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Notable Events of the Nineteenth Century by Various

V >> Various >> Notable Events of the Nineteenth Century




In no other particular has the change been more marked than with
respect to the general theory of the planetary and stellar worlds. A
New Astronomy has come and taken the place of the old. The very
rudiments of the science have to be learned as it were in a new
language, and under the laws and theories of a new philosophy. Nature
is considered from other points of view, and the general course of
nature is conceived in a manner wholly different from the beliefs of
the past.

In a preceding study we have explained the general notion of planetary
formation according to the views of the last century. The New
Astronomy presents another theory. Beginning with virtually the same
notion of the original condition of our world and sun cluster, the new
view departs widely as to the processes by which the planets were
formed, and extends much further with respect to the first condition
and ultimate destiny of our earth. The New Astronomy, like the old,
begins with a nebular hypothesis. It imagines the matter now composing
the solar group to have been originally dispersed through the space
occupied by our system, and to have been in a state of attenuation
under the influence of high heat. Out of this condition of diffusion
the solar system has been evolved. The idea is a creation by the
process of evolution; it is evolution applied to the planets. More
particularly, the hypothesis is that the worlds of our planetary
system grew into their present state through a series of stages and
slow developments extending over aeons of time.

This is the notion of world-growth substituted for that of
world-production en masse by the action of centrifugal force and
discharge from the solar equator. The New Astronomy proposes in this
respect two points of remarkable difference from the view formerly
entertained. The first relates to the fixing of the planetary orbits,
and the other to the process by which the planets have reached their
present mass and character. The old theory would place a given world
in its pathway around the sun by a spiral flinging off from the
central body, and would allow that the aggregate mass of the globe so
produced was fixed once for all at the beginning. The new theory
supposes that a given planetary orbit, as for instance that of the
earth, was marked in the nebula of our system before the system
existed--that is, that our orbit had its place in the beginning just
as it has now; that the orbit was not determined by solar revolution
and centrifugal action, but that it was mathematically existent in the
nebular sheet out of which the solar system was produced.

Other lines existed in the same sheet of matter. One of these lines or
pathways was destined for the orbit of Mercury; another for the orbit
of Venus. One was for the pathway of Mars; another for the belt of
the asteroids; another for Jupiter; another for Saturn, and still two
others, far off on the rim, for Uranus and Neptune. The theory
continues that such are the laws of matter that these orbital lines
_must_ exist in a disc of fire mist such as that out of which our
solar universe has been produced. The New Astronomy holds firmly to
the notion that the orbits of the planets are as much a part of the
system as the planets themselves, and that both orbit and planet exist
in virtue of the deep-down mathematical formulae on which the whole
material universe is constructed.

Secondly, the New Astronomy differs from the old by a whole horizon in
the notion of world-production. About the middle of the century the
theory began to be advanced that the worlds _grew_ by accretion of
matter; that they grew in the very paths which they now occupy; that
they began to be with a small aggregation of matter rushing together
in the line or orbit which the coming planet was to pursue. The
planetary matter was already revolving in this orbit and in the
surrounding spaces. It was already floating along in a nebulous
superheated form capable of condensation by the loss of heat, but in
particular capable of growth and development by the fall of
surrounding matter upon the forming globe. We must remember that in
the primordial state the elements of a planet, as for instance our
earth, were mixed together and held in a state of tenuity ranging all
the way from solid to highly vaporized forms, and that these elements
subsequently and by slow adjustment got themselves into something
approximating their present state.

The New Astronomy contemplates a period when each of the planets was a
germinal nucleus of matter around which other matter was precipitated,
thus producing a kind of world-growth or accretion. Thus, for
instance, our earth may be considered at a time when its entire mass
would not, according to our measurement, have weighed a hundred
pounds! It consisted of a nucleus around which extended, through a
great space, a mass of attenuated planetary matter. The nucleus once
formed the matter adjacent would precipitate itself by gravitation
upon the surface of the incipient world. The precipitation would
proceed as heat was given off into space. It was virtually a process
of condensation; but the result appeared like growth.

To the senses a planet would seem to be forming itself by accretion;
and so, indeed, in one sense it was; for the mass constantly
increased. As the nucleus sped on in the prescribed pathway, it drew
to itself the surrounding matter, leaving behind it an open channel.
The orbit was thus cleared of the matter, which was at first merely
nebular, and afterward both nebular and fragmentary. The growth at the
first was rapid. With each revolution a larger band of space was swept
clear of its material. With each passage of the forming globe the
matter from the adjacent spaces would rush down upon its surface, and
as the mass of the planet increased the process would be stimulated;
for gravitation is proportional to the mass. At length a great tubular
space would be formed, having the orbit of the earth for its centre,
and in this space the matter was all swept up. The tube enlarged with
each revolution, until an open way was cut through the nebular disc,
and then from the one side toward Venus and from the other side toward
Mars the space widened and widened, until the globe took approximately
by growth its present mass of matter. The nebulous material was drawn
out of the inter-planetary space where it was floating, and the shower
of star dust on the surface of the earth became thinner and less
frequent. In some parts of the orbit bands or patches of this material
existed, and the earth in passing through such hands drew down upon
itself the flying fragments of such matter as it continues to do to
the present day. What are meteoric displays but the residue of the
primordial showers by which the world was formed?

All this work, according to the New Astronomy, took place while our
globe was still in a superheated condition. The mass of it had not yet
settled into permanent form. The water had not yet become water; it
was steam. The metals had not yet become metals; they were rather the
vapor of metals. At length they were the liquids of metals, and at
last the solids. So, also, the rocks were transformed from the
vaporous through the liquid into the solid form--all this while the
globe was in process of condensation. It grew smaller in mathematical
measurements at the same time that it grew heavier by the accretion of
matter. At last the surface was formed, and in time that surface was
sufficiently cooled to allow the vapors around it to condense into
seas and oceans and rivers. There were ages of superficial
softness--vast epochs of mud--in which the living beings that had now
appeared wallowed and sprawled.

We cannot trace the world-growth through all its stages but can only
indicate them as it were in a sketch. The more important thing to be
noted is the relation of our planet in process of formation to the
great fact called life. Here the New Astronomy comes in again to
indicate, theoretically at least, the philosophy of planetary
evolution. Each planet seems to pass through a vast almost
inconceivable period in which its condition renders life on its
surface or in its structure impossible. Heat is at once the favoring
and the prohibitory condition of life. Without heat life cannot exist;
with too great heat life cannot exist. With an intermediate and
moderate degree of heat many forms of animate and inanimate existence
may be promoted.

These facts tend to show that every world has in its career an
intermediate period which may be called the epoch of life. Before the
epoch of life begins there is in the given world no such form of
existence. There is matter only. Then at a certain stage the epoch of
life begins. The epoch of life continues for a vast indeterminate
period. No doubt in some of the worlds an epoch of life has been
provided ten times as great, possibly a thousand times as great, as in
other planets. After the epoch of life begins only certain forms of
existence are for a while possible. Then other and higher forms
succeed them, and then still higher. Thus the process continues until
the highest--that is, the conscious and moral form of existence
becomes possible, and that highest, that conscious, that moral form of
being is ourselves.

This is not all. The epoch of life seems to be terminable at the
further extreme by a planetary condition in which life is no longer
possible. The New Astronomy indicates the coming of a condition in all
the worlds when life must disappear therefrom and be succeeded by a
lifeless state of worldhood. This may be called the epoch of
death--that is, of world-death. It seems to be almost established by
investigation and right reason that worlds die. They reach a stage in
which they are lifeless. They cool down until the waters and gases
that are on the surface and above the surface recede more and more
into the surface and then into the interior, until they wholly
disappear. Cold takes the throne of nature. Universal aridity
supervenes, and all forms of vegetable and animate existence go away
to return no more. They dwindle and expire. The conditions that have
come are virtually conditions of death.

Whether the universe contains within itself, under the Almighty
supervision, certain arrangements and laws by which the dead world can
be again cast into the crucible and regenerated by liberation through
the action of heat into its primordial state once more and go the same
tremendous round of planet life, we know not. The conception of such a
process, even the dream or vague possibility of it, is sufficiently
sublime and fills the mind with a great delight in contemplating the
possible cycles through which the material universe is passing.

At any rate, we may contemplate the three great stages of world-life
with which we are already acquainted--that is, the birth stage, the
epoch of life and the epoch of death. There is a birth, as also a life
and a death of planets. Richard A. Proctor, of great fame, on one of
his last tours of instructive lecturing among our people, had for his
subject the "Birth and Death of Worlds." The theme was not dissimilar
to that which has been here presented in outline. The birth, the life
and the death of worlds! Such is a summary of that almost infinite
history through which our earth is passing--the history which the
globe is _making_ on its way from its nebulous to its final state.

Such, if we mistake not, is the story epitomized--the life history in
brief--of all the worlds of space. They have each in its order and
kind, an epoch of the beginning, then an epoch of growth and
evolution, then an epoch of life--toward which all the preceding
planet history seems to tend--and finally an epoch of death which
must, in the course of infinite time, swallow from sight each planet
in its turn, or at least reduce each from that condition in which it
is an arena of animated existence into that state where it is a
frozen and desert clod, still following its wonted path through space,
still shining with a cold but cheerful face, _like our moon_, upon the
silent abysses of the universe.


WHAT THE WORLDS ARE MADE OF.

The present century was already well advanced before there was any
solid ground for the belief that the worlds of space are made of
analogous or identical materials. It was only with the invention of
the spectroscope and the analysis of light that the material identity
of universal nature was proved by methods which could not be doubted.
The proof came by the spectroscope.

This little instrument, though not famed as is its lordly kinsman the
telescope, or even regarded with the popular favor of the microscope,
has nevertheless carried us as far, and, we were about to say, taught
us as much, as either of the others. It is one thing to see the worlds
afar, to note them visibly, to describe their outlines, to measure
their mass and determine their motions. It is another thing to know
their constitution, the substances of which they are composed, the
material condition in which they exist and the state of their progress
in worldhood. The latter work is the task of the spectroscope; and
right well has it accomplished its mission.

The solar spectrum has been known from the earliest ages. When the
sun-bow was set on the background of cloud over the diluvial floods,
the living beings of that age saw a spectrum--the glorious spectrum of
rain and shine. Wherever the rays of light have been diffracted under
given conditions by the agency of water drops, prism of glass or other
such transparent medium, and the ray has fallen on a suitable screen,
lo! there has been the beautiful spectrum of light.

The artificial, intentional production of this phenomenon of light has
long been known, and both novice and scientist have tested and
improved the methods of getting given results. The child's soap-bubble
shows it in miniature splendor. The pressure of one wet pane of glass
against another reveals it. The breakage of nearly all crystalline
substances brings something of the colored effects of light; but the
triangular prism of glass, suitably prepared, best of all displays the
analysis of the sun-beam into the colors of which it is composed.

The spectroscope is the improved instrument by which the diffracting
prism is best employed in producing the spectrum. The reader no doubt
has seen a spectroscope, and has observed its beautiful work. In this
place we pass, however, from the instrument of production to the
spectrum, or analyzed result, as the same is shown on a screen. There
the pencil of white light falling from the sun is spread out in the
manner of a fan, presenting on the screen the following arrangement of
colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.

This order of colors, beginning with red, starts from that side of the
spectrum which is least bent from the right line in which the white
ray was traveling. The violet rays are most bent. The red rays are
thus said to be at the _lower_ edge of the prism, and the violet rays
at the _upper_ edge. Below the red rays there are now known to be
certain invisible rays, as of heat and electricity. Above the violet
rays are other invisible rays, such as the actinic influence. In fact,
the spectrum, beginning invisibly, passes by way of the visible rays
to the invisible again. Nor can any scientist in the world say at the
present time _how much_ is really included in the spread-out fan of
analyzed sunlight.

Thus much scientists have known for some time. Certain other facts,
however, in connection with the solar spectrum are of greater
importance than are its more sensible phenomena. It was in the year
1802 that the English physicist, William Hyde Wollaston, discovered
that the solar spectrum is crossed with a large number of _dark
lines_. He it was who first mapped these lines and showed their
relative position. He it was also who discovered the existence of
invisible rays above the violet. Twelve years afterward Joseph von
Fraunhofer, of Munich, a German optician of remarkable talents, took
up the examination of the Wollaston lines, and by his success in the
investigation succeeded in attracting the attention of the world.

This second stage in scientific discovery is generally that which
receives the plaudits of mankind. It was so in the case of Fraunhofer.
His name was given to the dark lines in the solar spectrum, and the
nomenclature is retained to the present time. They are called the
"Fraunhofer lines." It was soon discovered that the lines in question
as produced in the spectrum are due to the presence of gases in the
producing flame or source of light. It was also discovered that each
substance in, the process of combustion yields its own line or set of
lines. These appear at regular intervals in the spectrum. When several
substances are consumed at the same time; the lines of each appear in
the spectrum. The result is a _system_ of lines, becoming more and
more complex as the number of elements in the consuming materials is
increased.

The lines in a narrow spectrum fall so closely together that they
cannot be critically examined; but when more than one prism is used
and the spectrum by this means spread out widely, the dark lines are
made to stand apart. They are then found to number many thousands. We
speak now of the analysis of sunlight. Experimentation was naturally
turned, however, to terrestrial gases and solids on fire, and it was
found that these also produce like series of dark lines in the
spectrum. Or when the substances are consumed _as solids_, then the
spectral effects are reversed, and the lines that would be dark lines
in the luminous colored spectrum become themselves luminous lines on
the screen; but these lines hold the same relation in mathematical
measurement, etc., as do the _dark_ lines in the colored spectrum.

Skillful spectroscopists succeeded in detecting and delineating the
lines that were peculiar to each substance. By burning such substances
in flame, they were able to produce the lines, and thus verify
results. By such experimentation the various lines present in the
solar spectrum were separated from the complex result, and the
conclusion was reached that in the burning surface of the sun certain
substances _well known on earth are present_; for the lines of those
substances are shown in the spectrum.

No other known substances would produce the given lines. The
conclusion is overwhelming that the substances in question are present
in a gaseous condition in the burning flames of the sun. Down to the
present time the examination of the sun's atmosphere has shown the
existence therein of thirty-six known elements. These include sodium,
potassium, calcium, magnesium, iron, copper, cobalt, silver, lead,
tin, zinc, titanium, aluminium, chromium, silicon, carbon, hydrogen
and several others.

It was thus established that in the constitution of the sun many of
the well-known elements of the earth are present. There could be no
mistake about it. An identity of lines in such a case proved beyond
dispute the identity of the substance from which such lines are
derived. The existence of common materials in the central sphere of
our system and in _one_ of his attendant orbs--our own--could not be
doubted. The discovery of such a fact led by immediate inference to
the expectation and belief that the _other_ planets were of like
constitution, or in a word, that the whole solar system was
essentially composed of identical materials.

As the inquiry proceeded, it was found, however, that the agreement
in the lines of different spectra was not perfect. Lines would be
found in the spectrum derived from one source that were not present in
a spectrum derived from another source. Materials were therefore
suggested as present in one body that were not present in another.
Still further inquiry confirmed the belief that while there is a
general uniformity in the materials of our solar system, the identity
is not complete in all. An element is found in one part that may not
be found in another. Hydrogen shows its line in the spectrum derived
from every heavenly body that has been investigated; but not so
aluminium or cobalt. Sodium, that is, the salt-producing base, is
discovered everywhere, but not nickel or arsenium. The result, in a
word, shows a certain variability in the distribution of solar and
planetary matter, but a general identity of most.

The question next presented itself as to the character of the luminous
bodies _beyond_ the solar system. Of what kind of matter are the
comets? Of what kind are the fixed stars? Of what kind are the nebulae?
Could the spectroscope be used in determining also the character of
the materials in those orbs that we see shining in the depths of
space? The instrument was turned in answer to these questions to the
sidereal heavens. No other branch of science has been prosecuted in
the after half of this century with more zeal and success than has the
spectroscopic analysis of the fixed stars. These are known by the
telescope to have the character of suns. The most general fact of the
visible heavens is the plentiful distribution of suns. They sparkle
everywhere as the so-called fixed stars. To them the telescope has
been virtually turned in vain. We say in vain because no single fixed
star has, we believe, ever been made by aid of the telescope to show a
disc.

On turning the telescope to a fixed star, its brightness, its
brilliancy, increases according to the power of the instrument. Coming
into the field of one of these great suns of space, the telescope
shows a miraculous dawn spreading and blazing into a glorious sunrise,
and a sun itself flaming like infinite majesty on the sight; but there
is no disc--nothing but a blaze of glory. Thus in a sense the
telescope has worked in vain on the visible heavens. But not so the
spectroscope. The latter has done its glorious work. Turning to a
given fixed star, it shows that the tremendous combustion going on
therein is virtually the same as that in our own sun. There, too, is
flaming hydrogen, and there is carbon and oxygen and iron and sodium
and potassium and many other of the leading elements of what we thus
know to be universal nature. The suns are all akin; they are
cousins-german. They are of the same family--they and their progeny.
They were born of the same universal fact. They are of the same
Father! They are builded on the same plan, and they have a common
destiny. Aye, more, the nebulae that float far off, swanlike, in the
infinitudes, are of the same family. The nebulae may be regarded as the
mothers of universes. It is out of their bosoms that the life and
substance of all suns and worlds are drawn! And these, too, are
composed of the common matter of universal nature. It is the same
matter that we eat and drink. It is the same that we breathe. It is
the same that we see aflame in our lamps and grates. It is the same
that is borne to us in the fragrance of flowers planted on the graves
of our dead. It is the common hydrogen and carbon and oxygen and
nitrogen of our earth and its envelope. It is the soda of our bread;
the potassa of our ashes; the phosphorus of our bones and brain!
Indeed, the universe throughout is of one form and one substance, and
there is one Father over all. Sooner or later the concepts of science
and of religion will come together; and the small agitations and
conflicts of human thought and hope will pass away in a sublime unity
of human faith.




Progress in Discovery and Invention.


THE FIRST STEAMBOAT AND ITS MAKER.

On the night of the second of July, 1798, a man at a little old tavern
in Bardstown, Kentucky, committed suicide. If ever there was a
justifiable case of self-destruction, it was this. No human being is
permitted to take his own life, but there are instances in which the
burden of existence becomes well-nigh intolerable. In the case just
mentioned, the man went to his room and took poison. He was a little
more than fifty-five years of age, but was prematurely old from the
hardships to which he had been subjected. He had not a penny. His
clothes were worn out. A dirty shirt, made of coarse materials, was
seen through the rags of his coat. His face was haggard, wrinkled,
written all over with despair, the lines of which not even the
goodness of death was able to dispel.

The man had seen the Old World and the New, but had never seen
happiness. He had followed his forlorn destiny from his native town
of South Windsor, Connecticut, where he was born on the twenty-first
of January, 1743. His body was buried in the graveyard of Bardstown,
then a frontier village. No one contributed a stone to mark the
grave. Nor has that duty ever been performed. The spot became
undistinguishable as time went by, and we believe that there is not a
man in the world who can point out the place where the body of John
Fitch was buried. The grave of the inventor of the steamboat, hidden
away, more obscurely than that of Jean Valjean in the cemetery of
Pere-Lachaise, will keep the heroic bones to the last day, when all
sepulchres of earth shall set free their occupants and the great sea's
wash cast up its dead!

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