Part 31

The discovery that the periodic changes of the sun’s appearance are associated with the periodic changes in the character of the earth’s magnetism is the next that we have to consider.

It had long been noticed that, during the course of a single day, the magnetic needle exhibits a minute change of direction, taking place in an oscillatory manner. And, when the character of this vibration came to be carefully examined, it was found to correspond to a sort of effort on the needle’s part to turn toward the sun. For example, when the sun is on the magnetic meridian, the needle has its mean position. This happens twice in a day, once when the sun is above the horizon and once when he is below it. Again, when the sun is midway between these two positions—which also happens twice in the day—the needle has its mean position, because the northern and the southern ends make equal efforts (so to speak) to direct themselves toward the sun. Four times in the day, then, the needle has its mean position, or is directed toward the magnetic meridian. But, when the sun is not in one of the four positions considered, that end of the needle which is nearest to him is slightly turned away from its mean position toward him. The change of position is very minute, and only the exact modes of observation made use of in the present age would have sufficed to reveal it. There it is, however, and this minute and seemingly unimportant peculiarity has been found to be full of meaning.

The minute vibrations of the magnetic needle, thus carefully watched—day after day, month after month, year after year—were found to exhibit a yet more minute oscillatory change. They waxed and waned within narrow limits of variation, but yet in a manner there was no mistaking. The period of this oscillatory change was not to be determined, however, by the observations of a few years. Between the time when the diurnal vibration was least until it had reached its greatest extent, and thence returned to its first value, no less than ten and a half years elapsed, and a much longer time passed before the periodic character of the change was satisfactorily determined.

The reader will at once see what these observations tend to. The sun spots vary in frequency within a period of ten and a half years, and the magnetic diurnal vibrations vary within a period of the same duration. It might seem fanciful to associate the two periodic series of changes together, and doubtless when the idea first occurred to Lamont, it was not with any great expectation of finding it confirmed that he examined the evidence bearing on the point. Judging from known facts, we may see reasons for such an expectation in the correspondence of the needle’s diurnal vibration with the sun’s apparent motion, and the law which has been found to associate the annual variations of the magnet’s power with the sun’s distance. But undoubtedly when the idea occurred to Lamont it was an exceedingly bold one, and the ridicule with which the first announcement of the supposed law was received, even in scientific circles, suffices to show how unexpected that relation was which is now so thoroughly established. For a careful comparison between the two periods has demonstrated that they agree most perfectly, not merely in length, but maximum for maximum, and minimum for minimum. When the sun spots are most numerous, then the daily vibration of the magnet is most extensive, while, when the sun’s face is clear of spots, the needle vibrates over its smallest diurnal arc.

Then the intensity of the magnetic action has been found to depend upon solar influences. The vibrations by which the needle indicates the progress of those strange disturbances of the terrestrial magnetism which are known as magnetic storms have been found not merely to be most frequent when the sun’s face is most spotted, but to occur simultaneously with the appearance of signs of disturbance in the solar photosphere. For instance, during the autumn of 1859, the eminent solar observer, Carrington, noticed the apparition of a bright spot upon the sun’s surface. The light of this spot was so intense that he imagined the dark glass which protected his eye had been broken. By a fortunate coincidence, another observer, Mr. Hodgson, happened to be watching the sun at the same instant, and witnessed the same remarkable appearance. Now it was found that the self-registering magnetic instruments of the Kew Observatory had been sharply disturbed at the instant when the bright spot was seen. And afterward it was learned that the phenomena which indicate the progress of a magnetic storm had been observed in many places. Telegraphic communication was interrupted, and in some cases, telegraphic offices were set on fire; auroras appeared both in the Northern and Southern Hemisphere during the night which followed; and the whole frame of the earth seemed to thrill responsively to the disturbance which had affected the great central luminary of the Solar System.

The reader will now see why I have discussed relations which hitherto he may perhaps have thought very little connected with my subject. He sees that there is a bond of sympathy between our earth and the sun; that no disturbance can affect the solar photosphere without affecting our earth to a greater or less degree. But if our earth, then also the other planets. Mercury and Venus, so much nearer the sun than we are, surely respond even more swiftly and more distinctly to the solar magnetic influences. But beyond our earth, and beyond the orbit of moonless Mars, the magnetic impulses speed with the velocity of light. The vast globe of Jupiter is thrilled from pole to pole as the magnetic wave rolls in upon it; then Saturn feels the shock, and then the vast distances beyond which lie Uranus and Neptune are swept by the ever-lessening yet ever-widening disturbance wave. Who shall say what outer planets it then seeks? or who, looking back upon the course over which it has traveled, shall say that planets alone have felt its effects? Meteoric and cometic systems have been visited by the great magnetic wave, and upon the dispersed members of the one and the subtle structure of the other effects even more important may have been produced than those striking phenomena which characterize the progress of the terrestrial or planetary magnetic storms.

When we remember that what is true of a relatively great solar disturbance, such as the one witnessed by Messrs. Carrington and Hodgson, is true also (however different in degree) of the magnetic influences which the sun is at every instant exerting, we see that a new and most important bond of union exists between the members of the solar family. The sun not only sways them by the vast attraction of his gravity, not only illumines them, not only warms them, but he pours forth on all his subtle yet powerful magnetic influences. A new analogy between the members of the Solar System is thus introduced to reinforce those other analogies which have been held so strikingly to indicate that the ends for which our earth has been created are not different from those which the Creator had in view when He planned the other members of the Solar System.

The real end and aim of the telescope, as applied by the astronomer to the examination of the celestial objects, is to gather together the light which streams from each luminous point throughout space. We may regard the space which surrounds us on every side as an ocean without bounds or limits, an ocean across which there are ever sweeping waves of light, either emitted directly from the various bodies subsisting throughout space, or else reflected from their surfaces. Other forms of waves also speed across those limitless depths in all directions, but the light-waves are those which at present concern us. Our earth is as a minute island placed within the ocean of space, and to the shores of this tiny isle the light-waves bear their message from the orbs which lie like other isles amid the fathomless depths around us. With the telescope the astronomer gathers together portions of light-waves which else would have traveled in diverging directions. By thus intensifying their action, he enables the eye to become cognizant of their true nature. Precisely as the narrow channels around our shores cause the tidal wave, which sweeps across the open ocean in almost insensible undulations, to rise and fall through a wide range of variation, so the telescope renders sensible the existence of light-waves which would escape the notice of the unaided eye.

The telescope, then, is essentially a light-gatherer.

The spectroscope is used for another purpose. It might be called the light-sifter. It is applied by the astronomer to analyze the light which comes to him from beyond the ocean of space, and so to enable him to learn the character of the orbs from which that light proceeds.

The principle of the instrument is simple, though the appliances by which its full powers can alone be deduced are somewhat complicated.

A ray of sunlight falling on a prism of glass or crystal does not emerge unchanged in character. Different portions of the ray are differently bent, so that when they emerge from the prism they no longer travel side by side as before. The violet part of the light is bent most, the red least; the various colors from violet through blue, green, and yellow, to red being bent gradually less and less.

The prism then sorts, or sifts, the light-waves.

But we want the means of sifting the light-waves more thoroughly. The reader must bear with me while I describe, as exactly as possible in the brief space available to me, the way in which the first rough work of the prism has been modified into the delicate and significant work of the spectroscope. It is well worth while to form clear views on this point, because so many of the wonders of modern science are associated with spectroscopic analysis.

If, through a small round hole in a shutter, light is admitted into a darkened room, and a prism be placed with its refracting angle downward and horizontal, a vertical spectrum, having its violet end uppermost, will be formed on a screen suitably placed to receive it.

But now let us consider what this spectrum really is. If we take the light-waves corresponding to any particular color, we know, from optical considerations, that these waves emerge from the prism in a pencil exactly resembling in shape the pencil of white light which falls on the prism. They therefore form a small circular or oval image on their own proper part of the spectrum. Hence the spectrum is in reality formed of a multitude of overlapping images, varying in color from violet to red. It thus appears as a rainbow-tinted streak, presenting every gradation of color between the utmost limits of visibility at the violet and red extremities.

If we had a square aperture to admit the light, we should get a similar result. If the aperture were oblong, there would still be overlapping images; but if the length of the oblong were horizontal, then, since each image would also be a horizontally placed oblong, the overlapping would be less than when the images were square. Suppose we diminish the overlapping as much as possible? in other words, suppose we make the oblong slit as narrow as possible? Then, unless there were in reality an infinite number of images distributed all along the spectrum from top to bottom, the images might be so narrowed as not to overlap; in which case, of course, there would be horizontal dark spaces or gaps in our spectrum. Or, again, if we failed in finding gaps of this sort by simply narrowing the aperture, we might lengthen the spectrum by increasing the refracting angle of the prism, or by using several prisms, and so on.

The first great discovery in solar physics, by means of the analysis of the prism (though the discovery had little meaning at the time), consisted in the recognition of the fact that, by means of such devices as the above, dark gaps or cross-lines can be seen in the solar spectrum. In other words, light-waves of the various gradations corresponding to all the tints of the spectrum from violet to red do not travel to us from the great central luminary of our system. Remembering that the effect we call color is due to the length of the light-waves, the effect of red corresponding to light-waves of the greatest length, while the effect of violet corresponds to the shortest light-waves, we see that in effect the sun sends forth to the worlds which circle around him light-waves of many different lengths, but not of all. Of so complex and interesting a nature is ordinary daylight.

But spectroscopists sought to interpret these dark lines in the solar spectrum, and it was in carrying out this inquiry—which even to themselves seemed almost hopeless, and to many would appear an utter waste of time—that they lighted upon the noblest method of research yet revealed to man.

They examined the spectra of the light from incandescent substances (white-hot metals and the like), and found that in these spectra there are no dark lines.

They examined the spectra of the light from the stars, and found that these spectra are crossed by dark lines resembling those in the solar spectrum, but differently arranged.

They tried the spectra of glowing vapors, and they obtained a perplexing result. Instead of a number of dark lines across a rainbow-tinted streak, they found bright lines of various colors. Some gases would give a few such lines, others many, some only one or two.

Then they tried the spectrum of the electric spark, and they found here also a series of bright lines, but not always the same series. The spectrum varied according to the substances between which the spark was taken and the medium through which it passed.

Lastly, they found that the light from an incandescent solid or liquid, when shining through various vapors, no longer gives a spectrum without dark lines, but that the dark lines which then appear vary in position, according to the nature of the vapor through which the light has passed.

Here were a number of strange facts, seemingly too discordant and too perplexing to admit of being interpreted. Yet one discovery only was wanting to bring them all into unison.

In 1859, Kirchhoff, while engaged in observing the solar spectrum, lighted on the discovery that a certain double dark line, which had already been found to correspond exactly in position with the double bright line forming the spectrum of the glowing vapor of sodium, was intensified when the light of the sun was allowed to pass through that vapor. This at once suggested the idea that the presence of this dark line (or, rather, pair of dark lines) in the spectrum of the sun is due to the existence of the vapor of sodium in the solar atmosphere, and that this vapor has the power of absorbing the same order of light-waves as it emits. It would of course follow from this that the other dark lines in the solar spectrum are due to the presence of other absorbent vapors in its atmosphere, and that the identity of these would admit of being established in the same way, supposing this general law to hold, that a vapor emits the same light-waves that it is capable of absorbing.

Kirchhoff was soon able to confirm his views by a variety of experiments. The general principles to which his researches led—in other words, the principles which form the basis of spectrum analysis—are as follows:

1. An incandescent solid or liquid gives a continuous spectrum.