immediately behind the paper is a flat plate of ebonite, E, or a smooth black board, the object of which is to keep the material quite flat as it passes over the opening to the roller, r´, which guides it to the roll, R´, on which it is wound as required. S S´ are two small rollers always pressed by springs against the rolls to prevent the turns working loose. There is a registering apparatus outside in connection with one of the rollers, r, or r´, to show when the proper length of material has been wound across the opening for a new exposure; and at the same time a mark is automatically made on the paper to indicate where the negatives are to be separated for development by cutting the paper. Some forms of the apparatus also call the operator’s attention to the sufficient winding of the roll by an audible signal, a stroke on a little bell tells that everything is ready for a new exposure. In some cases the number of exposures already made is registered by figures that appear on the outside. The paper in these processes is used only as a temporary support; for after the negative has been developed in the ordinary way, the sensitive gelatine film is removed from it and made to adhere firmly on a plate of clear glass, from which prints are taken as usual. The operations required for the transferring require considerable dexterity of manipulation, and to both the paper and the glass special preparations have to be applied, before and after the transference of the film. This plan, therefore, of “stripping films” involves so great a number of delicate and somewhat troublesome operations that very many photographers have preferred to encounter the labour and risks of carrying about with them the more easily manageable glass plates. But what if some grainless, transparent substance could replace the paper in these rolls so that the negatives might be ready for printing from when merely developed and fixed? Many trials have been made to find this desideratum. A material sufficiently translucent, even, and of tenacity enough to bear the stretching strain between the rollers has, it is believed, been discovered in a very singular substance previously used for other purposes. The reader is no doubt familiar with it as the substitute for ivory in combs, knife handles, and other small articles. It is called celluloid, and is a composition the principal ingredients of which would never be guessed from its appearance—namely gun-cotton and camphor! This material is prepared in a plastic condition that enables it to be shaped into any required form. It can be drawn into threads or rolled out into very thin films. Thin plates of it have been used in photography as a substitute for glass, for the sake of lightness, before its employment as a transparent film in the roll-holders. We have now at length the equipment of the travelling photographer reduced to the utmost conceivable limits of lightness and compactness. Thus the complete apparatus required for taking hundreds of pictures of a good size need not be more than a few pounds in weight, and can easily be carried in the hand. But even quite small negatives can now be very readily printed in a few seconds on paper, with an enlargement of many times the original dimensions. The resources of the photographic art appear indeed to be endless; but a mere statement of even the more interesting of these would lead us beyond our limits, and descriptions of the details of manipulation are out of our province altogether. But a few of the more recent applications and developments of the art scarcely or not at all alluded to in the foregoing pages should receive some attention.

The extraordinary sensitiveness of the gelatine-bromide film which makes it possible to impress on it a photographic image in the merest fraction of a second of time, enables us to take pictures of objects in rapid motion. Express trains at their highest speed have been successfully photographed, and so has almost every moving object in nature. The photographs that have been taken of men, of birds, horses, and other animals in every phase of their most rapid actions, have solved many disputed and perplexing problems as to the nature of their movements, and sometimes the solutions have been of a very unexpected kind. Taking a photographic “shot” at a bird has become almost more than a figure of speech; for there are contrivances by which a bird on the wing may be aimed at with the lens, and hit off on the sensitive plate with a certainty surpassing that of the fowling-piece. There are also photographic repeaters by which six or more successive photographs of the bird, etc., can be taken in a single second. Mr. Muybridge has published a number of such photographs of the horse, and by projection of the different images on a screen from a magic lantern, in rapid succession, he has been able to reproduce the visual appearance of horses trotting, leaping, galloping, etc., on the principle of the zoetrope (page 399). Photography has afforded wonderfully delicate observations in many departments of science, by recording phenomena too rapid for the eye to seize, or too recondite for direct perception. A few examples may be mentioned. First, the advantage of photographing the lines of spectra, such as those described in our article on the spectroscope, will at once suggest themselves, and accordingly this method of recording spectra has been largely used, and in the hands of Mr. Lockyer, Dr. Draper, and others has been successfully applied to the study of the solar and stellar spectra. But more than this, it is the sensitive photographic plate that has enabled us to explore the region of the solar spectrum lying far beyond its visible limits in the red and in the violet rays. The ultra-violet portion of the spectrum is shown photographically to be occupied by multitudes of the thin insensitive spaces—breaks in the continuity of the active rays—which are impressed on the photographic print as black lines, similar in every respect to the lines mapped out in the visible spectrum by Fraunhofer. It is known by these that the ultra-violet spectrum, produced by glass prisms, extends to a distance beyond the last visible rays of nearly double the space occupied by the colour spectrum. The principal lines, or rather the greater groups of lines in the invisible spectrum, are distinguished by the capital letters of the alphabet, in continuation of Fraunhofer’s method, beginning from H and nearly exhausting the letters of the alphabet to designate them. These are photographed in the dark; for all the solar beams that are allowed to enter the stereoscope are first passed through blue glass of such a depth that every kind of emanation capable of affecting the human eye is intercepted.

Another extremely interesting example of the application of the art to scientific research is celestial photography. An image of the sun may be impressed on a sensitive plate in an ordinary camera, in an amazingly short space of time, but such image is much too small to show any of the markings on the disc of our luminary, even when the image is magnified, for its diameter is only about ⅒th of an inch for each 12 inches of the focal length of the lens. In order to obtain an image of 4 inches diameter, a lens of 40 feet focal length must therefore be used. The first attempts in solar photography appear to have been made in France, in 1845, and the solar prominences were daguerrotyped in 1851; but it was not until 1860, that Mr. De La Rue succeeded in obtaining some beautiful negatives of the phenomena presented in an eclipse of the sun, and was thus enabled to determine a great astronomical problem, by showing that the red flames, or prominences, really belonged to the sun itself. At the present time, photographs of parts of the sun’s disc are regularly taken at Kew, and other observatories, without the very long and heavy telescopes, which introduced many mechanical difficulties into the operation; for, by means of Foucault’s siderostat, the great lens and the photographic apparatus can be used in one fixed position. The siderostat is an instrument on which a flat mirror, made of glass worked to a perfect plane and silvered externally, is caused by clockwork to follow the motion of the sun, so that the reflected beams can be projected in any required direction unchangeably, and, therefore the image of the sun (or other heavenly bodies) viewed in the mirror, is absolutely stationary. The lens, carried in a short tube, has its axis directed to this image, just as it would be pointed at the luminary itself. In solar photography, the exposure is made through a very narrow slit in an opaque screen, which is caused to move rapidly in front of the image. Very fair photographic images of the sun, of several inches diameter, can, however, be obtained with an ordinary telescope of five feet or so focal length, by substituting a small photographic lens and camera in the eye-piece, and by enlarging the image in printing.

As early as 1840, Dr. Draper succeeded in daguerrotyping the moon, but it was not until 1851, that lunar photographs, obtained by Professor Bond, another American astronomer, were first exhibited in England. Many other distinguished experimenters have since successfully turned their attention to this subject, such as Dancer, of Manchester, Secchi, Crookes, Huggins, Phillips, and De La Rue. The latter, and also Mr. Fry, by photographing the moon, at different periods of her libration, have obtained very beautiful and interesting stereoscopic prints of our satellite, in which she presents to the eye the roundness and solidity of a cannon ball. Mr. Rutherford, in America, had an object glass of 11¼ inches diameter, made expressly with correction for the chemical rays, and with this instrument he has produced some of the finest photographs of the moon that have yet been taken. Reflecting telescopes, which have the advantage of uniting all the rays in one focus, have been used with excellent results, and it is said that some taken with the great reflector at Melbourne, where also the atmospheric conditions are very favourable, are almost perfect.

Excellent photographs of the planets have also been taken by Mr. Common and others; but they are of course small, and have contributed so far, much less to our astronomical knowledge than those already mentioned. Very different are the results obtained in what, a short time ago, appeared a less promising field. The image of a so-called fixed star, in even the most powerful telescopes, presents itself as a mere luminous point, and this is the case whether the star is one of the brightest or one of the least conspicuous. The telescopic appearance is simply a more or less brilliant point. The various degrees of brightness which distinguish one star from another (stella enim a stellâ differt in claritate), and which the unassisted eye attributes to difference of size, led, long before the invention of telescopes, to a classification of them accordingly. The brightest stars are said to be of the 1st “magnitude,” those of the next inferior degree of brilliancy, of the 2nd “magnitude,” and so on, down to the 6th, which includes the faintest star discernible by an acute eye under favourable circumstances. But stars too faint to be thus seen came into view in the field of the telescope, and therefore those of the 7th magnitude, and beyond, are termed telescopic stars, and each additional power given to the instrument brings others in view that previously were invisible. The classification has been carried down to the 18th or 20th magnitude, which expresses the limit of visibility with the most powerful telescopes yet constructed. In the methods hitherto employed for this classification, there is necessarily much that is arbitrary and vague, and it is quite common to find a different magnitude assigned to the same star by different authorities. Now the photographic plate enables the astronomer to determine the relative brightness of stars quite definitely. Everyone knows that the time required to impress an image on the sensitive plate is longer, as that image is less luminous. Hence, by finding the time required for the images of different stars to be impressed, we have a measure of their relative luminosities. Suppose the image of a group of stars is allowed to act on a plate for, say, 5 seconds, we should find only the brightest stars represented. If a second plate have double the exposure given, it would be impressed by the images of not only the brightest stars of the group, but also by those of the next degree of brilliancy; and a third plate exposed for 20 seconds would show more stars than the two former exposures. So that plate after plate might be exposed under the same group for successively longer and longer intervals indefinitely. Exposures extending over hours have been made, notably by Mr. Common in England, and by Mr. Gill at the Cape of Good Hope, showing not only how magnitude may be determined to any extent, and the heavens most accurately mapped out, but with this very remarkable result:—thousands of stars, invisible even in the most powerful telescopes, are portrayed in the photographs. Let us consider for a moment the significance of this fact with regard to the new space-exploring powers it has placed in the hands of science. The number of stars visible to the unassisted eye in the whole expanse of the heavens has been variously estimated, but the figures usually given lie between 3,000 and 4,000, and the highest estimate for the most acute eyesight, under the most favourable atmospheric conditions, places the limit at 5,000. The brightest star in the heavens is Sirius, and Sir. J. Herschel ascertained that its light is about 324, that of an average star of the 6th magnitude. Taking the average luminosities of stars of the first six magnitudes, Sir W. Herschel, from his own observations, represents their relative brightness by the following figures: 100; 25; 12; 6; 2; 1. The different degrees of brightness seen is, probably, due to the following three causes, combined in various proportions: (1) the different sizes of these luminaries themselves; (2) differences in their intrinsic luminosity; and, (3) differences in their distances from us. And it is also extremely probable that the last is generally by far the largest factor of the three. It has been found by photometrical experiments, that the light we receive from the sun is 20,000,000,000 (twenty thousand million) times more than that of Sirius. If we suppose Sirius to be in reality only as large and as bright as our sun, it follows that its distance from us must be no less than 13,433,000,000,000 miles. The distance of stars of the 16th magnitude has been estimated to be such that their light—travelling at the rate of 185,000 miles per second—takes between five and six thousand years to reach us. For a long time no sensible parallax could be discovered in any of the fixed stars; that is, no change in their positions was discernible when viewed from points 183,000,000 miles apart, namely from the extremities of a diameter of the earth’s orbit. In other words, if we suppose the line of the length just mentioned to form the base of a triangle, having a star at its vertex, the angle formed by the sides is so small that the most refined instruments failed to measure it. In recent times, however, the parallax of a few stars—about a dozen or so—has been detected and approximately measured. The greatest observed parallax belongs to in α the constellation of the Centaur, a star of the first magnitude, 30° from the south pole of the heavens, and of this the parallax amounts to but a little more than nine-tenths of a second of angular measurement, corresponding with a distance of nearly 20,000,000,000,000 miles, a space which takes light 3½ years to pass over. This star is, therefore, believed to be the nearest of any to our system. The smallest parallax that has been measured in any of these few stars is a fraction of a second of angle corresponding with a distance twenty times greater than the other, and requiring seventy years for light to traverse it. Now, as the photographic plate shows us stars of magnitudes indefinitely smaller even than the telescopic sixteenth, we cannot but marvel at the manner in which the light travelling from these suns in the immeasurable depths of space, and taking untold thousands (nay, millions, it may be) of years in its journey is yet able so to agitate the atoms of our silver compounds that images of things that will themselves, probably, never be seen by mortal eyes are presented to our view. A circumstance requiring explanation will occur to the reader’s mind in connection with stellar photography; and that is, how does it happen that, if the image of a star is a mere point, it nevertheless impresses the plate as a visible dot? It is probably because the point is a centre whence the photographic influence radiates laterally on the plate to a small but yet sensible distance.

Among the cosmic objects presented to our observation there are none more fully charged with interest and instruction than the Nebulæ. These are faintly luminous patches, in some few cases visible to the naked eye, but for the most part telescopic. The milky way, which extends round the celestial sphere, is a very conspicuous phenomenon of the same kind. A few other hazy, cloudlike patches are seen in various parts of the heavens, visible on a clear moonless night when the eye is directed towards the proper quarter. The well known group of the Pleiades sometimes presents this appearance, but most persons are able by the unassisted vision to discern in it a group of six stars at least, and an opera-glass or ordinary hand telescope easily resolves the object into a cluster of 20 or 30 distinct stars. Telescopes of higher powers bring more stars into view, and as many as 118 have been counted in the group. There are several other groups of this kind perceptible to the naked eyes merely as diffused patches of light, but resolvable by the telescope into thickly clustered groups of minute stars; but in many of the resolvable nebulæ the separate stars appear spread on a back-ground of diffused luminosity. Again, there are other nebulæ which telescopes of the highest powers we possess fail to resolve at all. Not only has the photographic method shown stellar components of some of these last, but it has depicted the form of nebulæ never seen at all, and whose existence was previously unknown and unsuspected. For example, the photograph has revealed the existence of a back-ground of nebulous patches to the stars of the Pleiades—a thing that had never before been suspected, although the group has been repeatedly observed by the most powerful telescopes. Those who are at all acquainted with astronomy, will understand the significance of this discovery for the science. The results already obtained afford a marvellous support to the famous speculation known as the nebular hypothesis. And as the forms of these objects are accurately shown for us by their own light, changes in their appearance may thus be detected as time goes on which may serve to lift the above named theory into the region of demonstrated truth. The nebulæ which neither telescope nor camera can resolve are such as the spectroscope proves to be masses of glowing gas or vapour.

It has been already mentioned that the light from these immeasurably distant stars and nebulæ is so faint that the most sensitive photographic plates have to be exposed for hours. This would be a matter of no difficulty if the clockwork mechanism by which the apparatus is made to follow the apparent motion of the heavens could be constructed with absolute perfection. But as this is not obtainable, even with the most careful workmanship, and the smallest jar or irregularity would distort and confuse the images, this source of disturbance is eliminated in the following manner: attached to the photographing apparatus and driven with it is a telescope, provided with cross wires, and through this an observer views some star during the whole period of the exposure, his business being to keep the image of the star accurately on the cross wire, which he is enabled to do by having the means of slightly modifying the movement of the clockwork. In the Paris Exhibition of 1889 were shown many very fine large photographic prints of nebulæ (notably of great nebula in Orion), which have recently been obtained in this manner, and those nebulæ that had been photographically resolved had the stellar components marked with wonderful distinctness. Comets and meteorites have been photographed, and even the aurora borealis and the lightning’s path have been brought within the camera’s ken.

Space would fail us to describe the many applications now found for photography in microscopy, in medicine and surgery, in anthropology, in commerce, and in the arts. It is obvious also from the improvements that are continually made, that many of these applications have not yet received their full developments. Photography has been enlisted into the service of the army and navy, and regular courses of instruction in the art are given in their training schools. A well equipped photographic waggon now accompanies every army corps, and in almost every ship of war, some proficient operator is to be found. By an ingenious combination of photography, aerostatics and electricity, it is possible to obtain with perfect safety accurate information of the disposition of an enemy’s forces and fortifications. A small captive balloon is sent up, to which is attached a camera. At a height of a few hundred yards, the balloon is practically safe from any projectiles, and in its cable are interwoven two electric wires by which currents are conveyed to electro-magnets, which produce all the movements required for any number of exposures. Jurisprudence has found its account in recognizing the art, for the photograph is received in evidence for proving identity, etc. The administration of the criminal law takes advantage of the art to secure the likeness of prisoners for future identification, and the modern instantaneous process renders unnecessary the subjects’ concurrence with the operation. Again, if the “hue and cry” has to be raised for an individual “wanted” for any offence, and a photographic likeness of him is procurable, thousands of copies can be made of it in a few hours, by night as easily as by day, and distributed to every police station in the whole country.

Modern processes now enable us to obtain prints from negatives in as many seconds as a few years ago hours were required, and this by artificial light. A process of printing lately introduced and yielding artistic results which deserve to find more general favour, is that called the platinotype. Instead of the ordinary print produced on lightly glazed paper by the reduction of silver compounds, and of questionable permanency, the image is formed in the paper by metallic platinum, the most changeless of all possible substances under ordinary influences. The pictures are of a rich velvety black, with soft gradations, and the surface is without glaze or glare. The print has, in fact, the appearance and all the best qualities of the most highly finished mezzotint engraving, combined with the minute fidelity characteristic of the photograph. The problem of producing a photograph in colours, permanently showing nature’s tints in all their gradations, has still a great fascination for some experimenters, and startling announcements are made from time to time of some discovery in this direction. It does not appear, however, that any success has really been arrived at, beyond the results long ago obtained by Becquerel as described on page 614; and, indeed, as our knowledge of the science of the subject increases, the less likely does the possibility of photographing colours appear. It is, however, never safe to lay down the limits of discovery in science.[14] Note that precisely in the matter of rendering colour even in its due gradation of tone or luminous intensity, the photograph is quite untruthful. Everybody has noticed how unnaturally dark and heavy the foliage of trees appears in the prints; if we suppose a lady in a blue dress, with yellow trimmings, to sit for her portrait, the photograph will show her in a white dress with black trimmings; a sitter with light yellow or auburn hair will appear of quite a dark complexion; if you photograph a lemon and a plum together, the latter will probably come out lighter than the former; or if a daffodil be the subject, the flower will be drawn in tones much darker than the leaves. This incorrectness of tone relations can, however, be greatly lessened by the device of reducing the quantity of the blue rays, by interposing a piece of optically plane yellow-tinted glass, by using the sensitive plates tinted with certain coal-tar dyes, which are now prepared and sold under the name of “ortho-chromatic plates,” or by both methods combined.

Footnote 14:

See page 630.

If any illustration were needed of the great popularity now attained by the practice of photography, reference might be made to the large number of periodicals devoted to the subject, and appearing weekly, fortnightly, quarterly or annually, in every civilised country, and also to the multitudes of societies that have been formed for the promotion of the art. In Great Britain alone there are now at least 150 such societies in active operation, and they are correspondingly numerous elsewhere. If, when we consider all that has been accomplished up to the present time, with the jubilee year of photography scarcely passed, and observe the increasing numbers of its cultivators guided by the explanations of its phenomena that science is beginning to furnish, we can expect a corresponding progress in the next fifty years, then the centenary may be reached with a roll of achievements that could we know them now we should think marvellous.

As already remarked elsewhere, the practical side of photography has outstripped the theoretical one, for so far its progress has been much less indebted for processes and technic to the direct guidance of science than almost any other of our Nineteenth Century acquisitions, such as telegraphy, electric lighting, etc. The materials employed, and the mode of manipulation, have certainly not been deduced from previous knowledge of the nature of light or from the laws of chemistry, although when, by repeated trials and happy guesses, the right direction had been found, the field into which it led could be more easily explored under the direction of chemistry and physics. But even yet the fundamental principle, or the precise nature of the action of light on certain compounds, has not been definitely made out, and although some theories on the subject have been proposed, no one has been generally accepted as an adequate explanation of the known facts, and still less have any quantitative relations been established for these actions. The photographer cannot compose a formula for the composition of his emulsions and developers from assured data like those that enable the chemist to weigh out with accuracy the constituents that go to produce a required compound.

The attainment of permanency in its products, which, by several processes, photography can now boast of, is one of its triumphs, and will tend greatly to enlarge the sphere of its utility. For example, we have a public institution, known as the National Portrait Gallery, in which it is sought to gather together and preserve the likenesses of the most eminent Englishmen, and presentments of such of far less fidelity than photographic portraits are eagerly sought after. It has been suggested that something like a National Gallery of permanent photographic portraits of the chief men of their time would be a fitting and acceptable legacy to the public of the future. This idea has much to recommend it, particularly as authentic likenesses would thus be secured for the nation beyond the chance of loss.

Photography has been applied in preparing blocks in relief for printing along with letterpress in the same way as woodcut blocks. The process has the great advantage of producing in a wonderfully short time a perfect facsimile of the artist’s drawing without the intervention of any engraver. A plate of zinc, brass, or copper, coated with a dried film of bichromated albumen, is exposed to light under the transparent negative of a drawing in pure line, that is, one having in it only lines of uniform colour throughout. The parts of the film reached by the light, which correspond with the lines of the original design, are rendered insoluble, while the rest can readily be removed by water. These unprotected parts have then to be removed by the action of acids, but these are used alternately with the application to the plate of certain compositions, the purpose of which is to prevent lateral erosion of the lines in relief before the requisite depth of the metal has been removed. Fig. 147_f_ is the reproduction of a pen-and-ink sketch by this or some similar process. But nature and the ordinary photograph show us graduated tones which ordinary printers’ ink cannot really reproduce, inasmuch as it is incapable of gradation, and can give the effect of gradation only by such devices as are mentioned on page 642 (last sentence). Now, the photograph cannot yield a printing-block until its continuous tones are broken up into lines or dots. Not a few methods of doing this have been contrived, but that which is by far the most commonly used, and is most successfully practised on the commercial scale, is simple in principle, although in actual working it calls for much experience and skill. The negative is taken upon a wet collodion plate, in front of which, within the camera, and at a very short distance (say 1/30th inch) from the film, is a transparent screen, bearing two sets of parallel opaque lines at right angles to each other. These lines are mechanically ruled with the utmost regularity, and are separated by only very small intervals. There may be from 80 to 200 of them in the space of one inch, according to the class of work required. The effect of this is that the light reaches the photographic film through a series of minute transparent squares, the sides of which may be only from the 1/140th to the 1/400th of an inch in length. Now it is found that the brighter lights from the original positive, after passing these small apertures, spread so as to more or less cover the opposite parts of the negative, while the feebler lights, from the shades of the original, impress the plate to a less degree, the developed image in these showing, perhaps, merely a small dot or, in the very darkest parts, a blank. In this way, then, may the photographic negative be obtained with a granulated texture following in graduation the tones of the original. After this, the rest is easy, for the process of exposing a metal plate, coated with a sensitive film under the negative, and of etching it with acids, etc., is essentially the same as in the foregoing. Such is the half-tone process, which is now so largely superseding wood and other engraving. It is unnecessary to describe technical details here, such as the employment of bitumen of Judæa as the coating for the metal plate, or how the image must be reflected into the lens from a mirror to avoid a reversal in the final print, etc. There are endless modifications of the processes briefly mentioned above, and some of these are guarded as valuable trade secrets. Several of the illustrations in this work are prepared by the half-tone process, of which plates I., IV., V., etc., are examples, and they should be examined with a strong lens, in order that the different rendering of the light and the dark parts may be compared.

PHOTOGRAPHY IN COLOURS.

It is the statement as to the futility of assigning limits to scientific discovery that has been justified by facts. The preceding edition of this work was not long in the hands of its readers before the solution of the problem of photography in colours was announced from Paris, where, at the close of 1890, the physicist M. Lippmann had succeeded in photographing the solar spectrum in its natural colours, and at the beginning of 1891, he was able to exhibit at the Academy of Science untouched photographs of a stained glass window in three colours, of a dish of oranges and red flowers, and of a gorgeously coloured parrot, all in their natural tints. The method employed had no apparent relation to that of Becquerel, but was of the simplest, and, moreover, one which any reader who has followed the first few pages of our section on the “Causes of Light and Colours” will have little difficulty in completely understanding, if he has devoted a little attention to Fresnel’s interference experiment. M. Lippmann took a photographic plate, coated to a greater depth than usual with a gelatine film containing the sensitive salts of silver, and in the camera this plate was exposed with the glass towards the lens, while at the other side of the film was a metallic reflecting surface, namely, quicksilver. Supposing a ray of red light to enter the glass and traverse the film, it would be reflected from the metallic surface, and would meet the direct ray within the substance of the film, with a difference of length of path that would produce the interferences already described, and so give rise to alternate lines or bands of darkness and brightness. It would, of course, be in the lines of maximum brightness that the silver would be first deposited by the photographic action, and these microscopically fine lines or striæ of silver would give back, from ordinary light, a colour corresponding to the waves of red light that produced them. Similarly with the other colours. Anyone may observe the production of colour from ordinary white light in the iridescent tints of mother-of-pearl, where the effects are due to the varying distances of fine edges of the layers of the substance. If an impression is taken from a piece of mother-of-pearl by solid paraffin, or by white wax, or even by common red sealing-wax, the colours will seem to be adhering to the impression, but the operation may be repeated times without number. It is the distance apart of the lines or striæ that determinates the colour, and this is always some definite multiple of the wave lengths, given on p. 411, for the various colours. M. Lippmann’s products are true colour photographs, and they form a new and elegant experimental demonstration of the doctrine of luminiferous undulations.

The colour effects of nature have also been reproduced by taking photographs of the same scene through coloured glass. Thus a screen of yellow glass will intercept the blue and the red rays, and the sensitive film will be impressed with images of objects containing yellow rays only, and that in proportion to the quantity of these rays that enter into any given tint. Similarly with images taken through red and blue glasses. The positives from these partial images being projected by three optical lanterns on the same space on a screen, and each being coloured by passing through tinted glasses like the original, the superposed images thus combined give a very lively impression of the natural colours in all their gradations.

Among the many processes for reproducing photographs by non-photographic processes, some have been more or less successfully combined with colour printing. Some of these productions are very effective, and are more attractive to many persons than the monochromatic tints of ordinary photographs.

PRINTING PROCESSES.

As it is beyond contradiction that printing is one of those inventions which have most influenced the progress of mankind, so it will be admitted that certain modern processes, by greatly facilitating the operations, and vastly extending the resources, of the art, possess an interest and importance surpassed by few of the subjects we have discussed. In a former article the reader has been made acquainted with the steam printing-press and other applications of machinery by which the impressions of a form of type, or of a pattern, can be rapidly multiplied. Here we have to describe some ingenious methods of preparing the forms or originals for letterpress and other printing, and certain beautiful processes for multiplying drawings, engravings, and pictures.

STEREOTYPING.

This term is applied to the process of obtaining the impression of a form of movable types, or of a woodcut, on a plate of metal which can be printed from. These plates, after the required number of copies have been printed, can be stored away; and they are ready for use whenever another issue of the work is required. When the pages that are to be stereotyped have been set up in ordinary type, there are several methods by which the stereotype plates may be obtained from them; or rather, there are several materials used to form the matrix or mould in which the metal is cast. When plaster of Paris is used, the form is first slightly oiled, to prevent adhesion of the plaster; a thin mixture of plaster and water is then poured upon the form, which is surrounded by a raised rim, to retain the plaster. The thin plaster is carefully led into all the recesses of the type, and then some thicker material is poured on. The plaster soon sets, and is lifted off the type, and, after drying, is ready to receive the molten metal of which the stereotype plate is formed. This metal is an easily fusible alloy of lead, antimony, and other metals, which takes the form of the mould with great accuracy, and is, when solid, sufficiently hard to print from.

Another plan is to make use of prepared clay, spread upon an iron plate, for the formation of the mould. The face of the type is brushed with benzine, the plate with the clay is laid upon it, and pressure is applied. The whole is then dried in a slow oven, and the clay, when detached from the type, is ready to form the mould. The advantages of the clay process are that the type does not require to be afterwards cleaned from oil, and that the material does not fill up the deeper spaces of the form, so that a thinner stratum of metal suffices to form the stereotype plate.

A third mode of obtaining the mould has been already mentioned in connection with the Walter Printing Press (page 313), in the working of which the papier maché process is ingeniously made to supply the curved stereotype plates for the cylinders. This process is also largely used for other newspaper presses, and sometimes for bookwork, as it forms an invaluable means of expeditiously obtaining a number of stereotype plates from the movable types. This production of a number of similar forms makes it possible to strike off a very large number of copies in a short time, for many presses can be employed simultaneously. For the paper process a number of sheets of tissue-paper are pasted together, and the moist paper is laid upon the form; then the operator, by light strokes of a brush, beats down the paper into the hollows of the type, beginning at the centre of the page, and going towards the margins. A sheet of stout unsized paper, called “plate paper,” constitutes the upper layer; and when the whole has been well beaten down upon the type, pressure is applied by means of a screw acting upon a plate of iron covering the whole. In this condition a gentle heat, produced by steam, is made to completely dry and harden the paper matrix, which is very soon fit to be used for casting the metal. The apparatus for this purpose consists of a hollow iron table, within which steam is made to circulate. On this the form is placed, and the platen is pressed down upon it by means of a screw. In many cases the platen also is heated by steam, to accelerate still further the drying of the matrix, which is effected in about four or five minutes. One paper matrix, by careful use, will serve for the production of a series of casts without receiving any damage from the molten metal, as this is fusible at a low temperature.

The mould for casting flat stereotype plates from the paper matrix is made of iron, and has parallel surfaces, which admit of being so adjusted that the thickness required in the plates may be obtained very nearly. The paper matrix is laid on the horizontal iron bed of the mould; gauge-bars are adjusted, which retain it in its position; and then the second plate is folded down—the distance between that and the paper being determined by the gauge-bars. The cover is secured by clamping-screws, and then the mould is turned upright to receive the metal, which is removed, when solid, after the mould has been turned back into its horizontal position.

However the stereotype plates have been produced, it is necessary accurately to adjust their thickness by planing off some of the material from the back. The edges have also to be cut and trimmed to the exact dimensions required by the press. Various machines have been devised for effecting all these operations with accuracy and dispatch. The plates are afterwards mounted on wooden or metal blocks to bring them to the height of ordinary type.

A fourth method of producing plates for the same purpose as the stereotype plates already described is by electrotyping. This method appears to have been introduced as early as 1840, but the first results were not without imperfections. Now, however, this plan is almost universally applied to bookwork and woodcut illustrations. Many of our popular illustrated periodicals have so large a circulation that the wooden blocks would necessarily be spoiled by being used in steam presses long before they had yielded the required number of impressions; and the method has also the great advantage of securing the original engraving from the chance of accidental damage, by which a block is sometimes irretrievably injured. Hence woodcut illustrations are now always printed from electrotype copies of the engraved blocks, whether the work itself be printed from movable type or not. But the electrotype or stereotype process is always resorted to in the case of a work, whether illustrated or not, when it is foreseen that a re-issue will be demanded. These processes are also of great advantage to the practical printer, because when the pages set up in type have received their final corrections, he can take the casts, and then the type may be distributed—that is, returned to the cases ready for the compositors to use for other work.

The electrotype process is almost as simple as those for producing stereotype plates by casting, and its productions excel these by their great durability and extreme exactness of reproduction. We may take it for granted that the reader is familiar with the fact that ordinary letterpress characters and woodcuts are printed from forms, in which the black portions are in relief. For woodcuts the artist makes the drawing, in reversed position, on a block of finely-grained boxwood, in which the fibres of the wood are perpendicular to the surface. The engraver hollows out all the parts which in the impression remain white, while all the parts which are to receive the ink and produce the black parts of the impression must be left at the original level. The wooden blocks thus engraved would serve to produce a certain number of impressions, which could be taken off by careful hand-printing without perceptible damage to the block. But the pressure necessary for printing inevitably crushes the projecting parts of the block; and the impressions, after a certain number, lose their sharpness. This is especially the case in machine printing; but not only does the electrotype cast present a surface capable of bearing hard usage much better than those of the hardest wood, but even if the number of impressions required should wear out the metal plate, it can easily be replaced by another cast from the original block.

The mould which serves to give the electrotype cast may be made either of gutta-percha softened by a gentle heat and applied to the wood, or of wax. In either case a powerful pressure is applied, in order to force the yielding substance to take the forms of the engraved block or of the metal type. Wax is now generally preferred; the yellow wax used for this purpose is melted, and poured into a shallow pan; when it has become solid, it is sprinkled over with finely-powdered pure blacklead, which is brushed over the surface, and then the excess is removed by blowing with bellows made for the purpose. Thus prepared, the wax is placed over the type-form or wooden block in a powerful press, sometimes worked by hydraulic power; but more frequently a toggle press is employed, in which the pressure is given by a screw and crank-wheel acting on two elbow joints, or toggles. For the information of non-mechanical readers it may be stated that a “toggle” consists of two bars jointed together, and placed nearly in a straight line: when a pressure is applied to the joint, tending to bring the rods still more nearly into a straight line, their extremities are thrust apart with a great force, which increases indefinitely as the rectilinear position is approached. In the electrotyper’s press there are two toggles constructed of very broad bars, or rather thick plates, for they have nearly the width of the bed of the press. With this machine a very powerful and regular pressure is applied; and the wax in a few minutes takes a sharp impression, embracing all the most delicate details of the work, and becomes at the same time very hard. The impression, of course, has hollows corresponding to the projections of the wooden block or type-form, and vice versâ. The face of the wax mould is now very carefully and completely blackleaded, a soft brush being used in the process. It is then placed in the solution of sulphate of copper, and the blacklead receives a deposit of copper, in the manner explained in a former page (498). In about forty or fifty hours a firm, compact deposit, about as thick as the finger-nail, covers the blackleaded surface, forming a perfect reproduction of even the most minute details of the engraved block or letterpress form.

The next operation has for its object the removal of the thin shell of copper from the wax. This is effected by exposing the mould to a gentle heat by immersing it in hot water, or by placing it on a hollow iron table which is heated by steam. The wax is run off into a proper receptacle for future use, and any portion adhering to the copper is removed by the action of naphtha or of a solution of potash. The thin copper shell is then tinned on the back, and an alloy of lead with some tin and antimony, forming the backing metal, is poured on it, to the depth of about one-eighth of an inch. When this has become solid the backing is planed, so that the compound plate may have a certain regular thickness, and that the back surface may be parallel to the face. The edges are cut by a circular saw and trimmed by machine-tools, and the plate is rendered perfectly even, and adjusted with the greatest possible exactness to the required thickness. It is prepared for the press by being screwed down upon a block of wood of a certain thickness, so that the face of the plate may have the same height as common type, the screws passing through the margin or other hollow parts of the face of the cast. No more enduring surface than the copper of these electrotype casts, backed up by the hard alloy, has yet been discovered.

LITHOGRAPHY.

To Aloysius Senefelder, a musician attached to one of the theatres in Munich, whose portrait appears at the head of this article, is due the invention of the art of lithography. It is said he used to arrange his musical compositions on a kind of slates, formed of flakes of the limestone which is found in the neighbourhood of Munich. One day a memorandum which he had made in this manner happened to fall into a slop-bucket full of greasy water; on withdrawing the piece of stone, he noticed with surprise that the grease had attached itself to the characters, while the rest of the stone remained quite clean. Such an incident might have happened to each one of a thousand men, and its significance might not be perceived; but it suggested great possibilities to Senefelder, who, applying himself for some years with ingenuity and perseverance to experiments with the Munich limestone, became, in the year 1800, the inventor of a new art. Though he was no chemist, and was unskilled in mechanics and in drawing, yet within four years from his first observation he had succeeded in finding the proper materials for his crayons and the appropriate acids for acting on the stone, in contriving a suitable press for taking the impressions, and in producing samples of lithographic work in various styles of art. He endeavoured to keep his processes secret, and having obtained the exclusive right of exercising his invention in his own country, he attempted to carry on all the operations himself. Little by little, however, the general nature of the process became known, and although the details were jealously concealed, ingenious persons in France and elsewhere, by force of experiment, succeeded in re-inventing the art for themselves, and Senefelder never profited by his invention as he should have done.

The first lithographic press in London was established by Mr. Hullmandel in 1810. The value of lithography as a means of multiplying works of art was soon afterwards proved by the publication of a magnificent series of picturesque delineations of the quaint architecture of the old towns of Flanders and Germany, drawn on the stone by Samuel Prout. The late Mr. J. D. Harding largely contributed to the popularity of lithography by the landscapes which he drew on the stone, and thus placed in the hands of every one, prints in which all the freedom and force of the artist’s work were secured. The French designers excel in fine-art lithography, and many beautiful productions of their crayons have been published in every department of pictorial illustration.

The best lithographic stones come from Germany; but for some kinds of work stones from other localities are used, on account of their less cost. Thus, in England, a stone yielded by the white lias formation near Bath has been found to possess the requisite qualities. The stones for lithography are prepared in much the same way as slabs of marble are polished; that is to say, by rubbing one slab against another with sand and water. When the stones have thus been brought to a plane surface, they are finished according to the purpose for which they are intended. If they are intended to receive written characters, they are polished to a very smooth surface by means of pumice-stone. But if they are to take drawings, then a certain uniform grain is given by means of finely-sifted sand, the operation being performed in a similar manner to that in which the stones are dressed, only pressure is not applied to the upper stone. The stones, after being washed and dried, are carefully covered on their prepared surfaces with thin paper, and are sent out for use.

When the stone is employed to reproduce written characters, or drawings imitating those done with a pen, lithographic ink is made use of with an ordinary pen, a ruling-pen, a fine brush, or a pen which the lithographer makes for the occasion out of thin metallic plates. The composition of the ink varies much: the usual ingredients are wax, gum-mastic, gum-lac, soap, and lampblack. This composition forms a solid, which is rubbed down with water to a thick liquid when required for use. The characters have, of course, to be written on the stone in a reversed position, and the lithographer acquires the habit of doing this with neatness and dexterity. He is provided with a looking-glass for viewing his work, in order to see the effect which will be given by the impression, for the looking-glass shows the characters in their usual position, just as the image of ordinary writing seen in it is reversed, showing, in fact, the very appearance the characters present on the stone. For a drawing, a lithographic crayon is used, made of wax, soap, grease, lampblack, and other ingredients. With this the drawing is made on the stone exactly as on paper, save the necessary reversals.

When the design has been placed on the stone, a liquid containing nitric acid and gum is poured over it. This liquid acts on all the parts of the stone not protected by the ink or crayon: they are thus rendered incapable of receiving printing-ink, while the protected parts have the impression more strongly fixed; for when the stone has been well washed with water, and turpentine has afterwards been applied, so that all the matter used in marking the design is dissolved away, the seemingly obliterated characters reappear when—after the stone has been lightly wiped with a damp sponge—the roller charged with printer’s ink is applied. The ink is taken up by the stone only at those places which have not been acted on by the acid. The impression is obtained by laying a sheet of damp paper on the inked stone and applying pressure by means of a roller, under which the stone passes. The stone is moistened with water after each impression before the inking-roller is again applied.

The lithographic stone, like other originals used in printing, is liable to deteriorate when large numbers of impressions are taken from it. This would be a serious drawback in lithography, but for a method of renewing the impression, which renders it unnecessary for the artist to retouch his work. This is the process of transferring, which is practised by the aid of a certain kind of paper specially prepared by a coating of paste. On this a proof is taken from the original drawing on the stone, and the still moist sheet is then applied to another stone, with the face downwards, and passed under the press. The effect of the pressure is to cause the adherence of the layer of paste to the stone; and when the paper has been thoroughly wetted at the back, it may be removed, leaving the paste still adhering to the stone, with the impression beneath it. When water is applied, the paste is washed off, while the ink of the impression remains attached to the stone, there reproducing the design drawn on the first stone. The transferred design is treated in exactly the same manner as the original drawing, acid being poured over the stone, &c., and the impressions obtained by the same method of successively sponging, inking, and pressing. The transferred drawing may be made to yield another transfer, and so on indefinitely; but when a large number of impressions from one design are required, it is usual to make at once from the original as many transfers to separate stones as will yield the required number of impressions without deterioration. In this way as many as 70,000 copies have been taken from a single drawing without their showing any marked difference in the character of the impressions.

The transfer process is also applied to place on the stone characters which have been written with a pen in the ordinary manner on prepared paper. In this way a person’s handwriting is so accurately reproduced in the impressions that it is often very difficult to detect the interposition of the lithographic stone, and the impression often passes as the immediate production of the writer’s pen. It is obvious that drawings etched with the pen on transfer-paper can be printed from in the same manner. And line engravings, which have been originally produced by cutting hollow lines on polished plates of copper, can be printed lithographically by transferring an impression to the stone. By transfer also the impressions of raised types or of woodcuts can be printed from the stone when desirable.

A beautiful and important application of lithography to the reproduction of pictures in colours has been so successfully carried out that a new branch of the art, termed chromo-lithography, now gives facsimiles of water-colour drawings and of paintings in oil. The copies of water-colour drawings especially are remarkable for their artistic qualities, and it is undeniable that these cheap reproductions of good paintings have done much to extend the knowledge of art. It is not contended that a chromo-lithograph, for example, after one of old William Hunt’s rustic figures, or birds’ nests with banks of primroses, can possess the wonderful refinement of the original; but it will nevertheless convey much of the artist’s sentiment. Such transcripts of the works of our best artists adorn the homes of thousands who have never perhaps had the opportunity of even seeing the painter’s original handiwork. In many a remote settlement in distant colonies, as in many an English home, the chromo-lithograph is the brightest of the household art treasures.

The principle of chromo-lithography consists in printing on the same paper with inks of various colours from different stones successively, so as to produce, by the juxtaposition and superposition of the various tints, the effect of a coloured drawing or painting. The artistic effects of the best chromo-lithographs require a great number of printings for their production, in some cases as many as twenty different stones being employed. The stones and colours for such productions require true artists to prepare them, persons who can thoroughly understand and enter into the spirit of the original work. The first operation consists in the preparation of a faithful but spirited outline of the original, etched on transfer-paper, from which the outline is placed on a lithographic stone. This sketch we have called an outline, but it is in reality something more; for it should suggest all the markings and limits of tints which belong to the original. This first sketch has some points marked on the margin by dots or crosses, which serve to secure true register in the subsequent processes; that is, the impressions of the successive tints are so placed on the press that these points coincide in each impression.

From the first stone as many impressions of the sketch are transferred in light ink to other stones as there are colours required in the reproduction. To each colour a special stone is assigned, on which the lithographer, guided by the slight impression of the sketch, draws with the ordinary black crayon the form which that colour is to produce on the paper. Much artistic skill and judgment are required to do this in such a manner as to obtain a clear and harmonious final result. The gradations of the colours, and their blendings by superposition, must be carefully regarded. When the form and limits of each colour have been skilfully laid down upon its own stone, the surface is acted on by the acid, it is washed, the ink is dissolved off by turpentine, the stone is sponged, and the roller charged with ink of the appropriate tint is passed over it. The ink, as before, adheres only to the parts over which the crayon has passed, and an impression may be drawn off. Each of the other stones is similarly treated, and when the whole are ready, a proof is taken by giving the same sheet of paper the whole series of impressions in their proper order and colours, with the greatest possible accuracy of register. If any alterations appear desirable, they are made accordingly, by aid of certain devices which need not be here described, and when a satisfactory result has been obtained, the printing of the whole series of impressions is proceeded with. When the number of these is very large, transfers of each stone are taken as in ordinary lithography, only with certain extra precautions for obtaining precision in the register.

The brilliant effects produced by using gold and silver in lithography are obtained by using a kind of varnish, instead of coloured ink, for printing those parts where the metal is to appear. When this varnish has acquired a certain stickiness by partial drying, powdered gold or silver is applied, and this attaches itself only to the varnish; when the sheet is dry it is passed under a burnished steel roller, the pressure of which imparts a brilliant lustre to the metal.

A method of colour-printing, in some respects resembling that of chromo-lithography, is practised by printing in variously coloured inks from a series of wooden blocks. This admits of far greater expedition in working off the impressions than the process with stones. The gradations of the coloured inks and powdered tints are produced in the same manner as those of ordinary woodcuts in black and white; and when the colours are well chosen, and care is taken to secure the accurate superposition of the impressions, very pleasing effects can be produced by this means. The coloured prints which are from time to time issued as supplements to the “Illustrated London News” are produced by this process, and are no doubt well known to the reader. Our plate of spectra, No. XVII., is an example of another method of printing in colours.

OTHER PROCESSES.

In recent times a great number of printing processes have been devised, but only a few have found their way into practical use, and some of these have scarcely been so extensively applied as their merits appear to deserve: either because the public demand has been insufficient to bring these inventions into common use, or the cost of working them has been too great. There is no doubt of their scientific success, whatever may be their commercial value as competing with cheaper and readier methods. We shall first describe the plan which has been termed Nature Printing.

This process is applicable only to certain objects which possess, or may be made to assume, a flat form. It has been most successfully applied to botanical specimens, the impressions of the leaves, flowers, and other parts of plants being given with an accuracy and minuteness of detail which the finest work of an engraver could never attain. In fact, the prints may be examined with a microscope, and they then reveal the minute structure of the object with wonderful clearness and delicacy. The notion of nature printing originated with M. Auer, the Superintendent of the Imperial Printing Office at Vienna; but the process was introduced into England, with certain improvements, by Mr. H. Bradbury. Supposing the object to be printed is a plant or the frond of a fern, it is first thoroughly dried by being pressed between folds of blotting-paper by means of a screw-press. The paper is changed several times, and, when necessary, the drying is accelerated by a gentle heat. When the specimen is perfectly dry, it requires very careful handling, for it is then generally extremely brittle. It is laid upon a sheet of pure soft lead, the face of which has been formed into a perfectly even surface, smooth and bright as a mirror. Mr. Bradbury encountered some difficulties in attempting to produce a surface of this kind, for small irregularities of the lead surface showed themselves; but Mr. James Wood succeeded in preparing for him a machine by which the lead is planed and polished in one operation. The object having been carefully laid upon the bright and smooth surface of the lead, a powerful pressure is applied by passing the plate between a pair of polished steel rollers. The effect of this is to embed the plant in the soft metal, which thus receives even the most delicate markings of the object. The next operation is the careful and patient removal of the object from the plate; and as this is very brittle, it will be easily understood that it does not in general come away entirely, but portions will be left embedded in the metal. The skill of the operator is shown by destroying these by means of a blowpipe-flame, without in the least fusing the lead, which would of course ruin the impression.

When the whole has been removed, the leaden plate will have been engraved, as it were, by the object itself; and in this state the plate will yield impressions with ink in the same manner as an engraved copper plate. But in the soft metal the image would soon be obliterated, and therefore a facsimile of its impression is obtained in copper by the electrotype process. For this end the lead is covered with a varnish, except on the face, and thus the deposit of copper takes place only where it is required, and the current of electricity is continued until a proper thickness of deposit has been obtained. This electrotype has all the hollow forms of the lead plate in relief, and it is used only for the preparation of another electrotype. For this purpose its face is brushed over with fine, pure blacklead, in order to prevent the deposit from becoming incorporated with it, while the rest of the plate is varnished. When it is placed in the electrotyping solution the copper is deposited on the blackleaded face, and the action is continued until the layer of metal has acquired the thickness of one-eighth of an inch. It is then removed from the matrix, and is ready for the printer, who deals with it in the ordinary manner of copper-plate printing, except that he uses a softer paper, and this is forced by the pressure into the depressions in the plate, so that the impression is really embossed on the paper. Coloured inks are also used instead of black; for instance, to the leaves green-coloured ink is applied, and to the stems, &c., brown ink.

Several works on certain branches of natural history have been very appropriately illustrated in this way; among these, perhaps, no more beautiful example is to be found than in “The Ferns of Great Britain and Ireland,” with text by Lindley and Moore. The merits of the nature-printing process appear to be the accuracy of outline in the flat form, and the delicacy of detail in parts projecting from the surface. The impressions cannot present artistic or natural shading in the objects; for the depth of colour will be in proportion to the projection of the part, whereas in nature the darkest shades are seen in the deepest recesses.

A copper plate, cut in the ordinary manner—as a line engraving, for example—soon deteriorates, as the pressure applied for each impression taken from it tends to close up the lines. It has therefore been necessary, where a plate has to yield a large number of impressions, to make use of steel instead of copper. But the electrotype has given the means of multiplying indefinitely facsimiles of engraved copper plates, so that in many cases a number of these are prepared, and used so long as they continue to yield clear impressions, the original plates engraved by the artist only furnishing the matrix. The mode of reproducing the plates by electrotyping from the original engraved plates is identical with that just described for obtaining the plates for nature printing from the leaden plates.

Another process of wider interest, and producing very beautiful results, is known as the Woodbury printing process, from the name of its inventor. It is a mode of photographically forming a picture in relief, from which printing blocks are obtained in much the same manner as in the nature-printing process. But the subject which is thus printed is a photograph; and it is only because in the actual production of the impression on paper the agency of light is not called into play that it is not described under the head of photography, for it is an ingenious mode of causing the photograph to engrave its own image on a metal plate. It is founded on a fact which has already been noticed, namely, the insolubility of gelatine which has been mixed with a bichromate and exposed to the action of light. Mr. Woodbury has obtained the best results with a solution of Nelson’s opaque gelatine, 1 oz. of which is dissolved in 5 oz. of water, and to each ounce of the solution 15 grains of ammonium bichromate are added. When a layer of this mixture, which is of course prepared in the dark, is exposed to the action of light under a negative photograph, the gelatine is rendered insoluble under those parts of the negative through which the light passes, that is, in the parts corresponding with the dark shades in the original object, and the depth of the layer thus rendered insoluble in each part will depend on the relative thickness of the silver deposit in the negative photograph. Thus, in the half-tints the insoluble layer will not be so deep as under the parts of the negative through which the light passes without interruption. But the differences of depth will appear when the soluble gelatine has been dissolved away on the side of the layer which is farther from the negative. Hence, Mr. Woodbury spreads his layer of bichromated gelatine on a sheet of plate-glass, previously coated with collodion, and when the gelatine has become dry, the double film is detached from the glass and exposed under a negative, the collodion side being uppermost and in contact with the photograph. After exposure the film is temporarily attached to another piece of glass, by means of a solution of India-rubber, and is then immersed in warm water, which quickly dissolves the soluble parts of the gelatine. Thus a counterpart in relief of the photograph is obtained. This is allowed to dry, and the next operation consists in obtaining an impression from it in metal: this Mr. Woodbury at first obtained by electric deposition, but he has discovered a much more expeditious process, which one would hardly have supposed possible before actual trial. The dry hard gelatine is placed upon a flat, truly-surfaced steel plate, with the collodion surface downward, a plate of soft metal is placed upon the gelatine, and the whole is subjected to a pressure of about four tons per square inch in a hydraulic press. In one minute a perfect impression of the gelatine relief, down to the smallest detail, is formed in the soft metal; and, strangely enough, the delicate sculpture which the light has executed on the gelatine is not in the least injured, but will stamp its image on an indefinite number of metal plates in the same manner.

The reader will understand that the impressed plate of metal now bears a hollow sculpture representing the image of the original object from which the negative photograph was taken, the darkest shades of the object being represented by the deepest depressions in the plate, while the highest lights are represented by portions of the metal at the level, or nearly so, of the surface of the plate. From this plate the prints on paper are obtained as follows: The plate is placed horizontally, with its impressed face upwards, and a quantity of a certain kind of ink is placed upon it. The composition of this ink, if ink it may be termed, is one of the ingenious parts of this elegant process. It is made of gelatine, coloured with some suitable transparent or semi-transparent pigments, and it is poured on the plate in a warm and fluid state, and in quantity more than sufficient to fill all the hollows. A sheet of paper is placed over the plate, and a moderate pressure is applied, when the excess of ink is squeezed out and escapes. That which remains in the hollows of the plate, becoming set by cooling, adheres to and is removed with the paper, giving in each part a force of tint proportional to its quantity, that is, according to the depth of the hollow in the plate. The paper is laid aside to dry, and although the picture has at first a certain relief, yet the gelatine ink dries down, the picture becoming so flat that no difference of the surface is perceptible. It will be observed that this mode of printing rests upon a distinctly new principle—namely, the production of shades and gradations of tints by the varying quantity of the ink laid upon the different parts of the paper. The method is in this respect identical with that by which the water-colour painter produces his gradations; for the colour is applied in transparent layers, and the depth of the tint produced depends upon the mass of the pigment laid on, and is greater or less according as the white of the paper is more or less visible through the film of colouring matter. The gradations of tint in wood and steel engraving and in lithographs are dependent upon quite another principle—namely, the varying distribution of spots, patches, or lines in black ink of uniform intensity. The Woodbury print has all the detail and clearness of the photograph, together with a certain softness, produced by the transparency of the colouring matter, not found in the ordinary photographic print. The method admits of any desired tint being given to the prints, and these are perfectly unchangeable by light. Thus the result is a print which secures every good quality of a photograph without any of the unpleasant ones, such as hardness, harsh tints, opacity, fugaciousness. The prints may be taken on plates of glass, and they then form beautiful transparencies. Such prints constitute most admirable slides for the magic lantern, since the semi-transparent colouring matter, and the soft gradations, produce charming effects.

Another ingenious invention of Mr. Woodbury’s provides a means of making the sunbeam engrave a mezzotint copper plate from a photograph. The action of light on bichromated gelatine is here again taken advantage of. A film is prepared similar to that used in the above-described Woodbury process proper, but the gelatine is mixed with some powdered or granular material, so that it may give rise to a granulated texture in the resulting plate. This film is treated exactly in the same way as before with regard to exposing, washing with warm water, drying, &c. The product is a very thin sheet, having a mezzotint-like surface, with more or less grain according to the action of the light. The white parts are perfectly freed from the granular matter by the solution of the gelatine, while in the darkest parts there is the greatest accumulation. The dry film in this condition is pressed into soft metal, and by a double process of electrotyping and subsequent facing with steel, a plate is obtained fit for printing at the copper-plate press. The firm of Messrs. Goupil and Co., of Paris, extensively employ this process for the preparation of the illustrations in that elegant publication, “The Portfolio.” Another method of photographic engraving lately projected by Mr. Woodbury is the following: a plate of steel is covered with a layer of gelatine, mixed with a certain proportion of gum and glucose, and dried in a dark room. This is exposed to the action of light under a transparent photograph on glass. When afterwards this gelatine layer is breathed upon, the moisture attaches itself to the portions which have not been acted on by the light, and these become more or less sticky. Sand or emery sifted to three different degrees of fineness is then sprinkled over the plate, beginning with the coarsest, which attaches itself to the most sticky parts. The less sticky parts are incapable of retaining these larger particles; while the finest sand, which is sprinkled on last, is held by parts of the plate that are even very slightly sticky; but the places where the light has been intense are dry, and none of the sand adheres. The gelatine layer is then completely dried, and the plate, being covered with another of soft metal, is placed in a press, by which a granular impression is produced on the soft metal, and this may then be copied in copper by the electrotype process. The larger particles of sand produce deeper depressions in the plate, and thus a gradation of tint is obtained.

Amongst other applications of the gelatine relief devised by Mr. Woodbury is that of producing a watermark in paper. A very delicate relief is firmly attached to a plate of steel or zinc, and when paper is rolled in contact with these plates, it receives an impression of the design, all the delicate half-tints being represented in the slight opacity of the paper. Mr. Woodbury is at present engaged in perfecting a method for wedding his own process to that of chromo-lithography, by first printing the different tints on the paper, and then transferring the Woodbury prints to the top of the colours. The transparency of the gelatine and ink is such that the most brilliant effects are attainable in this way.

Bichromated gelatine is also the agent employed in photolithography, the image of a negative photograph being thus rendered insoluble in a layer of gelatine spread on the stone, which is acted on by acids, &c., in the usual way, after the soluble portions have been removed by water. As there are also methods of using the lithographic process with plates of zinc instead of stones, so there are processes of impressing the image photographically upon the zinc. Of the general nature of the processes of zincography, photolithography, and photozincography the reader will now probably be able to form some idea, but the details need not here be described. The last two, and some other processes for printing photographic effects mechanically, all labour under the defect of imperfectly rendering the half-tints of a picture. This remark does not apply to the Woodbury process. The photo-lithographic process gives marvellous results in cases where no gradations are required. Thus a whole page of the Times newspaper may be lithographed in a space not exceeding half of this page, and although the characters may be indistinguishable to the naked eye, a lens will show them perfectly. Similarly, we may obtain within the compass of an octavo page a photo-lithograph of one of Hogarth’s large engravings, which will show every touch of the original artist’s burin.

There is reason to hope that the time is not far distant when all our tedious mechanical methods of reproducing drawings by wood or steel engravings will be superseded by processes which will give us absolute facsimiles of every touch of the artist’s pencil; and when some process, giving all the delicacy and truthfulness of Mr. Woodbury’s prints, will supply us with faithful transcripts of nature for book illustration at a cost not exceeding that of the ordinary methods. So far as relates to one style of drawing, these requirements appear to be nearly realized in the process termed the graphotype, which reproduces mechanically, in the form of a metal plate with all the lines in relief, a design which the artist has etched on a flat surface. This is effected in the following manner: Chalk is powdered very finely, and sifted through wire gauze having very narrow meshes. A quantity of this is spread upon a smooth plate of metal, and subjected to an intense pressure by means of an hydraulic press. The particles of the chalk cohere into a mass, having sufficient firmness to admit of its surface being drawn upon in the same manner as a block of boxwood. The drawing is effected with an ink composed of lampblack and glue, a finely-pointed camel’s-hair brush being employed; but the shades must be produced by lines and strokes as in wood engraving. When the ink is quite dry, the surface is rubbed with a fitch brush or with velvet; and by this brushing the particles of chalk not protected by the inked strokes are loosened and carried off. In a short time the chalk between the strokes becomes quite hollowed out; and when a depth of about one-eighth of an inch has been attained, every line remains standing in relief exactly as in an engraved wood block. A strong solution of silicate of potash is then poured upon the chalk, which its chemical action converts into a kind of stone without in any way altering the forms. Although this artificial stone is quite hard, so that impressions may at once be taken from it, yet it is incapable of enduring the wear and tear of the printing-press. Accordingly a mould is taken from it, and this is made, by some of the processes of casting or electrotyping already described, to furnish a metal stereotype plate.

THE LINOTYPE MACHINE.

Among recent inventions in connection with printing, the linotype machine calls for special mention. In this machine a great number of actions are combined and co-ordinated with the utmost ingenuity, but such mechanism does not lend itself to popular description, and we must confine ourselves to a statement of what it effects, recommending the reader to avail himself of some opportunity of seeing the apparatus at work. It will not then be needful to give details of every one of the very numerous parts, which present in the ensemble a great appearance of complication, the more so that much ingenuity has been exerted to make the machine compact, which is a practical point of great importance. The disposition of parts is not, therefore, that which is calculated to show each movement clearly to the spectator, but that by which the least space is occupied. The machine is driven by belting from a main shaft, turned by a steam-engine, gas-engine, electro-motor, or other regular source of power, and rotated at such a rate that the main pulley of the machine itself (14½ inches in diameter) shall make about 60 revolutions per minute. Fig. 313_a_ shows the general aspect of the machine and seat for the one operator required, but as we are not undertaking a detailed and complete description of the whole mechanism, no letters of reference are given; but the reader will be able, from the following diagrams, to identify the more important parts, and form a general idea of their action and purpose. In this machine great use is made of the contrivances called cams, several of which may be observed in the sketch towards the side of the machine on the left, being fixed on and turning with its main shaft. They consist of plates, or open rims of various forms, which move levers, etc., in any required way, and at any required period of the revolution.

The linotype is not a type-setting and type-distributing machine, but one in which the form is stereotyped line by line; hence its name of linotype. The mould, or matrix, is made up of a number of brass matrices, each of which consists of a flat plate having on its edge a letter incised. One of these is represented on Fig. 313_b_ wherein a is the hollow letter. At the upper end the plate is cut into a number of notches like the teeth of a saw, only that some of the teeth have their points cut off, leaving steps, as it were, with faces parallel to the longer edges of the matrix. There may be seen one of these at b, and on the opposite side of the V-shape, three may be observed. The number and arrangement of the cut-away notches is different for the matrix of each letter (or sign), and special to it. The meaning of this will be seen presently. The diagram Fig. 313_c_ will help us to see how these matrices are assembled by touches of the finger on the required letters as marked on the keyboard at D. The matrices are assorted and stored in separate channels in the “matrix” magazine, A, a portion of its cover being here represented as broken off in order to show the channels. It will readily be understood that, by a system of levers connected with each key, the corresponding matrix is released by means of an escapement (B´), and falls down one of the channels E on to the travelling belt F, which conveys it to composing stick G, in which the matrices successively assemble in the order to constitute a line (Fig. 313_c_), in which observe that the several words are separated by spaces formed by long wedges of steel, the thick ends of which hang down considerably below the line of matrices. These are dropped one by one from a store at I (Fig. 313_c_), when required, by a touch on the key-bar J; two of them are shown in position in the assembling stick G. In Fig. 313_a_ a bell is seen in front of the keyboard, and this is automatically rung by a mechanical device when the line of matrices is approaching in length to that allotted to the work. At this point the operator has to consider whether he can complete the line with another, or with how many syllables of a word, and he touches the keys of the required letters. The assembling stick then contains all the matrices comparatively loosely packed side by side, for the words are as yet separated by only the thin edges of the space wedges. A touch of the operator on a lever brings into play another part of the mechanism by which the composed line is bodily lifted a short way, then moved horizontally, and conveyed to the “mould wheel,” in which there is a slot, adjustable in length and width, and the line is here firmly pressed against the face of the wheel in such a way that the slot coincides with the line of hollow letters on the edges of the matrices, as shown in Fig. 313_b_. This moulding arrangement is not the least ingenious device in this machine, and well deserves attention. Before the moulding takes place, but while the line is in its place, the wedge spaces are pushed up through the matrices by another portion of the mechanism, and thus the line is immediately “justified,” as the printers term it; that is, the wedges rise up, separating the words, more or less, until the line has exactly its assigned length, and the words are, at the same time, separated by equal spaces. A melting-pot behind the mould-wheel contains a quantity of fusible metal, resembling stereotype metal, which is maintained at just the temperature of fluidity by a regulated gas burner. At the right moment a plunger is forced into the fluid mass, causing it to rise through a kind of spout to the level of the slot in the wheel, and be forced through that into the line of letters. The metal instantly solidifies in the mould, the line of matrices is removed on a bar to a new position at R, Fig. 313_c_, and the wheel then makes a quarter of a turn, bringing the mould from the horizontal into a vertical position (Fig. 313_e_). The linotype is subjected to the operation of certain knives (not shown), by which it is pared smoothly to the exact thickness and height required, and finally ejected, as shown in Fig. 313_e_, dropping in its proper order into a receiving galley. The line, as completed, has the shape represented in Fig. 313_g_, and a number of these lines assembled constitute a “form,” answering all the purposes of the ordinary forms consisting of separate type. These last, after having served their purpose, must be “distributed,” that is, each single letter must be returned to the case from which it was taken by the compositor; but the linotype form, after use, is simply returned to the melting-pot for its metal to be recast into new forms. The forms can, of course, remain standing for any length of time at the mere expense of keeping the metal unemployed. One advantage of the linotype is that the printing is all done from new clean-faced forms, instead of the old and dull-faced characters of ordinary type that have been much used, but have to be resorted to under ordinary circumstances.

It may occur to the reader that errors in linotype would be much more difficult of correction than those occurring with the ordinary type composed by hand. If by chance a wrong matrix appears in the line, this can be changed by hand at once; but supposing that the operator overlooks some error in reading the assembled line, which, observe, he reads with the characters arranged as they will appear in the impression, or that he has misread his manuscript, and the line is cast, assembled into a “form” with the rest, and then in the printed proof the error is discovered, how is it to be rectified? Simply by removing the faulty linotype from the form, and casting a new one. This is so quickly and easily done that it has been found by actual test between linotype and ordinary type matter containing the same defects, that the former could be corrected in less than one-third of the time required for the latter.

We left the line of matrices at R (Fig. 313_c_), and we must now indicate the method by which each is automatically returned to its own magazine, an operation for which much ingenious mechanism has been contrived, of which the details cannot be well described in this place. The line having reached R, the space wedges are disengaged from it and removed to their receptacle at I, while the matrices become engaged by their teeth in the grooves of a horizontal bar, and then the bar is grasped by a lever which lifts it up to the distributing arrangement at the top of the machine, where the teeth of the matrices come to the exact level of the grooves of the distributor bar T. The line is then pushed laterally, the sides of the matrices become engaged in the hollows of two parallel screws U, by which, while suspended only by such of their inclined teeth as the corresponding groove of the distributor can support, they are made to slowly travel along from left to right until each reaches a certain point, namely, that at which its sustaining V grooves on the bar are interrupted by cuts which permit it to drop into its own special magazine. A little consideration will show how, by various combinations of the notches on the matrix, and corresponding cuts at the right places in the grooves of the bar, each matrix may be made to move along until it reaches a determinate place, and there dropped. Compare Fig. 313_b_ and Fig. 313_i_. Each matrix thus again deposited in its proper magazine has completed the circuit of the machine, or, at least, has passed from the bottom of its magazine to the assembling stick, hence to the mould, and, by the distributor, finds its way back to the top of its magazine, whence, in its turn, it will descend to perform again the same duty.

It must be understood that, beyond the operator’s touches on the key-board, and that required to send off the assembled line to the moulding apparatus, all the actions are done automatically without the interference of the operator, who, while one line is getting moulded, raised up, and distributed, calmly proceeds with the composition of the following one.

The rate at which the work is produced is very great. One good operator with one machine can, it is said, turn out, hour by hour, matter that would be equivalent to two and a half pages of this book, arranged solid or without break. There are, of course, record performances of exceptional operators who have completed more than twice as much as this in a single hour.

RECORDING INSTRUMENTS.

Sir John Herschel, in enumerating at the close of his inestimable “Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy” the causes of the rapid development of the physical sciences in modern times, assigns a prominent place to the improvement of scientific apparatus, especially of those instruments by which exact measurements or observations are made. The accurate and elaborate instruments which serve for the delicate and precise determinations and observations of modern science require for their production a very advanced state of mechanical art, such as is indicated by the perfection of the tools we described in a former article; and these tools are themselves, on the other hand, the outcome of accurate knowledge, and another proof of the interaction between science and practical art. Since precise observations and accurate measurements form the essential bases of every science, its progress will be accelerated by every improvement in its instruments which increases their delicacy and exactness. Indeed, hardly any branch of knowledge becomes entitled to be called a science until it rests upon quantitative data of some kind. Chemistry was nothing but a confused collection of vague notions until the exact determinations of the balance were employed, and the proportions of the substances combining or separating in chemical actions were found to be related by certain simple and very definite laws. In all branches of inquiry there is the same necessity of quantitative comparisons: lengths, angles, surfaces, volumes, masses, durations must be compared with standards of their own kind; motions, forces, pressures, temperatures, lights must be measured. The case of chemistry shows the line along which other sciences are advancing. Physiology has made great strides since instruments of precision have been used in its investigations, and as some of these are of the kind we here propose to treat of, they will be described in the sequel. To recording instruments, meteorology is also largely indebted for the remarkable progress which it is making, and which will soon place this branch of knowledge in a condition to supply the most striking illustration of the difference between a science founded on accurate measurements and a mass of vague observations.

The obvious advantage of a recording instrument (say, for example, such a one as that represented in Fig. 314, which registers the force and direction of the wind) is that the results are obtained without the immediate attention of an observer, and they can be continuously recorded at every instant, day and night; but there is another and yet greater advantage in certain kinds of instruments which write their own records, in the fact that they can be made to register results which would altogether escape direct observation. It is said that a practised astronomical observer will correctly record the time of a phenomenon to nearly the tenth of a second; but there are cases in which we may desire to estimate time to the thousandth part of a second or less. An investigation of M. Foucault has already been named in which a far less interval of time was concerned (page 387); but the recording instruments we have to mention here are of use for enabling us to make certain instantaneous actions mark the time of their occurrence with the greatest precision, and also for enabling us to note the variations in actions which are too rapid to be directly observed in their various phases.

Fig. 315 is a diagram which will serve to explain the method in which the height of the barometer and the thermometer are registered in the ingenious metereograph, invented by Professor Hough, of Dudley Observatory. The contrivance has the advantage of performing the operation for both instruments, with a single piece of mechanism and on the same sheet of paper. The diagram is not intended to indicate the actual arrangement of the parts of the apparatus, but merely to explain the principle of its action. Let A represent a cylinder about 6 in. in diameter and 7 in. high, covered with a sheet of paper, ruled with certain lines, some parallel to the axis, and others perpendicular to those. This drum revolves by clockwork, controlled by a pendulum, at a certain regular rate of, say, one turn in seven days. B is a metallic bar or lever, about 2 ft. in length, mounted on an axis or fulcrum at C. At D is a pencil or style projecting from the extremity of the bar opposite the centre of the drum, but not in actual contact with the paper. E and F are platinum wires attached to the lever at about 3 in. distance from the fulcrum, C; E passes into the open tube of a mercurial thermometer, G, and F into the shorter branch of a syphon barometer, H. The clockwork has other offices to perform besides turning the drum, A, on its axis; and one of these is to alternately elevate and depress the lever, B, every half-hour. If the end, F, be depressed, it is plain that the wire will come into contact with the metallic float, which is supported by the mercury and follows its movements. If, therefore, wires from a battery, K, including an electro-magnet, I, in their circuit, be connected with the bar at C, and with the mercury at H, when the wire at F touches the float, the current will pass and the armature of the electro-magnet will be attracted. The movement of the armature is so arranged that it causes a blow to be given to the end of the bar D, so that the pen there marks a dot on the drum, thus indicating its height at the time, and therefore that of the mercury in H. When the lever is depressed at the other end, the wire, E, similarly completes the circuit through the mercury in the thermometer, and the height of the latter can be known from the dot which is similarly impressed on the lower part of the paper. These movements may be made with almost any degree of precision required. The clockwork is also made to raise the hammers which strike the pen against the drum, at the instant the electric current passes.

The instrument, as actually constructed, registers also the height of a wet-bulb thermometer, by another wire requiring a lower depression of the lever to bring it into contact with the mercury in a wet-bulb thermometer. A complete double motion of the lever requires one hour, and in that interval the heights of the barometer and both thermometers are each recorded once. The wet and dry-bulb thermometers are registered within a minute of each other, and half an hour elapses between the barometer and thermometer records.

Another invention of Professor Hough’s is a barometer which marks a continuous pencil-line on a revolving cylinder, by which the variations of the mercury are shown for every instant of the day. Another part of the arrangement is a machine for automatically printing on paper in ordinary characters the height of the mercury to the thousandth part of an inch.

A very simple and trustworthy record of thermometric and barometric heights is obtained by photography at Kew and elsewhere. A sheet of sensitive paper passes horizontally at a uniform speed behind the tube of the instrument, so that the only light it can receive must pass through the glass. A lamp is placed in front, and a portion of the paper is protected from its rays by the mercury, while those which pass through the tube above the mercury make their impression on the paper, and thus record the indications of the instrument.

Fig. 314 represents part of another ingenious meteorological instrument invented by Mr. J. E. H. Gordon, and made by Mr. Apps. It is an electrical anemometer, for indicating and registering the direction and force of the wind. The apparatus consists of an external portion, which is of course fixed on some high and exposed part of the building; and the indicating and registering instrument, which communicates with the former only by insulated wires connected with a galvanic battery, and which may be placed on any convenient table within the house. The registering apparatus in this instrument is very neat and compact, and the reader will no doubt be able to form a sufficiently good idea of its nature from the portion which is visible in the cut, and from the knowledge of similar apparatus he may have derived from the descriptions already given in the article on the electric telegraph.

Modes of making phenomena record the time and duration of their own occurrence are now much used in all scientific investigations; and in connection with the electric chronograph or chronoscope which we are about to describe, few more efficient or elegant methods of “interrogating nature”—to use Bacon’s phrase—have yet been devised. The reader who has never seen an instrument of this kind will be the better able to understand its principle by a simple illustration, which may very easily be made a practical one by himself if he has a tuning-fork at hand. Let him fix the tuning-fork firmly into a board in an upright position, by inserting the part usually held in the hand into a hole in the board; and then attach to the fork, by means of a little bees’-wax, a short bristle, which is to project from the extremity of one prong in a direction perpendicular to the plane in which the prongs vibrate. He has now only to provide himself with a piece of glass a few inches square in order to obtain a record of the vibrations of the fork when sounding. By the help of another piece of board it will be easy to arrange a guide by which the piece of glass can be made to fall down by its own weight in a plane parallel to the prongs, and in such a manner that the free end of the bristle shall just touch its surface during the whole time of its descent. Now let the surface of the glass be blackened in the flame of a candle. If the glass be allowed to slide down when the fork is not vibrating, the end of the bristle, by removing the lampblack from the surface as the glass falls, would trace out a vertical line. If, on the other hand, the blackened surface were itself not moved, but simply brought into contact with the end of the bristle, while the fork was sounding, there would be marked only a very short horizontal line, corresponding with the extent of the vibratory movements of the prong. When the glass is allowed to fall while the prong is in motion, the combination of the horizontal movements of the bristle, and the vertical one of the glass, will produce a waved line, which will exhibit perfectly regular curves if the glass has been moved with uniform velocity. It is plain that if the time taken by the glass to pass in front of the bristle were accurately known, the number of movements per second executed by the prong of the fork could be found. On the other hand, if the rate of vibration of the fork be known, the time occupied in the passage of the glass may accurately be read off. If this simple experiment be understood, the principle of the electric chronograph will be clear. Substitute for the sliding glass a cylinder covered with white glazed paper which has been coated with lampblack in the same manner; suppose the cylinder to revolve at a uniform rate, while a tuning-fork is similarly writing its vibrations on the surface of the paper, and let the same mechanism which turns the cylinder, slowly draw the sounding-fork along a straight slide parallel to the axis of the cylinder. The waved line will not form a complete circle on the surface of the cylinder, but will be traced out in a spiral, owing to the combined motions of the fork and the cylinder. As the number of movements per second of a vibrating body emitting a given note are accurately determined and perfectly regular, the waved line on the cylinder thus furnishes an exact measure of small intervals of time, the utility of which will presently be seen.

Fig. 316 represents the apparatus as actually constructed. A is the cylinder covered with the blackened paper, and driven by clockwork contained in the case, B, the rate of movement being regulated by the conical pendulum at C, so as to be approximately uniform. D is a lever for starting and stopping the movement. The clockwork also causes the carriage, E, to slide along the bars, F. This carriage bears three electro-magnets, and to the armature of each a fine pointed strip of metal is attached so as just to touch the surface of the cylinder. The movement of the armatures takes place in a direction parallel to the axis of the cylinder, and they are acted on by independent currents, each electro-magnet having its own binding-screws for the attachment of wires. The armature of one of these is a steel bar, which vibrates in the manner of the prong of a tuning-fork, at a rate known by the note it gives out. Sometimes, for delicate experiments, the movements of this armature are checked and controlled by introducing into its electric circuit a contact-breaker, formed of a real tuning-fork, the vibrations of which are maintained by electro-magnets. Another electro-magnet on the carriage, E, can be connected with the pendulum of a standard clock, so that seconds may be also marked on the cylinder, as larger units in the division of the time. In an electric chronograph, which was exhibited at the International Exhibition of 1862, an ingenious and excellent mode of making and breaking the electric contacts from the standard pendulum was adopted. Two short vertical glass tubes, placed side by side, had each near its lower end a small horizontal branch; these branches were placed in a line with each other, with their ends in very close proximity. The larger tubes were filled with mercury which flowed into the horizontal branches, and the two streams joined in the narrow space between the ends of the tubes. Although the mercury was here unsupported by the glass, and surrounded by air only, it did not run down, for the space was so small that the cohesion of the mercury itself sufficed to keep the drop hanging between the two open ends of the tubes. A very thin sheet of mica was carried by an arm of the pendulum, so placed that at each complete oscillation the mica entered the space between the two tubes and divided the mercury, and thus all electrical communication between the two reservoirs was cut off. The mica remained during one beat of the pendulum in this position; and at the commencement of the return beat was withdrawn, allowing the divided columns of mercury to flow together again, and complete the electric circuit. This admirable make-and-break arrangement acted with the greatest regularity: the mercury was not spilt, as might have been expected, there was no friction, and any oxide formed by the spark which passed when the current was interrupted was removed by the mica. The pendulum provided with such an arrangement allows the current to pass, and interrupts it, during alternate seconds, and the result is that the cylinder is marked with a regularly divided broken line, thus, ¯||¯||¯|_, the establishment and interruption of the current at the end of each second being marked with great sharpness and precision.

The third electro-magnet of the apparatus represented in Fig. 316 is acted on by currents through the wires, G, H. The point attached to its armature traces a plain spiral line on the revolving cylinder, except at the instant when the current is established or interrupted. And the phenomenon to be timed is in some way made to accomplish the making and breaking of this circuit. This may be perhaps better understood by an example. It has sometimes happened that the boxes employed in the pneumatic dispatch stick fast in the tubes, and resist all efforts to dislodge them by manœuvres with the compressed or rarefied air, or other means. In such a case it becomes necessary to ascertain with tolerable accuracy the position of the obstruction, so that the tube may be cut at the right place and the obstacle removed. The known velocity of sound has been ingeniously used for this purpose; the electric chronograph being made the means of ascertaining, to a small fraction of a second, the time required for the report of a pistol to be propagated through the air of the tube and reflected back from the obstruction. An elastic membrane is spread over the open extremity of the pneumatic tube; this membrane has in the centre a little disc of platinum, in electric connection with one of the wires, G, H. The other wire passes to a galvanic cell or battery, and the return wire from the battery is connected with a platinum point, the distance of which from the disc can be adjusted with nicety by means of a screw, so that the circuit may be complete only when the platinum point and the platinum disc are in contact. The screw is adjusted so as to bring the point as near as possible to the disc without actual contact. The chronograph cylinder having been set in motion, a small pistol is fired into the pneumatic tube through a side opening. Sound-waves of alternate compression and rarefaction pass along the tube, and are reflected backwards and forwards many times in succession between the obstacle and the membrane. By these the membrane is alternately forced out and drawn in, making and breaking the electric contact accordingly, and thus causing the point of the electro-magnet to describe in the cylinder an indented line, the intervals of which indicate the time the sound requires to traverse the tube to the obstruction; and thus the position of the latter may be known with sufficient accuracy.

A very interesting application of the electric chronograph is to the measurement of the velocities of projectiles. The science of gunnery has acquired an exactness unknown before electricity was made to carry messages from the cannon-ball in its swiftest flight, and to write the record of its own course. Instruments for thus measuring the velocities of projectiles have been contrived by several electricians, among whom Wheatstone appears to have been the first. The principle in most of these chronographs is precisely the same as that on which the apparatus represented in Fig. 316 is constructed. The action of the projectile which is electrically indicated is the severing of a slender wire, which is stretched from side to side of a wooden frame, so that it passes continuously backwards and forwards in parallel lines. Thus a kind of screen is formed, through which the missile must pass, and in its passage must rupture the wire. If the wire conveys a current of electricity, this current is therefore interrupted at the moment the ball passes. Sometimes the immediate effect of the breaking of the wire is mechanical, as in Wheatstone’s arrangement, where the wire is stretched by a weight over a series of pulleys, and attached to a contact-maker, which completes the circuit when it is set free by the rupture of the wire. A similar arrangement in the screens has been proposed by Mr. Siemens for the establishment of circuits in connection with charged Leyden jars, the sparks of the discharges being made to take place at the surface of a revolving cylinder of polished steel, where the place is shown by the spot they leave on the metal. M. Pouillet’s chronoscope dispenses with the revolving cylinder, and measures the duration of the current established by the projectile at one part of its course and cut off at another, by the arc through which the needle of a galvanometer is impelled.

The instrument which has been most employed in this country by artillerists is that invented by Professor Bashforth. Its indications are extremely accurate, for readings may be taken to the two-thousandth part of a second. From ten to fifteen screens are placed in the path of the projectile at distances asunder which may vary from 15 ft. to 150 ft., but which, of course, are carefully measured. Each screen is formed of a wire carrying an independent current, which also circulates in the coils of an electro-magnet. The ten electro-magnets have styles attached to their armatures in such a manner that when all the currents are passing, ten parallel spiral lines are traced on the surface of a vertical revolving cylinder, about 12 in. long and 4 in. diameter. The cylinder is covered with a sheet of highly-glazed paper coated with lampblack; and when the sheet is removed, the lampblack may be fixed on the paper if desired, and the record made permanent. The equal intervals of time are marked on the same cylinder by another electro-magnet connected with a pendulum beating half-seconds. The axis of the revolving cylinder, &c., carries a heavy flywheel, which is set in motion by the hand at the rate of about three revolutions in two seconds, and the rest of the mechanism is thrown into gear just before the signal to fire is given. The arrangement of the electric connections at the screens is such that at the moment of the rupture of the wire, the circuit is broken for an instant only. At this moment, the iron of the corresponding electro-magnet ceasing to attract its armature, the latter is drawn away by a spring; but the re-establishment of the current immediately brings it back, and the style continues to trace the same spiral line as before. The passage of the ball through the screen is therefore marked by a little notch in the spiral line, thus, ——ᐱ——, and the point where the deviation begins indicates the time at which the ball passed. In order to read off this time, a straight-edge is applied to the cylinder parallel to its axis; and by means of a scale sliding upon the straight-edge the distances between the notches on the several spirals are compared with those between the pendulum marks.

To record the instant at which a projectile passes determined points in a cannon’s bore, lateral plugs are screwed in, each having, just projecting into the bore, a small steel ball, which, pressed outwards by the passing projectile, causes a cutter to divide the primary wire of a Ruhmkorff coil, whereupon the spark that passes in the secondary circuit leaves its record on a uniformly moving disc. Each plug has its own battery, coil, and disc.

A special feature of recording instruments may be exemplified by certain applications of the principle to the investigation of physiological actions. A skilled physician is often able to detect in the pulse of his patient certain characteristics besides the mere rate, which are highly significant as regards the condition of the circulatory system. The range of these indications has been greatly extended by an instrument invented by MM. Chauveau and Marey, by which the pulse is made to write down a graphic representation of its action. The patient’s arm having been placed on a suitable support, a little stud covered with soft leather is lightly pressed against the artery by a spring. The stud is in contact with the shorter end of a very light lever, the other extremity of which is furnished with a point, which registers its movements on a cylinder of blackened metal, made to rotate and advance longitudinally by clockwork; or the record is taken on strips of flat smoked glass. As the motion is much magnified by the lever, every variation in the pressure of the blood in the artery during the beat of the pulse is distinctly and faithfully indicated. From the line so traced the physician may obtain infallible data for judging of the condition of the heart, the action of its valves, &c. It is marvellous to observe the manner in which the curves of the sphygmograph, as the instrument is termed, change their form when certain drugs are administered: the change in some cases occurs immediately, so that the eye can detect by the inspection of the sphygmographic curve almost the instant at which the drug was introduced into the system, and the nature of its action on the heart.

Another instrument which is doing good service in the hands of medical investigators is the spirograph, in which the rise and fall of the chest in breathing are similarly traced by the motions of a lever. In this instrument a small pad, which presses on the chest, communicates its movements to an elastic membrane, which, like the skin of a drumhead, covers one end of a cylindrical box maintained in a fixed position relatively to the person of the patient. The air in this box is in communication, by means of a flexible tube, with the interior of another similarly closed box; the elastic membrane of the latter acts against the short end of a lever, which is made to register its movements as in the sphygmograph, for the compression of the air caused by the rise of the chest is conveyed to the second box through the flexible tube. The curves furnished by this instrument also give valuable indications, and exhibit marked changes under any influence in the least degree affecting the respiratory system.

The value of a self-registering instrument for solving problems, the intricacy of which is increased by the multiplicity and rapidity of the actions to be observed, cannot be better illustrated than by the success with which Professor Marey has thus studied some complicated actions of locomotion, as related in his extremely interesting work entitled, “La Machine Animale,” a translation of which has appeared in “The International Series.” The action of the horse in the various paces, walking, trotting, galloping, &c., has been an endless subject of discussion, with no other data than the shoe-marks left in soft ground, and the general appearance of the animal’s movements to an observer. But M. Marey—by means of elastic bags containing air, communicating the pressure through flexible tubes, so as to move little levers, which write their traces on a revolving cylinder impelled by clockwork, and carried by the rider,—has completely and finally settled all the points in dispute. It is now definitely known how the horse’s feet are placed on the ground in each of his paces, and the actual and relative time that each foot remains down. The instruments are also made to register the vertical movements of the animal, so that a complete record of its motion can be obtained.

It was long a difficulty to obtain data as to the temperature of the sea at great depths below the surface. It is obvious that the ordinary maximum and minimum registering thermometers would not give the temperature at any particular depth to which they might be submerged, but merely the temperature of the warmest or coldest stratum of water through which they passed in their descent or ascent. No plan which has been devised to obviate these difficulties appears to have been attended with success, until a quite recent invention of Messrs. Negretti and Zambra supplied the desideratum, and furnished a convenient instrument for trustworthy determination of the temperature of the ocean at any required depth. The same firm long ago constructed thermometers for deep-sea soundings, with bulbs protected from the pressure of the water by an outer covering of thick glass surrounding the delicate bulb of the thermometer, between which and the outer casing a space was left, partially filled with mercury, so that heat might readily pass to or from the inner bulb without the latter being exposed to the superincumbent pressure. The new recording deep-sea thermometer differs, however, from all other registering thermometers by containing mercury only, without alcohol, or springs, or other removable indices, and, consequently, it is free from liability to derangement. The following is the description of the instrument:

In the first place it must be observed that the bulb of the thermometer is protected so as to resist the pressure of the ocean, which varies according to depth, that of 3,000 fathoms being something like 3 tons pressure on the square inch. The new instrument is in shape like a syphon with parallel legs, all in one piece, and having a continuous communication, as shown in Fig. 317. The scale of the thermometer is pivoted on a centre, and being attached in a vertical position to a simple apparatus (which will be presently described), is lowered to any depth that may be desired. In its descent the thermometer acts as an ordinary instrument, the mercury rising or falling according to the temperature of the stratum through which it passes; but so soon as the descent ceases, and a reverse motion is given to the line, so as to pull the thermometer towards the surface, the instrument turns once on its centre, first bulb uppermost, and afterwards bulb downwards. This causes the mercury, which was in the left-hand column, first to pass into the dilated syphon-bend at the top, and thence into the right-hand tube, where it remains, indicating on a graduated scale the exact temperature at the time the thermometer was turned over. The cut shows the position of the mercury after the instrument has been turned on its centre. A is the bulb; B the outer coating or protecting cylinder; C is the space of rarefied air, which is reduced if the outer casing be compressed; D is a small glass plug, as in Negretti and Zambra’s maximum thermometer, which at the moment of turning cuts off the mercury in the tube from that in the bulb, thereby ensuring that none but the former can be transferred into the indicating column; E is an enlargement made in the bend, so as to enable the mercury to pass quickly from one tube to another in revolving; and F is the indicating tube, or thermometer proper. When the thermometer is put in motion, as soon as the tube has acquired a slightly oblique position, the mercury breaks off at the point D, runs into the curved and enlarged portion, E, and eventually falls into the tube, F, as the instrument resumes its original vertical position.

The contrivance for turning the thermometer over at the bottom of the sea may be described as a vertical propeller, to which the instrument is pivoted. So long as the instrument is descending the propeller is lifted out of gear and revolves free; but as soon as the ascent commences, the action is reversed, the propeller falls into gear with a pinion connected with the thermometer, and by these means the thermometer is turned over, and after one turn it remains locked and immovable. The engraving, Fig. 318, shows the general arrangement, T being the thermometer, S a metal screw connected with the frame of the thermometer by a wheel-and-pinion movement at W; S^† is the stop for arresting the movement of the thermometer when it has made one complete turn.

The atmospheric recording thermometer (Fig. 319) differs from the deep-sea thermometer by not having the double or protected bulb, as it is not required to resist pressures. In this form of the instrument, the thermometer is turned over by a simple clock movement, which can be set to any hour that may be desired. It is fixed on the clock, and when the hand arrives at the hour determined upon, and to which the clock has been set as an alarum clock is set, a spring is released, and the thermometer turns over as before described. A wet and dry-bulb hygrometer is also arranged on the same plan. For observatories, or where it is important to obtain hourly or half-hourly records of the temperature, twelve or more thermometers are placed on a frame, and these are turned over by clockwork one after the other at every hour or half-hour as required.

The reader can hardly fail to perceive that powerful aid to the investigation of the laws of nature must be afforded by such instruments as we have described. And we have but taken an example here and there of the scientific uses of the recording principle, selecting those that are most readily understood, or that are connected with matters coming home to the business and bosom of every one. The science of meteorology does not deal with subjects which furnish merely amusing speculation for the hour. Forecasts of storms and cyclones would often save many lives and much valuable property; and our dependence upon meteorological conditions cannot be more forcibly illustrated than by reference to the disastrous floods which this year (1875) desolated some districts of France. Meteorology has received a great impulse from the introduction of recording instruments; and the vast number of results which are now hourly recorded must lead to the certain development of the science, and its reduction to exact laws. For even the winds obey laws—laws as definite as those which control the motions of the planets; and could we but take into account the whole of the circumstances upon which the movements and other conditions of the atmosphere depend, we should be able to forecast the weather with the same certainty as—thanks to the great and simple law of gravitation—we predict eclipses or other astronomical phenomena. Already, by aid of the telegraph, it is often possible to send a day’s warning of approaching storms to localities lying in their probable track. The Signal Service, which is a Department of the United States War Office, has a corps of meteorological observers spread over the length and breadth of the States, who send every eight hours, to a Central Office in Washington, a report of the force and direction of the wind, height of the barometer, &c. The officer at Washington sends back by telegraph to the public press a synopsis of each day’s weather, and points out what weather will probably follow; but if any city or port be threatened with a storm, special telegrams are sent. Thus, a warning of the approach of a great storm, which entered the American continent at San Francisco on the 22nd Feb., 1871, was sent to Cheyenne, Omaha, and Chicago, twenty-four hours before the storm reached these cities, which it was foreseen lay in its track. Although the hurricane did much damage at some of these places, it would probably have been far more destructive had not the inhabitants been prepared for its approach.

An elegant form of barograph or recording barometer has been brought out, which is small, but sufficiently accurate for all ordinary purposes. It is founded on the aneroid, which, as everybody knows, is an instrument for indicating atmospheric pressure by the changes of form it produces in a thin circular metallic box, partially exhausted of air. The ordinary form of the aneroid is very sensitive and portable (sometimes it is made only the size of a small watch), and bears an index needle moving over a graduated disc; which arrangement is in the barograph aneroid, replaced by a long lever, carrying an ink tracing point in contact with the face of a cylinder that is caused by clockwork to make one revolution per week. On the cylinder is spread a printed paper diagram, divided by lines for each day of the week and each hour of the day, and on this the tracing point marks a continuous curve, showing all the fluctuations of the barometric pressure. The diagram is removed at the end of the week, and a fresh form adjusted to the cylinder. The impressed papers thus form a permanent and continuous record, from which the height of the barometer, at any given moment, may be read off.

THE PHONOGRAPH.

Everything yet contrived in the way of recording instruments is eclipsed in wonder and interest by one which is among the latest marvels of the age. It is a recording instrument, and more than a recording instrument, for it can reproduce to the senses the very phenomena it records; and these same phenomena are the most familiar in their effects, and, at the same time, so subtle and delicate, that the impressions they convey are not generally thought of otherwise than in connection with our finest intellectual and emotional perceptions. We are alluding to the phonograph, which can register for us music and song, and articulate human speech in all their tones and modulations, and, like an aërial spirit, address them to the ear again, as often as we wish, and thus

Inform the cell of hearing, dark and blind; Intricate labyrinth, more dread for thought To enter than oracular cave, Strict passage through which sighs are brought, And whispers for the heart, their slave; And shrieks, that revel in abuse Of shivering flesh; and warbled air, Whose piercing sweetness can unloose The chains of frenzy, or entice a smile Into the ambush of despair; Hosannas pealing down the long-drawn aisle, And requiems answered by the pulse that beats Devoutly, in life’s last retreats!

In order that the reader may understand the action of the phonograph, it is necessary that he should know something of the science of sound. Then we must remember that this word is commonly used to express sometimes those sensations of which the ear is the organ, and at other times the external cause of those sensations. It is with the former meaning that we use such expressions as “a sweet sound”; with the latter, such phrases as “sound travels.” It will not be necessary to speak of the physiology of the organ of hearing; but attention should be directed to the different kinds of audible perceptions we can distinguish, let us suppose, when listening to a song: First, there is the pitch, or the notes in the musical scale, which, by their particular sequence, constitute the air or melody. Second, there is the degree of loudness or lowness of the notes. Third, the enunciation, or those differences by which we distinguish, for example, the vowels a, e, i, o, u, one from another. Fourth, the quality of the voice by which we can distinguish between two vocalists singing the same vowel on the same note with equal loudness. Observe that these four kinds of sound perceptions are independent one of another. The last kind of difference may also be well illustrated by the instance of musical instruments of different kinds sounding the same note, in which case the difference of the quality or timbre is readily recognized. We have now to show the nature of the mechanical movements outside of us which act on the ear and reach our perception as sounds, giving the distinguishable impressions that have been enumerated; and for the present we shall consider the case of such musical sounds as those just referred to.

That the source of a sustained sound is an elastic body in a state of vibration is a fact of which, in most cases, we are easily made aware by the evidence of sight and touch; as a bell, a violoncello string, a pianoforte wire, or a tuning-fork. On p. 656 is described a simple method by which a tuning-fork may be made to write down its own vibrations, and the more exact plan of recording them on the surface of blackened paper on a revolving and advancing cylinder has also been referred to. By the intervention of appropriate apparatus, a similar record may be obtained from all sounding bodies. From observations of this kind, and others in which totally different methods are used for counting the number of vibrations per vibrations made in a given time, it is known that the pitch of the sound or note depends on the rapidity of the vibrations—the pitch rises with the number of them per second, and the relationship between the notes of a musical scale depends entirely on these numbers. Thus, when the vibrations for the eight notes of an octave are counted, the numbers always have this proportion, beginning from the lowest note-–24, 27, 30, 32, 36, 40, 45, 48. Thus of the two notes—

[Music]

as produced on musical instruments tuned to the concert pitch of the present day, the lower corresponds with 264 complete vibrations per second, the higher with 528. It will be observed, too, that all the harmonies are determined by some simple ratio in the rates of vibration: the interval of the fourth is 3, 4; that of the fifth is 2, 3, etc. Another easily discoverable fact is that the loudness of the sound depends upon the amplitude of the vibrations. This is sufficiently obvious by a few experiments with a tuning fork; and by close examination of such tracings as have been mentioned, we shall soon become aware of another circumstance—namely, that the vibrations not simple, but that the larger or general movement has one or more sets of small vibrations within it. In Fig. 319_a_, A is the curve that would be traced by the tuning-fork in a state of simple vibration; B and C are tracing such as are given by a fork in two of its modes of vibration. The fork gives out its proper or fundamental note in both cases; but the ear recognizes a difference in the quality of the sound due to the smaller and more numerous vibrations. Differences of the same kind are recognized in the notes produced by different musical instruments; but these are usually more complicated, and their forms are characteristic of the particular quality of the tone, which is thus shown to be due to the superposing of several related systems of vibration upon the fundamental one. Thus three out of the four qualities of sound recognized by the ear have had their physical causes assigned. As for the fourth—namely, the distinction we perceive among the different vowels sung on the same note—it has a physical origin identical with the last. For since parts of the vocal organs assume different positions in enunciating the different vowels, they constitute for the time being so many varied musical instruments, and the graphical traces of the sounds (for they can be obtained) show a corresponding modification. Here, in Fig. 319_b_, for example, are represented the tracings of the vibrations given to the air in various vowel sounds. It is also through the vibrations conveyed by the air to the little membrane called the drum of the ear that the sensations of sound are received, and of the nature of these vibrations a few words must be said presently. In considering the different qualities of sound, we have so far confined ourselves to sustained musical notes, as, for instance, the vowel sounds in singing. This has been done to show the relations of rapidity of vibration to pitch and for simplicity of illustration of the superposition of vibrations, etc. Two other remarks must be added—viz., that the vibrations of musical tones are isochronous—that is, whether the note be loud or soft, the same time is taken up in each vibration corresponding with the same fundamental note. Other vocal sounds than sustained vowel notes are found to be due to still more complicated combinations of vibrations of shorter duration, and noises, as distinguished from musical sound, are formed also by the superposition of a greater or less number of systems of vibrations, the rapidities of which are wanting in harmonic relations such as we have pointed out belong to the musical scale. Even in noises, however, there is often one or more predominant systems of vibrations which a musical ear can detect. If the reader will hold a pencil or penholder at one end and tap with it on the edge of the table, passing in quick succession to parts progressively nearer where the pencil is held, he will hardly fail to recognize a rising pitch in the little noises.

A word or two must be said as to the way in which sound is transmitted through the air. This progression is commonly spoken of as a wave motion, but it must not be thought of as taking place in the form familiar to us as waves on water; still less must the reader confound it with the sinuous lines shown in the graphical representations of vibrations given in the figures. It is rather a series of rapid pulsations of the particles of the air taking place in the direction in which the sound is propagated, and resembling waves on water only by presenting periodical phases in uniform succession. The difference may be illustrated from what may be seen in a field of wheat when the wind is blowing over it. The stalks bend down, and rise again when the breeze has passed, and thus the general appearance of the waves of the sea is produced. If we confine our attention, however, to the motion of the several ears of the wheat in a file of stalks, we shall obtain a clearer notion of what takes place in the so-called waves of sound. The positions of the stalks at some one instant of time may be represented by the diagram, Fig. 319_c_. Each stalk is swinging backwards and forwards like an inverted pendulum, and the successive phases of these vibrations bring the adjacent ears nearest to each other about i, and farthest apart at a and a´. The places of these, and of all the intermediate degrees of approximation and retreat, pass along the file. Instead of the ears of wheat swinging on their elastic stalks, suppose particles of air approaching and receding by virtue of the elasticity by which they resist compression and recover from it, and you will obtain an elementary idea of what takes place in the transmission of sound. Fig. 319_d_ is a picture of a column of air acted upon by a tuning-fork. The swiftly advancing prong is compressing the air in front of it, and in swinging back it will tend to leave a vacuum behind it by which the air is partially rarefied; and these alternate condensations and rarefactions will travel along through the air by virtue of its elasticity, and the mechanical action by which they are able to agitate a stretched membrane (or other elastic body), so that its vibrations will correspond with them in period and magnitude, may be easily understood. The vibration produced is a simple one, but any number of other systems may pass at the same time, and each one will be propagated as if the rest did not exist, just as we may see different systems of undulations moving on the surface of water. It should be observed that the velocity of propagation is the same whatever may be the period or the magnitude of the vibrations. The high and the low, the loud and the soft notes of a piece of music played at a distance, all take the same time in reaching the ear. Light as are the particles of air, the mechanical actions which a number of them carrying strong vibratory impulses will produce, may be illustrated by the rattling of window panes by a loud peal of thunder, and may be bodily felt by a person standing close to a very large bell while the hour is striking.

We have referred to instruments for registering sound, and even vocal sounds, before anything has been said of the construction of the phonograph, and it is, in fact, many years since the problem was solved of recording the vibrations produced by speech. Mr. Leo Scott, in 1856, invented an instrument, called the Phonautograph, which did this. It consisted of a cone of sheet zinc like a large ear-trumpet, across the smaller end of which was stretched a membrane, having attached to it a very light style, which left a record of the vibrations of the membrane on a blackened cylinder properly disposed to receive the tracing. When any sound was produced near the open end of the cone, the impulses reflected from its internal surface were concentrated on the membrane, throwing it into corresponding vibrations. Now, this process could be reversed if the tracing could be made to give back again to the style its original movements, these transferred to the membrane would throw the air within the cone into corresponding vibrations, and the sounds that gave rise to the tracing would be reproduced. Yet Mr. Scott seems to have suggested no such possibilities for his instrument; but a few years after the invention of the phonautograph, M. Cros deposited at the Academy of Sciences in Paris a sealed paper, which was opened after Mr. Edison had patented the phonograph (1877), and found to contain suggestions of how this might be done, but describing no experiments in which any approach had been made towards realizing the conditions laid down. To Mr. Edison belongs the honour of solving the problem by the invention of the phonograph, which was patented by him in 1877. The device which he happily hit upon for converting the phonautograph into a phonograph was very simple in principle, and consisting merely in substituting a sheet of tinfoil for the blackened paper in Scott’s apparatus, the mechanism required for reproducing articulate human speech was thus found, contrary to all expectations that had previously been entertained, to be essentially of a remarkably simple character, for the arrangement of the parts was even more direct than in the phonautograph itself. This is not derogatory to the merit of the inventor, for every invention depends upon something previously attained, and the discovery of suitable materials for the various parts of the machine, and the many delicate adjustments of their forms and disposition to secure the required object, demanded the application of very remarkable experimental skill. The phonograph differs from the phonautograph by giving up what it has registered in the original form and material, and thus it is a speaking machine. It is a speaking machine which reproduces articulate speech, not produces it. Much ingenuity has been devoted to the construction of speaking machines which should be capable of producing the sounds of the human voice. By throwing into vibration the air contained in cavities of certain shapes, it was long ago found possible to produce sounds closely resembling those of a voice singing particular vowels, and a real speaking machine that could articulate words was exhibited in America before the phonograph had been brought out. It was constructed by Mr. Faber, and formed a very complicated arrangement, in which all the organs of human speech were imitated. There were bellows acting like the lungs; a larynx with various diaphragms, a mouth with movable tongue and lips, and a tube to resemble the cavity of the nose. The positions and connections of these parts were determined by levers acted from a key-board, like that of a piano, and by certain pedals. By moving these in proper order, the machine pronounced words distinctly enough, but in a strange drawling tone. So like, however, were the sounds to those of the human voice, that some accused the exhibitors of imposition, and unjustly credited ventriloquism instead of mechanism with the results. It will be observed that it is the function of the phonograph to reproduce, not produce, human speech, and the mechanical arrangements of the instrument are simplicity itself compared with Faber’s speaking machine.

Fig. 319_e_ shows the form of the phonograph as designed by Mr. Edison in 1877. It had a brass cylinder (A) upon which a narrow helical groove was cut, and was mounted upon an axle (B), having a narrow screw-thread corresponding with the groove on the cylinder, and working in the upright (C), so that when the handle was turned the cylinder revolved, and at the same time advanced in the direction of its axis. A heavy fly-wheel (D) was attached, in order that the rate of motion might be nearly uniform. A sheet of tinfoil, or of very thin copper, was wrapped round the brass cylinder, and on this metallic foil rested the steel point attached to the vibrating diaphragm, which was mounted in the ring (F). This point was always adjusted so as to be over the helical groove in the cylinder, and made to touch the tinfoil with a regulated pressure. E shows the manner of firmly supporting the diaphragm in such a manner that it could be readily removed from the cylinder when the latter had to be covered afresh with tinfoil, or the cylinder adjusted for reproducing the sounds. The relation of the diaphragm and point to the tinfoil is shown in Fig. 319_f_, which represents the apparatus in section. The tracing point (t) is not attached directly to the vibrating diaphragm, but to an adjustable spring (s), and interposed between the spring and the thin metallic diaphragm is a little pad, formed of a ring of small india-rubber tubing. When the mouthpiece (M) is spoken into, the sound vibrations reach the diaphragm (g g) through the opening (o), and the movements thus communicated to the point (t) which indents the tinfoil to various depths, and with varying frequency, as the handle is turned, bringing the whole length of the groove in succession to be operated upon. When the instrument is required to reproduce the speech so easily recorded, all that is necessary is to allow the indentations to re-act on the point that made them. The cylinder is re-adjusted to the tracing point at the end at which it began, the cylinder is set in motion, and the traces made on the tinfoil move the point up and down, the vibrating disc (g) following its movements, and thus communicating to the air a system of impulses which are the counterparts in period, force and succession of those that originally entered at o. It was usual to attach a conical mouthpiece to the ring (F) in order to concentrate the reproduced sounds, which might then be heard in all parts of a large room. When, in reproducing the sounds, the cylinder was turned with the same velocity as when the words were spoken, the pitch of the voice issuing from the instrument was the same. If it were turned quicker, the pitch was raised; if slower, lowered. The words registered on the tinfoil could be reproduced two or three times, but with decreasing distinctness, as the tracings gradually become obliterated. However, the sheet could be removed from the cylinder, and the speech reproduced at any place at any time afterwards by means of a similar instrument, and a method of stereotyping was proposed for preserving the records. The original phonograph was greatly improved when well regulated clockwork was used for imparting motion instead of the winch. Mr. Edison contrived a modification of the machine, which made it much easier of manipulation, by substituting for the cylinder a flat plate on which a spiral groove was cut. The plate was turned by clockwork, while the vibrating point was made to follow the groove from the centre to the circumference. The phonograph in its original form reproduced speech with peculiarities of its own. The quality was metallic, and reminded one of the intonation of the street Punch. It will easily be understood that the disc itself must necessarily have its own systems of vibration, and these will be further modified by the action of all the other parts. Mr. Edison’s expectations of the capabilities of the instrument not being realized, he turned his attention, after several unsuccessful attempts at its improvement, to the electric light and other subjects, at the same time declaring his conviction that the perfection of the instrument would be but a matter of time; in fact, within a very few years afterwards such improvements were made on Mr. Edison’s instrument as went far to justify this prophecy. These were the work of Dr. Chichester Bell and Mr. Tainter, who, after long continued experiments, found in paraffin wax, with a small admixture of some other substances, a better material for receiving the impressions. A cutting style made to act upon this cuts out a fine groove, the bottom of which is not a series of indentations, but a continuous wavy curve, representing every degree of inflection the vibrating diaphragm. In the new form of the instrument, FIG. 319_g_, which was called the graphophone, to distinguish it from Edison’s, the cylinder does not move forward: it is the diaphragm that advances parallel to the revolving axle. The cylinder is driven by a treadle, like a sewing-machine, and there is an ingenious arrangement by which the speed is controlled so that it can be maintained quite uniform. The movement of cylinder and style can be instantly arrested by touching a button, and as readily re-started. Quite recently Mr. Edison has returned to improving the phonograph by using rather thick, solid cylinders of wax, which are previously prepared for use by the instrument itself paring them down to a truly cylindrical and perfectly uniform surface, the result being a great increase of clearness in the speech and tones of music. Mr. Edison’s new instruments are driven by small electro-motors, and the speed is regulated by a centrifugal governor. It is said that these wax cylinders are capable of giving out the same record for a thousand times without perceptible sign of deterioration; and when the cylinders are required to receive a fresh impression, a former one can easily be pared off. The machines can be arranged so as to sound loud enough to be heard by a large assembly; but the quality of the tones of speech or music is most perfect when conveyed from the receiving chamber in front of the diaphragm to one or both of the auditor’s ears by means of a short elastic tube. Half a dozen persons can thus hear the record on the cylinder with such marvellous distinctness as to be able to recognize the tones of a known voice. The very latest form of the instrument, as it has just left Mr. Edison’s hands, is represented in Fig. 319_h_. In this one single very small diaphragm serves both for recording and reproducing the sounds. This is made of extremely thin glass, to which is attached a small projection made of celluloid, which acts on a bar that carries the recording point. The configuration of this point is most ingenious and peculiar, for it is, in fact, double, one part being shaped like a gouge, which cuts into the walls of the minute depression traced on the wax cylinder, while a style-shaped part impresses the wax with punctured indentations. The shaping of its forms is a difficult and delicate operation, for they are very small and are cut in sapphire. The reproduced speech given out by this instrument is said to possess the properties of sharpness and clearness in a remarkable degree. The machine is provided also with a sapphire cutting edge, by which an old record may be pared off by the very motion of the cylinder in receiving a new one. This phonograph is put in movement by ingenious mechanical devices, for giving uniform rotation from such motive power as may be supplied by the foot or by water or by clockwork. This improved instrument lays claim to practical utility, and its manufacture will, it is stated, be shortly commenced on a large scale.

Quite recently there has been established in America a big manufactory of phonographs in the form of a toy, which is sure to become very popular everywhere. Here they turn out daily several hundred real speaking dolls, which contain clockwork actuating a phonographic cylinder impressed with the words of some childish story or simple rhyme, such as “Jack and Jill,” “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” etc. Each doll of course repeats its little tale as often as the clockwork is set going. These toys are adapted to all nationalities; for, besides many English, there are a number of French, German, Italian, etc., girls employed doing nothing all day long but addressing appropriate words to each little automaton’s waxen cylinder.

The capabilities of the phonograph suggest some curious applications that may be made of it. For example, the songs of a fine singer may thus, in all their modulations, reach people in distant lands, or be made audible to future generations. Thousands of people in England have heard with their ears, through Mr. Edison’s instruments lately brought over by Col. Gournaud, songs and speeches, and pieces of concerted music, sung, said, or played in America months before. Music can be bottled up, so to speak, without the consent of the originators; and, indeed, it is said that an eminent prima donna has applied for an injunction to restrain certain phonographers from reproducing her vocal triumphs with their instruments. A speech of Mr. Gladstone’s, delivered in England, has been phonographically heard in New York with great applause. There is no reason but what, with a loud speaking phonograph uttering an orator’s very words and tones, while instantaneous photographs of his successive gestures and attitudes are projected on a screen, a true and lively impression of his eloquence might be conveyed centuries after his decease. One is almost led to speculate as to the consequences if these nineteenth century inventions had been antedated by a few thousand years: what stores of knowledge we might now possess! and how pleasant it would be thus

To hear each voice we feared to hear no more! Behold each mighty shade revealed to sight, The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right!

AQUARIA.

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