LECTURE VI.
CARBON OR CHARCOAL—COAL-GAS—RESPIRATION AND ITS ANALOGY TO THE BURNING OF A CANDLE—CONCLUSION.
A lady, who honours me by her presence at these Lectures, has conferred a still further obligation by sending me these two candles, which are from Japan, and, I presume, are made of that substance to which I referred in a former lecture. You see that they are even far more highly ornamented than the French candles; and, I suppose, are candles of luxury, judging from their appearance. They have a remarkable peculiarity about them—namely, a hollow wick,—that beautiful peculiarity which Argand introduced into the lamp, and made so valuable. To those who receive such presents from the East, I may just say that this and such like materials gradually undergo a change which gives them on the surface a dull and dead appearance; but they may easily be restored to their original beauty, if the surface be rubbed with a clean cloth or silk handkerchief, so as to polish the little rugosity or roughness: this will restore the beauty of the colours. I have so rubbed one of these candles, and you see the difference between it and the other which has not been polished, but which may be restored by the same process. Observe, also, that these moulded candles from Japan are made more conical than the moulded candles in this part of the world.
I told you, when we last met, a good deal about carbonic acid. We found, by the lime-water test, that when the vapour from the top of the candle or lamp was received into bottles, and tested by this solution of lime-water (the composition of which I explained to you, and which you can make for yourselves), we had that white opacity which was in fact calcareous matter, like shells and corals, and many of the rocks and minerals in the earth. But I have not yet told you fully and clearly the chemical history of this substance—carbonic acid—as we have it from the candle, and I must now resume that subject. We have seen the products, and the nature of them, as they issue from the candle. We have traced the water to its elements, and now we have to see where are the elements of the carbonic acid supplied by the candle. A few experiments will shew this. You remember that when a candle burns badly, it produces smoke; but if it is burning well, there is no smoke. And you know that the brightness of the candle is due to this smoke, which becomes ignited. Here is an experiment to prove this: so long as the smoke remains in the flame of the candle and becomes ignited, it gives a beautiful light, and never appears to us in the form of black particles. I will light some fuel, which is extravagant in its burning. This will serve our purpose—a little turpentine on a sponge. You see the smoke rising from it, and floating into the air in large quantities; and, remember now, the carbonic acid that we have from the candle is from such smoke as that. To make that evident to you, I will introduce this turpentine burning on the sponge into a flask where I have plenty of oxygen, the rich part of the atmosphere, and you now see that the smoke is all consumed. This is the first part of our experiment; and now, what follows? The carbon which you saw flying off from the turpentine flame in the air is now entirely burned in this oxygen, and we shall find that it will, by this rough and temporary experiment, give us exactly the same conclusion and result as we had from the combustion of the candle. The reason why I make the experiment in this manner is solely that I may cause the steps of our demonstration to be so simple that you can never for a moment lose the train of reasoning, if you only pay attention. All the carbon which is burned in oxygen, or air, comes out as carbonic acid, whilst those particles which are not so burned shew you the second substance in the carbonic acid—namely, the carbon—that body which made the flame so bright whilst there was plenty of air, but which was thrown off in excess when there was not oxygen enough to burn it.
I have also to shew you a little more distinctly the history of carbon and oxygen, in their union to make carbonic acid. You are now better able to understand this than before, and I have prepared three or four experiments by way of illustration. This jar is filled with oxygen, and here is some carbon which has been placed in a crucible, for the purpose of being made red-hot. I keep my jar dry, and venture to give you a result imperfect in some degree, in order that I may make the experiment brighter. I am about to put the oxygen and the carbon together. That this is carbon (common charcoal pulverised), you will see by the way in which it burns in the air [letting some of the red-hot charcoal fall out of the crucible]. I am now about to burn it in oxygen gas, and look at the difference. It may appear to you at a distance as if it were burning with a flame; but it is not so. Every little piece of charcoal is burning as a spark, and whilst it so burns it is producing carbonic acid. I specially want these two or three experiments to point out what I shall dwell upon more distinctly by-and-by—that carbon burns in this way, and not as a flame.
Instead of taking many particles of carbon to burn, I will take a rather large piece, which will enable you to see the form and size; and to trace the effects very decidedly. Here is the jar of oxygen, and here is the piece of charcoal, to which I have fastened a little piece of wood, which I can set fire to, and so commence the combustion, which I could not conveniently do without. You now see the charcoal burning, but not as a flame (or if there be a flame, it is the smallest possible one, which I know the cause of—namely, the formation of a little carbonic oxide close upon the surface of the carbon). It goes on burning, you see, slowly producing carbonic acid by the union of this carbon or charcoal (they are equivalent terms) with the oxygen. I have here another piece of charcoal, a piece of bark, which has the quality of being blown to pieces—exploding as it burns. By the effect of the heat, we shall reduce the lump of carbon into particles that will fly off; still every particle, equally with the whole mass, burns in this peculiar way: it burns as a coal, and not like a flame. You observe a multitude of little combustions going on, but no flame. I do not know a finer experiment than this, to shew that carbon burns with a spark.
Here, then, is carbonic acid formed from its elements. It is produced at once; and if we examined it by lime-water, you will see that we have the same substance which I have previously described to you. By putting together 6 parts of carbon by weight (whether it comes from the flame of a candle or from powdered charcoal) and 16 parts of oxygen by weight, we have 22 parts of carbonic acid; and, as we saw last time, the 22 parts of carbonic acid, combined with 28 parts of lime, produced common carbonate of lime. If you were to examine an oyster-shell, and weigh the component parts, you would find that every 50 parts would give 6 of carbon and 16 of oxygen, combined with 28 of lime. However, I do not want to trouble you with these minutiæ—it is only the general philosophy of the matter that we can now go into. See how finely the carbon is dissolving away [pointing to the lump of charcoal burning quietly in the jar of oxygen]. You may say that the charcoal is actually dissolving in the air round about; and if that were perfectly pure charcoal, which we can easily prepare, there would be no residue whatever. When we have a perfectly cleansed and purified piece of carbon, there is no ash left. The carbon burns as a solid dense body, that heat alone cannot change as to its solidity, and yet it passes away into vapour that never condenses into solid or liquid under ordinary circumstances; and what is more curious still, is the fact that the oxygen does not change in its bulk by the solution of the carbon in it. Just as the bulk is at first, so it is at last, only it has become carbonic acid.
There is another experiment which I must give you before you are fully acquainted with the general nature of carbonic acid. Being a compound body, consisting of carbon and oxygen, carbonic acid is a body that we ought to be able to take asunder. And so we can. As we did with water, so we can with carbonic acid—take the two parts asunder. The simplest and quickest way is to act upon the carbonic acid by a substance that can attract the oxygen from it, and leave the carbon behind. You recollect that I took potassium and put it upon water or ice, and you saw that it could take the oxygen from the hydrogen. Now, suppose we do something of the same kind here with this carbonic acid. You know carbonic acid to be a heavy gas. I will not test it with lime-water, as that will interfere with our subsequent experiments; but I think the heaviness of the gas and the power of extinguishing flame will be sufficient for our purpose. I introduce a flame into the gas, and you will see whether it will be put out. You see the light is extinguished. Indeed, the gas may, perhaps, put out phosphorus, which, you know, has a pretty strong combustion. Here is a piece of phosphorus heated to a high degree. I introduce it into gas, and you observe the light is put out; but it will take fire again in the air, because there it re-enters into combustion. Now, let me take a piece of potassium, a substance which, even at common temperatures, can act upon carbonic acid, though not sufficiently for our present purpose, because it soon gets covered with a protecting coat; but if we warm it up to the burning point in air, as we have a fair right to do, and as we have done with phosphorus, you will see that it can burn in carbonic acid; and if it burns, it will burn by taking oxygen, so that you will see what is left behind. I am going, then, to burn this potassium in the carbonic acid, as a proof of the existence of oxygen in the carbonic acid. [In the preliminary process of heating, the potassium exploded.] Sometimes we get an awkward piece of potassium that explodes, or something like it, when it burns. I will take another piece; and now that it is heated, I introduce it into the jar, and you perceive that it burns in the carbonic acid—not so well as in the air, because the carbonic acid contains the oxygen combined; but it does burn, and takes away the oxygen. If I now put this potassium into water, I find that, besides the potash formed (which you need not trouble about), there is a quantity of carbon produced. I have here made the experiment in a very rough way; but I assure you that if I were to make it carefully, devoting a day to it, instead of five minutes, we should get all the proper amount of charcoal left in the spoon, or in the place where the potassium was burned, so that there could be no doubt as to the result. Here, then, is the carbon obtained from the carbonic acid, as a common black substance; so that you have the entire proof of the nature of carbonic acid as consisting of carbon and oxygen. And now, I may tell you, that whenever carbon burns under common circumstances, it produces carbonic acid.
Suppose I take this piece of wood, and put it into a bottle with lime-water. I might shake that lime-water up with wood and the atmosphere as long as I pleased, it would still remain clear as you see it; but suppose I burn the piece of wood in the air of that bottle. You, of course, know I get water. Do I get carbonic acid? [The experiment was performed.] There it is, you see—that is to say, the carbonate lime, which results from carbonic acid, and that carbonic acid must be formed from the carbon which comes from the wood, from the candle, or any other thing. Indeed, you have yourselves frequently tried a very pretty experiment, by which you may see the carbon in wood. If you take a piece of wood, and partly burn it, and then blow it out, you have carbon left. There are things that do not shew carbon in this way. A candle does not shew it, but it contains carbon. Here also is a jar of coal-gas, which produces carbonic acid abundantly. You do not see the carbon, but we can soon shew it to you. I will light it, and as long as there is any gas in this cylinder it will go on burning. You see no carbon, but you see a flame; and because that is bright, it will lead you to guess that there is carbon in the flame. But I will shew it to you by another process. I have some of the same gas in another vessel, mixed with a body that will burn the hydrogen of the gas, but will not burn the carbon. I will light them with a burning taper, and you perceive the hydrogen is consumed, but not the carbon, which is left behind as a dense black smoke. I hope that by these three or four experiments you will learn to see when carbon is present, and understand what are the products of combustion, when gas or other bodies are thoroughly burned in the air.
Before we leave the subject of carbon, let us make a few experiments and remarks upon its wonderful condition as respects ordinary combustion. I have shewn you that the carbon in burning burns only as a solid body, and yet you perceive that, after it is burned, it ceases to be a solid. There are very few fuels that act like this. It is, in fact, only that great source of fuel, the carbonaceous series, the coals, charcoals, and woods, that can do it. I do not know that there is any other elementary substance besides carbon that burns with these conditions; and if it had not been so, what would happen to us? Suppose all fuel had been like iron, which, when it burns, burns into a solid substance. We could not then have such a combustion as you have in this fireplace. Here also is another kind of fuel which burns very well—as well as, if not better, than carbon—so well, indeed, as to take fire of itself when it is in the air, as you see [breaking a tube full of lead pyrophorus]. This substance is lead, and you see how wonderfully combustible it is. It is very much divided, and is like a heap of coals in the fireplace; the air can get to its surface and inside, and so it burns. But why does it not burn in that way now, when it is lying in a mass? [emptying the contents of the tube in a heap on to a plate of iron]. Simply because the air cannot get to it. Though it can produce a great heat, the great heat which we want in our furnaces and under our boilers, still that which is produced cannot get away from the portion which remains unburned underneath, and that portion, therefore, is prevented from coming in contact with the atmosphere, and cannot be consumed. How different is that from carbon. Carbon burns just in the same way as this lead does, and so gives an intense fire in the furnace, or wherever you choose to burn it; but then the body produced by its combustion passes away, and the remaining carbon is left clear. I shewed you how carbon went on dissolving in the oxygen, leaving no ash; whereas here [pointing to the heap of pyrophorus] we have actually more ash than fuel, for it is heavier by the amount of the oxygen which has united with it. Thus you see the difference between carbon and lead or iron: if we choose iron, which gives so wonderful a result in our application of this fuel, either as light or heat. If, when the carbon burnt, the product went off as a solid body, you would have had the room filled with an opaque substance, as in the case of the phosphorus; but when carbon burns, everything passes up into the atmosphere. It is in a fixed, almost unchangeable condition before the combustion; but afterwards it is in the form of gas, which it is very difficult (though we have succeeded) to produce in a solid or a liquid state.
Now, I must take you to a very interesting part of our subject—to the relation between the combustion of a candle and that living kind of combustion which goes on within us. In every one of us there is a living process of combustion going on very similar to that of a candle; and I must try to make that plain to you. For it is not merely true in a poetical sense—the relation of the life of man to a taper; and if you will follow, I think I can make this clear. In order to make the relation very plain, I have devised a little apparatus which we can soon build up before you. Here is a board and a groove cut in it, and I can close the groove at the top part by a little cover. I can then continue the groove as a channel by a glass tube at each end, there being a free passage through the whole. Suppose I take a taper or candle (we can now be liberal in our use of the word “candle,” since we understand what it means), and place it in one of the tubes; it will go on, you see, burning very well. You observe that the air which feeds the flame passes down the tube at one end, then goes along the horizontal tube, and ascends the tube at the other end in which the taper is placed.
[Illustration: Fig. 32]
If I stop the aperture through which the air enters, I stop combustion, as you perceive. I stop the supply of air, and consequently the candle goes out. But, now, what will you think of this fact? In a former experiment I shewed you the air going from one burning candle to a second candle. If I took the air proceeding from another candle, and sent it down by a complicated arrangement into this tube, I should put this burning candle out. But what will you say when I tell you that my breath will put out that candle? I do not mean by blowing at all, but simply that the nature of my breath is such that a candle cannot burn in it. I will now hold my mouth over the aperture, and without blowing the flame in any way, let no air enter the tube but what comes from my mouth. You see the result. I did not blow the candle out. I merely let the air which I expired pass into the aperture, and the result was that the light went out for want of oxygen, and for no other reason. Something or other—namely, my lungs—had taken away the oxygen from the air, and there was no more to supply the combustion of the candle. It is, I think, very pretty to see the time it takes before the bad air which I throw into this part of the apparatus has reached the candle. The candle at first goes on burning, but so soon as the air has had time to reach it, it goes out. And, now, I will shew you another experiment, because this is an important part of our philosophy. Here is a jar which contains fresh air, as you can see by the circumstance of a candle or gas-light burning it. I make it close for a little time, and by means of a pipe I get my mouth over it so that I can inhale the air. By putting it over water, in the way that you see, I am able to draw up this air (supposing the cork to be quite tight), take it into my lungs, and throw it back into the jar.
[Illustration: Fig. 33.]
We can then examine it, and see the result. You observe, I first take up the air, and then throw it back, as is evident from the ascent and descent of the water; and now, by putting a taper into the air, you will see the state in which it is, by the light being extinguished. Even one inspiration, you see, has completely spoiled this air, so that it is no use my trying to breathe it a second time. Now, you understand the ground of the impropriety of many of the arrangements among the houses of the poorer classes, by which the air is breathed over and over again, for the want of a supply, by means of proper ventilation, sufficient to produce a good result. You see how bad the air becomes by a single breathing; so that you can easily understand how essential fresh air is to us.
To pursue this a little further, let us see what will happen with lime-water. Here is a globe which contains a little lime-water, and it is so arranged as regards the pipes, as to give access to the air within, so that we can ascertain the effect of respired or unrespired air upon it. Of course, I can either draw in air (through A), and so make the air that feeds my lungs go through the lime-water, or I can force the air out of my lungs through the tube (B), which goes to the bottom, and so shew its effect upon the lime-water.
[Illustration: Fig. 34.]
You will observe that, however long I draw the external air into the lime-water, and then through it to my lungs, I shall produce no effect upon the water—it will not make the lime-water turbid; but if I throw the air from my lungs through the lime-water, several times in succession, you see how white and milky the water is getting, shewing the effect which expired air has had upon it; and now you begin to know that the atmosphere which we have spoiled by respiration is spoiled by carbonic acid, for you see it here in contact with the lime-water.
I have here two bottles, one containing lime-water and the other common water, and tubes which pass into the bottles and connect them. The apparatus is very rough, but it is useful notwithstanding.
[Illustration: Fig. 35.]
If I take these two bottles, inhaling here and exhaling there, the arrangement of the tubes will prevent the air going backwards. The air coming in will go to my mouth and lungs, and in going out, will pass through the lime-water, so that I can go on breathing and making an experiment, very refined in its nature, and very good in its results. You will observe that the good air has done nothing to the lime-water; in the other case nothing has come to the lime-water but my respiration, and you see the difference in the two cases.
Let us now go a little further. What is all this process going on within us which we cannot do without, either day or night, which is so provided for by the Author of all things that He has arranged that it shall be independent of all will? If we restrain our respiration, as we can to a certain extent, we should destroy ourselves. When we are asleep, the organs of respiration, and the parts that are associated with them, still go on with their action—so necessary is this process of respiration to us, this contact of the air with the lungs. I must tell you, in the briefest possible manner, what this process is. We consume food: the food goes through that strange set of vessels and organs within us, and is brought into various parts of the system, into the digestive parts especially; and alternately the portion which is so changed is carried through our lungs by one set of vessels, while the air that we inhale and exhale is drawn into and thrown out of the lungs by another set of vessels, so that the air and the food come close together, separated only by an exceedingly thin surface: the air can thus act upon the blood by this process, producing precisely the same results in kind as we have seen in the case of the candle. The candle combines with parts of the air, forming carbonic acid, and evolves heat; so in the lungs there is this curious, wonderful change taking place. The air entering, combines with the carbon (not carbon in a free state, but, as in this case, placed ready for action at the moment), and makes carbonic acid, and is so thrown out into the atmosphere, and thus this singular result takes place: we may thus look upon the food as fuel. Let me take that piece of sugar, which will serve my purpose. It is a compound of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, similar to a candle, as containing the same elements, though not in the same proportion—the proportions being as shewn in this table:—
SUGAR.
Carbon, . . . . 72
Hydrogen, . . . 11 |
| 99
Oxygen, . . . . 88|
This is, indeed, a very curious thing, which you can well remember, for the oxygen and hydrogen are in exactly the proportions which form water, so that sugar may be said to be compounded of 72 parts of carbon and 99 parts of water; and it is the carbon in the sugar that combines with the oxygen carried in by the air in the process of respiration—so making us like candles—producing these actions, warmth, and far more wonderful results besides, for the sustenance of the system, by a most beautiful and simple process. To make this still more striking, I will take a little sugar; or, to hasten the experiment, I will use some syrup, which contains about three-fourths of sugar and a little water. If I put a little oil of vitriol on it, it takes away the water, and leaves the carbon in a black mass. [The Lecturer mixed the two together.] You see how the carbon is coming out, and before long we shall have a solid mass of charcoal, all of which has come out of sugar. Sugar, as you know, is food, and here we have absolutely a solid lump of carbon where you would not have expected it. And if I make arrangements so as to oxidize the carbon of sugar, we shall have a much more striking result Here is sugar, and I have here an oxidizer—a quicker one than the atmosphere; and so we shall oxidize this fuel by a process different from respiration in its form, though not different in its kind. It is the combustion of the carbon by the contact of oxygen which the body has supplied to it. If I set this into action at once, you will see combustion produced. Just what occurs in my lungs—taking in oxygen from another source, namely, the atmosphere—takes place here by a more rapid process.
You will be astonished when I tell you what this curious play of carbon amounts to. A candle will burn some four, five, six, or seven hours. What, then, must be the daily amount of carbon going up into the air in the way of carbonic acid! What a quantity of carbon must go from each of us in respiration! What a wonderful change of carbon must take place under these circumstances of combustion or respiration! A man in twenty-four hours converts as much as seven ounces of carbon into carbonic acid; a milch cow will convert seventy ounces, and a horse seventy-nine ounces, solely by the act of respiration. That is, the horse in twenty-four hours burns seventy-nine ounces of charcoal, or carbon, in his organs of respiration, to supply his natural warmth in that time. All the warm-blooded animals get their warmth in this way, by the conversion of carbon, not in a free state, but in a state of combination. And what an extraordinary notion this gives us of the alterations going on in our atmosphere. As much as 5,000,000 pounds, or 548 tons, of carbonic acid is formed by respiration in London alone in twenty-four hours. And where does all this go? Up into the air. If the carbon had been like the lead which I shewed you, or the iron which, in burning, produces a solid substance, what would happen? Combustion could not go on. As charcoal burns, it becomes a vapour and passes off into the atmosphere, which is the great vehicle, the great carrier for conveying it away to other places. Then, what becomes of it? Wonderful is it to find that the change produced by respiration, which seems so injurious to us (for we cannot breathe air twice over), is the very life and support of plants and vegetables that grow upon the surface of the earth. It is the same also under the surface, in the great bodies of water; for fishes and other animals respire upon the same principle, though not exactly by contact with the open air.
Such fish as I have here [pointing to a globe of gold-fish] respire by the oxygen which is dissolved from the air by the water, and form carbonic acid; and they all move about to produce the one great work of making the animal and vegetable kingdoms subservient to each other. And all the plants growing upon the surface of the earth, like that which I have brought here to serve as an illustration, absorb carbon. These leaves are taking up their carbon from the atmosphere, to which we have given it in the form of carbonic acid, and they are growing and prospering. Give them a pure air like ours, and they could not live in it; give them carbon with other matters, and they live and rejoice. This piece of wood gets all its carbon, as the trees and plants get theirs, from the atmosphere, which, as we have seen, carries away what is bad for us and at the same time good for them,—what is disease to the one being health to the other. So are we made dependent, not merely upon our fellow-creatures, but upon our fellow-existers, all Nature being tied together by the laws that make one part conduce to the good of another.
There is another little point which I must mention before we draw to a close—a point which concerns the whole of these operations, and most curious and beautiful it is to see it clustering upon and associated with the bodies that concern us—oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon, in different states of their existence. I shewed you just now some powdered lead, which I set burning[18]; and you saw that the moment the fuel was brought to the air, it acted, even before it got out of the bottle—the moment the air crept in, it acted. Now, there is a case of chemical affinity by which all our operations proceed. When we breathe, the same operation is going on within us. When we burn a candle, the attraction of the different parts one to the other is going on. Here it is going on in this case of the lead; and it is a beautiful instance of chemical affinity. If the products of combustion rose off from the surface, the lead would take fire, and go on burning to the end; but you remember that we have this difference between charcoal and lead—that, while the lead can start into action at once, if there be access of air to it, the carbon will remain days, weeks, months, or years. The manuscripts of Herculaneum were written with carbonaceous ink, and there they have been for 1,800 years or more, not having been at all changed by the atmosphere, though coming in contact with it under various circumstances. Now, what is the circumstance which makes the lead and carbon differ in this respect? It is a striking thing to see that the matter which is appointed to serve the purpose of fuel waits in its action: it does not start off burning, like the lead and many other things that I could shew you; but which I have not encumbered the table with; but it waits for action. This waiting is a curious and wonderful thing. Candles—those Japanese candles, for instance—do not start into action at once, like the lead or iron (for iron finely divided does the same thing as lead), but there they wait for years, perhaps for ages, without undergoing any alteration. I have here a supply of coal-gas. The jet is giving forth the gas, but you see it does not take fire—it comes out into the air, but it waits till it is hot enough before it burns. If I make it hot enough, it takes fire. If I blow it out, the gas that is issuing forth waits till the light is applied to it again. It is curious to see how different substances wait—how some will wait till the temperature is raised a little, and others till it is raised a good deal. I have here a little gunpowder and some gun-cotton; even these things differ in the conditions under which they will burn. The gunpowder is composed of carbon and other substances, making it highly combustible; and the gun-cotton is another combustible preparation. They are both waiting, but they will start into activity at different degrees of heat, or under different conditions. By applying a heated wire to them, we shall see which will start first [touching the gun-cotton with the hot iron]. You see the gun-cotton has gone off, but not even the hottest part of the wire is now hot enough to fire the gunpowder. How beautifully that shews you the difference in the degree in which bodies act in this way! In the one case the substance will wait any time until the associated bodies are made active by heat; but in the other, as in the process of respiration, it waits no time. In the lungs, as soon as the air enters, it unites with the carbon; even in the lowest temperature which the body can bear short of being frozen, the action begins at once, producing the carbonic acid of respiration: and so all things go on fitly and properly. Thus you see the analogy between respiration and combustion is rendered still more beautiful and striking. Indeed, all I can say to you at the end of these lectures (for we must come to an end at one time or other) is to express a wish that you may, in your generation, be fit to compare to a candle; that you may, like it, shine as lights to those about you; that, in all your actions, you may justify the beauty of the taper by making your deeds honourable and effectual in the discharge of your duty to your fellow-men.
LECTURE ON PLATINUM.
[Delivered before the ROYAL INSTITUTION, on Friday, February 22, 1861.]
Whether I was to have the honour of appearing before you this evening or not, seemed to be doubtful upon one or two points. One of these I will mention immediately; the other may or may not appear during the course of the hour that follows. The first point is this. When I was tempted to promise this subject for your attention this evening, it was founded upon a promise, and a full intent of performing that promise, on the part of my friend Deville, of Paris, to come here to shew before you a phenomenon in metallurgic chemistry not common. In that I have been disappointed. His intention was to have fused here some thirty or forty pounds of platinum, and so to have made manifest, through my mouth and my statement, the principles of a new process in metallurgy, in relation to this beautiful, magnificent, and valuable metal; but circumstances over which neither he nor I, nor others concerned, have sufficient control, have prevented the fulfilment of that intention; and the period at which I learned the fact was so recent, that I could hardly leave my place here to be filled by another, or permit you, who in your kindness have come to hear what might be said, to remain unreceived in the best manner possible to me under the circumstances. I therefore propose to state, as well as I can, what the principles are on which M. Deville proceeds, by means of drawings, and some subordinate or inferior experiments. The metal platinum, of which you see some very fine specimens on the table, has been known to us about a hundred years. It has been wrought in a beautiful way in this country, in France, and elsewhere, and supplied to the consumer in ingots of this kind, or in plates, such as we have here, or in masses, that by their very fall upon the table indicate the great weight of the substance, which is, indeed, nearly at the head of all substances in that respect. This substance has been given to us hitherto mainly through the philosophy of Dr. Wollaston, whom many of us know, and it is obtained in great purity and beauty. It is a very remarkable metal in many points, besides its known special uses. It usually comes to us in grains. Here is a very fine specimen of native platinum in grains. Here is also a nugget or ingot, and here are some small pieces gathered out of certain alluvial soils in Brazil, Mexico, California, and the Uralian districts of Russia.
It is strange that this metal is almost always found associated with some four or five other metals, most curious in their qualities and characteristics. They are called platiniferous metals; and they have not only the relation of being always found associated in this manner, but they have other relations of a curious nature, which I shall point out to you by a reference to one of the tables behind me. This substance is always native—it is always in the metallic state; and the metals with which it is found connected, and which are rarely found elsewhere, are palladium, rhodium, iridium, osmium, and ruthenium. We have the names in one of the tables arranged in two columns, representing, as you see, two groups—platinum, iridium, and osmium constituting one group; and ruthenium, rhodium, and palladium the other. Three of these have the chemical equivalent of 98½, and the others a chemical equivalent of about half that number. Then the metals of one group have an extreme specific gravity—platinum being, in fact, the lightest of the three, or as light as the lightest. Osmium has a specific gravity of 21.4, and is the heaviest body in nature; platinum is 21.15, and iridium the same; the specific gravity of the other three being only about half that, namely, 11.3, 12.1, and 11.8. Then there is this curious relation, that palladium and iridium are very much alike, so that you would scarcely know one from the other, though one has only half the weight of the other, and only half the equivalent power. So with iridium and rhodium, and osmium and ruthenium, which are so closely allied that they make pairs, being separated each from its own group. Then these metals are the most infusible that we possess. Osmium is the most difficult to fuse: indeed, I believe it never has been fused, while every other metal has. Ruthenium comes next, iridium next, rhodium next, platinum next (so that it ranks here as a pretty fusible metal, and yet we have been long accustomed to speak of the infusibility of platinum), and next comes palladium, which is the most fusible metal of the whole. It is a curious thing to see this fine association of physical properties coming out in metals which are grouped together somehow or other in nature, but, no doubt, by causes which are related to analogous properties in their situation on the surface of the earth, for it is in alluvial soils that these things are found.
Now, with regard to this substance, let me tell you briefly how we get it. The process used to be this. The ore which I shewed you just now was taken, and digested in nitro-muriatic acid of a certain strength, and partly converted into a solution, with the leaving behind of certain bodies that I have upon the table. The platinum being dissolved with care in acids, to the solution the muriate of ammonia was added, as I am about to add it here. A yellow precipitate was then thrown down, as you perceive is the case now; and this, carefully washed and cleansed, gave us that body [pointing to a specimen of the chloride of platinum and ammonium], the other elements, or nearly all, being ejected. This substance being heated, gave us what we call platinum sponge, or platinum in the metallic state, so finely divided as to form a kind of heavy mass or sponge, which, at the time that Dr. Wollaston first sent it forth, was not fusible for the market or in the manufacturers’ workshops, inasmuch as the temperature required was so high, and there were no furnaces that could bring the mass into a globule, and cause the parts to adhere together. Most of our metals that we obtain from nature, and work in our shops, are brought at last into a mass by fusion. I am not aware that there is in the arts or sciences any other than iron which is not so. Soft iron we do not bring together by fusion, but by a process which is analogous to the one that was followed in the case of platinum, namely, welding; for these divided grains of spongy platinum having been well washed and sunk in water for the purpose of excluding air, and pressed together, and heated, and hammered, and pressed again, until they come into a pretty close, dense, compact mass, did so cohere, that when the mass was put into the furnace of charcoal, and raised to a high temperature, the particles, at first infinitely divided—for they were chemically divided—adhered the one to the other, each to all the rest, until they made that kind of substance which you see here, which will bear rolling and expansion of every kind. No other process than that has hitherto been adopted for the purpose of obtaining this substance from the particles by solution, precipitation, ignition, and welding. It certainly is a very fine thing to see that we may so fully depend upon the properties of the various substances we have to deal with; that we can, by carrying out our processes, obtain a material like this, allowing of division and extension under a rolling mill—a material of the finest possible kind, the parts being held together, not with interstices, not with porosity, but so continuous that no fluids can pass between them; and, as Dr. Wollaston beautifully shewed, a globule of platinum fused by the voltaic battery and the oxyhydrogen blowpipe, when drawn into a wire, was not sounder or stronger than this wire made by the curious coalescence of the particles by the sticking power that they had at high temperatures. This is the process adopted by Messrs. Johnson and Matthey, to whose great kindness I am indebted for these ingots and for the valuable assistance I have received in the illustrations.
The treatment, however, that I have to bring before you is of another kind; and it is in the hope that we shall be able before long to have such a thing as the manufacture of platinum of this kind, that I am encouraged to come before you, and tell you how far Deville has gone in the matter, and to give you illustrations of the principles on which he proceeds. I think it is but fair that you should see an experiment shewing you the way in which we get the adhesion of platinum. Probably you all know of the welding of iron: you go into the smith’s shop, and you see him put the handle of a poker on to the stem, and by a little management and the application of heat he makes them one. You have no doubt seen him put the iron into the fire and sprinkle a little sand upon it. He does not know the philosophy he calls into play when he sprinkles a little sand over the oxide of iron, but he has a fine philosophy there, or practises it, when he gets his welding. I can shew you here this beautiful circumstance of the sticking together of the particles up to the fullest possible intensity of their combination. If you were to go into the workshops of Mr. Matthey, and see them hammering and welding away, you would see the value of the experiment I am about to shew you. I have here some platinum-wire. This is a metal which resists the action of acids, resists oxidation by heat, and change of any sort; and which, therefore, I may heat in the atmosphere without any flux. I bend the wire so as to make the ends cross: these I make hot by means of the blowpipe, and then, by giving them a tap with a hammer, I shall make them into one piece. Now that the pieces are united, I shall have great difficulty in pulling them apart, though they are joined only at the point where the two cylindrical surfaces came together. And now I have succeeded in pulling the wire apart, the division is not at the point of welding, but where the force of the pincers has cut it, so that the junction we have effected is a complete one. This, then, is the principle of the manufacture and production of platinum in the old way.
The treatment which Deville proposes to carry out, and which he has carried out to a rather large extent in reference to the Russian supply of platinum, is one altogether by heat, having little or no reference to the use of acids. That you may know what the problem is, look at this table, which gives you the composition of such a piece of platinum ore as I shewed you just now. Wherever it comes from, the composition is as complicated, though the proportions vary:—
Platinum, . . . . . 76.4
Iridium,. . . . . . 4.3
Rhodium,. . . . . . 0.3
Palladium,. . . . . 1.4
Gold, . . . . . . . 0.4
Copper, . . . . . . 4.1
Iron, . . . . . . . 11.7
Osmide of Iridium,. 0.5
Sand, . . . . . . . 1.4
—————
100.5
This refers to the Uralian ore. In that state of combination, as shewn in the table, the iridium and osmium are found combined in crystals, sometimes to the amount of 0.5 per cent., and sometimes 3 or 4 per cent. Now, this Deville proposes to deal with in the dry way, in the place of dealing with it by any acid.
I have here another kind of platinum; and I shew it to you for this reason. The Russian Government, having large stores of platinum in their dominions, have obtained it in a metallic state, and worked it into coin. The coin I have in my hand is a twelve silver rouble piece. The rouble is worth three shillings, and this coin is, therefore, of the value of thirty-six shillings. The smaller coin is worth half that sum; and the other, half of that. The metal, however, is unfit for coinage. When you have the two metals, gold and silver, used for coinage, you have a little confusion in the value of the two in the market; but when you have three precious metals (for you may call platinum a precious metal) worked into coin, they will be sure to run counter to one another. Indeed, the case did happen, that the price of platinum coin fixed by the Government was such, that it was worth while to purchase platinum in other countries, and make coin of it, and then take it into that country and circulate it. The result was, that the Russian Government stopped the issue. The composition of this coin is—platinum, 97.0; iridium, 1.2; rhodium, 0.5; palladium, 0.25; a little copper, and a little iron. It is, in fact, bad platinum: it scales, and it has an unfitness for commercial use and in the laboratory, which the other well-purified platinum has not. It wants working over again.
Now, Deville’s process depends upon three points,—upon intense heat, blowpipe action, and the volatility of certain metals. We know that there are plenty of metals that are volatile; but this, I think, is the first time that it has been proposed to use the volatility of certain metals—such as gold and palladium—for the purpose of driving them off and leaving something else behind. He counts largely upon the volatility of metals which we have not been in the habit of considering volatile, but which we have rather looked upon as fixed; and I must endeavour to illustrate these three points by a few experiments. Perhaps I can best show you what is required in the process of heating platinum by using that source of heat which we have here, and which seems to be almost illimitable—namely, the voltaic battery; for it is only in consequence of the heat that the voltaic battery affects the platinum. By applying the two extremities of the battery to this piece of platinum-wire, you will see what result we shall obtain. You perceive that we can take about this heating agent wherever we like, and deal with it as we please, limiting it in any way. I am obliged to deal carefully with it; but even that circumstance will have an interest for you in watching the experiment. Contact is now made. The electric current, when compressed into thin conducting-wires offering resistance, evolves heat to a large extent; and this is the power by which we work. You see the intense glow immediately imparted to the wire; and if I applied the heat continuously, the effect of the current would be to melt the wire. As soon as the contact is broken, the wire resumes its former appearance; and now that we make contact again, you perceive the glow as before. [The experiment was repeated several times in rapid succession.] You can see a line of light, though you can scarcely perceive the wire; and now that it has melted with the great heat, if you examine it, you will perceive that it is indeed a set of irregularities from end to end—a set of little spheres, which are strung upon an axis of platinum running through it. It is that wire which Mr. Grove described as being produced at the moment when fusion of the whole mass is commencing. In the same manner, if I take a tolerably thick piece of platinum, and subject it to the heat that can be produced by this battery, you will see the brilliancy of the effect produced. I shall put on a pair of spectacles for the experiment, as there is an injurious effect of the voltaic spark upon the eyes, if the action is continued; and it is neither policy nor bravery to subject any organ to unnecessary danger; and I want, at all events, to keep the full use of my eyes to the end of the lecture.
You now see the action of the heat upon the piece of platinum—heat so great as to break in pieces the plate on which the drops of metal fall. You perceive, then, that we have sufficiently powerful sources of heat in nature to deal with platinum. I have here an apparatus by which the same thing can be shewn. Here is a piece of platinum, which is put into a crucible of carbon made at the end of one pole of the battery, and you will see the brilliant light that will be produced. There is our furnace, and the platinum is rapidly getting heated; and now you perceive that it is melted, and throwing off little particles. What a magnificent philosophical instrument this is. When you look at the result, which is lying upon the charcoal, you will see a beautifully fused piece of platinum. It is now a fiery globule, with a surface so bright, and smooth, and reflecting, that I cannot tell whether it is transparent, or opaque, or what. This, then, will give you an idea of what has to be done by any process that pretends to deal with thirty, or forty, or fifty pounds of platinum at once.
Let me now tell you briefly what Deville proposes to do. First of all, he takes this ore, with its impurities, and mixes it (as he finds it essential and best) with its own weight of sulphuret of lead—lead combined with sulphur. Both the lead and the sulphur are wanted; for the iron that is there present, as you see by the table, is one of the most annoying substances in the treatment that you can imagine, because it is not volatile; and while the iron remains adhering to the platinum, the platinum will not flow readily. It cannot be sent away by a high temperature—sent into the atmosphere so as to leave the platinum behind. Well, then, a hundred parts of ore and a hundred parts of sulphuret of lead, with about fifty parts of metallic lead, being all mingled together in a crucible, the sulphur of the sulphuret takes the iron, the copper, and some of the other metals and impurities, and combines with them to form a slag; and as it goes on boiling and oxidising, it carries off the iron, and so a great cleansing takes place.
Now, you ought to know that these metals, such as platinum, iridium, and palladium, have a strong affinity for such metals as lead and tin, and upon this a great deal depends. Very much depends upon the platinum throwing out its impurities of iron and so forth, by being taken up with the lead present in it. That you may have a notion of the great power that platinum has of combining with other metals, I will refer you to a little of the chemist’s experience—his bad experience. He knows very well that if he takes a piece of platinum-foil, and heats a piece of lead upon it, or if he takes a piece of platinum-foil, such as we have here, and heats things upon it that have lead in them, his platinum is destroyed. I have here a piece of platinum, and if I apply the heat of the spirit-lamp to it, in consequence of the presence of this little piece of lead which I will place on it, I shall make a hole in the metal. The heat of the lamp itself would do no harm to the platinum, nor would other chemical means; but because there is a little lead present, and there is an affinity between the two substances, the bodies fuse together at once. You see the hole I have made. It is large enough to put your finger in, though the platinum itself was, as you saw, almost infusible, except by the voltaic battery. For the purpose of shewing this fact in a more striking manner, I have taken pieces of platinum-foil, tinfoil, and lead-foil, and rolled them together; and if I apply the blowpipe to them, you will have, in fact, a repetition on a larger scale of the experiment you saw just now when the lead and platinum came together, and one spoiled the other. When the metals are laid one upon the other, and folded together and heat applied, you will not only see that the platinum runs to waste, but that at the time when the platinum and lead are combined there is ignition produced—there is a power of sustaining combustion. I have taken a large piece, that you may see the phenomenon on a large scale. You saw the ignition and the explosion which followed, of which we have here the results—the consequence of the chemical affinity between the platinum and the metals combined with it, which is the thing upon which Deville founds his first result.
When he has melted these substances and stirred them well up, and so obtained a complete mixture, he throws in air upon the surface to burn off all the sulphur from the remaining sulphuret of lead; and at last he gets an ingot of lead with platinum—much lead, comparatively, and little platinum. He gets that in the crucible with a lot of scoriæ and other things, which he treats afterwards. It is that platiniferous lead which we have to deal with in our future process. Now, let me tell you what he does with it. His first object is to get rid of the lead. He has thrown out all the iron, and a number of other things, and he has got this kind of compound indicated in the table. He may get it as high as 78 per cent. of platinum, and 22 of lead; or 5, or 10, or 15 of platinum, and 95, or 90, or 85 of lead (which he calls weak platinum), and he then places it in the kind of vessel that you see before you. Suppose we had the mixture here; we should have to make it hot, and then throw in air upon the surface. The combustible metal—that is, the lead—and the part that will oxidise, are thoroughly oxidised; the litharge would flow out in a fused state into a vessel placed to receive it, and the platinum remains behind.
[Illustration: Fig. 36.]
Here is the process which Deville adopts for the purpose of casting off the lead, after he has got out the platinum from the ore. (Having made use of your friend, you get rid of him as quickly as you can.) He gets his heat by applying the combination of oxygen and hydrogen, or of carburetted fuel, for the purpose of producing a fire. I have here a source of coal-gas; there I have a source of hydrogen; and here I have a source of oxygen. I have here also one of the blowpipes used by Deville in his process for working platinum in the way I have spoken of. There are two pipes, and one of them goes to the source of coal-gas, and the other to the supply of oxygen.
[Illustration: Fig. 37.]
By uniting these we obtain a flame of such a heat as to melt platinum. You will, perhaps, hardly imagine what the heat is, unless you have some proof of it; but you will soon see that I have actually the power of melting platinum. Here is a piece of platinum-foil running like wax under the flame which I am bringing to bear against it. The question, however, is whether we shall get heat enough to melt, not this small quantity, but large masses—many pounds of the metal. Having obtained heat like this, the next consideration is what vessel is he to employ which could retain the platinum when so heated, or bear the effects of the flame? Such vessels are happily well supplied at Paris, and are formed of a substance which surrounds Paris; it is a kind of chalk (called, I believe, by geologists, calcaire grossière), and it has the property of enduring an extreme degree of heat. I am now going to get the highest heat that we can obtain. First, I shew you the combustion of hydrogen by itself. I have not a large supply, because the coal-gas is sufficient for most of our purposes. If I put a piece of lime obtained from this chalk into the gas, you see we get a pretty hot flame, which would burn one’s fingers a good deal But now let me subject a piece of it to the joint action of oxygen and hydrogen. I do this for the purpose of shewing you the value of lime as a material for the furnaces and chambers that are to contain the substances to be operated on, and that are consequently to sustain the action of this extreme heat. Here we have the hydrogen and the oxygen, which will give the most intense heat that can be obtained by chemical action; and if I put a piece of lime into the flame, we get what is called the lime-light. Now, with all the beauty and intensity of action which you perceive, there is no sensible deterioration of the lime except by the mechanical force of the current of gases rushing from the jet against the lime, sweeping away such particles as are not strongly aggregated. “Vapour of lime” some call it; and it may be so, but there is no other change of the lime than that under the action of heat of this highly-exalted chemical condition, though almost any other substance would melt at once.
Then, as to the way in which the heat is applied to the substance. It is all very well for me to take a piece of antimony, and fuse it in the flame of a blowpipe. But if I tried this piece in the ordinary lamp flame, I should do nothing; if I tried a smaller piece, I should do little or nothing; and if I tried a still smaller piece, I should do little or nothing; yet I have a condition which will represent what Deville carries to the highest possible extent, and which we all carry to the highest extent, in the use of the blowpipe. Suppose I take this piece of antimony: I shall not be able to melt it in that flame of the candle by merely holding it there; yet, by taking pains, we can even melt a piece of platinum there. This is a preparation which I made for the purpose of proving the fusibility of platinum in a common candle. There is a piece of wire, drawn by that ingenious process of Dr. Wollaston’s, not more than the three-thousandth part of an inch in diameter. He put the wire into the middle of a cylinder of silver, and drew both together until the whole compound was exceedingly thin; and then he dissolved away the silver by nitric acid. There was left in the centre a substance which I can scarcely see with an eye-glass, but which I know is there, and which I can make visible, as you see, by putting it into the candle, where the heat makes it glow like a spark. I have again and again tried this experiment up-stairs in my own room, and have easily fused this platinum-wire by a common candle. You see we have, therefore, heat enough in the candle, as in the voltaic battery, or in the highly-exalted combustion of the blowpipe, but we do not supply a continuous source of heat. In the very act of this becoming ignited, the heat radiates so fast that you cannot accumulate enough to cause the fusion of the wire, except under the most careful arrangement. Thus I cannot melt that piece of antimony by simply putting it into the candle; but if I put it upon charcoal, and drive the fiery current against it, there will be heat enough to melt it. The beauty of the blowpipe is, that it sends hot air (making hot air by the combustion of the flame) against the thing to be heated. I have only to hold the antimony in the course of that current, and particle by particle of the current impinges upon the antimony, and so we get it melted. You now see it red-hot, and I have no doubt it will continue to burn if I withdraw it from the flame and continue to force the air on it. Now, you see it burning without any heat but that of its own combustion, which I am keeping up by sending the air against it. It would go out in a moment if I took away the current of air from it; but there it is burning, and the more air I give it, by this or any other action, the better it is. So, then, we have here not merely a mighty source of heat, but a means of driving the heat forcibly against substances.
Let me shew you another experiment with a piece of iron. It will serve two purposes—shewing you what the blowpipe does as a source of heat, and what it does by sending that heat where it is wanted. I have taken iron in contrast with silver or other metals, that you may see the difference of action, and so be more interested in the experiment. Here is our fuel, the coal-gas; and here our oxygen. Having thus my power of heat, I apply it to the iron, which, as you see, soon gets red-hot. It is now flowing about like a globule of melted mercury. But observe, I cannot raise any vapour: it is now covered with a coat of melted oxide, and unless I have a great power in my blowpipe, it is hardly possible to break through it. Now, then, you see these beautiful sparks: you have not only a beautiful kind of combustion, but you see the iron is being driven off, not producing smoke, but burning in a fixed condition. How different this is from the action of some other metals—that piece of antimony, for instance, which we saw just now throwing off abundance of fumes. We can, of course, burn away this iron by giving plenty of air to it; but with the bodies which Deville wants to expose to this intense heat he has not that means: the gas itself must have power enough to drive off the slag which forms on the surface of the metal, and power to impinge upon the platinum so as to get the full contact that he wants for the fusion to take place. We see here, then, the means to which he resorts—oxygen, and either coal-gas or water-gas[19], or pure hydrogen, for producing heat, and the blowpipe for the purpose of impelling the heated current upon the metals.
I have two or three rough drawings here, representing the kind of furnaces which he employs. They are larger, however, than the actual furnaces he uses. Even the furnace in which he carries on that most serious operation of fusing fifty pounds of platinum at once is not much more than half the size of the drawing. It is made of a piece of lime below and a piece of lime above. You see how beautifully lime sustains heat without altering in shape; and you may have thought how beautifully it prevents the dissipation of the heat by its very bad conducting powers.
[Illustration: Fig. 38]
While the front part of the lime which you saw here was so highly ignited, I could at any moment touch the back of it without feeling any annoyance from the heat So, by having a chamber of lime of this sort, he is able to get a vessel to contain these metals with scarcely any loss of heat. He puts the blowpipes through these apertures, and sends down these gases upon the metals, which are gradually melted. He then puts in more metal through a hole at the top. The results of the combustion issue out of the aperture which you see represented. If there be strips of platinum, he pushes them through the mouth out of which the heated current is coming, and there they get red-hot and white-hot before they get into the bath of platinum. So he is able to fuse a large body of platinum in this manner. When the platinum is melted, he takes off the top and pours out from the bottom piece, like a crucible, and makes his cast. This is the furnace by which he fuses his forty pounds or fifty pounds of platinum at once. The metal is raised to a heat that no eye can bear. There is no light and shadow, no chiaro-oscuro there; all is the same intensity of glow. You look in, and you cannot see where the metal or the lime is; it is all as one. We have, therefore, a platform with a handle, which turns upon an axis, that coincides with the gutter that is formed for the pouring of the metal; and when all is known to be ready, by means of dark glasses, the workmen take off the top piece and lift up the handle, and the mould being then placed in a proper position, he knows that the issue of the metal will be exactly in the line of the axis. No injury has ever happened from the use of this plan. You know with what care it is necessary to carry such a vessel of mercury as we have here, for fear of turning it over on one side or the other; but if it be a vessel of melted platinum, the very greatest care must be used, because the substance is twice as heavy: yet no injury has been done to any of the workmen in this operation.
I have said that Deville depends upon intense heat for carrying off vapour; and this brings me to the point of shewing how vapours are carried off. Here is a basin of mercury, which boils easily, as you know, and gives us the opportunity of observing the facts and principles which are to guide us. I have here two poles of the battery, and if I bring them into contact with the mercury, see what a development of vapour we have. The mercury is flying off rapidly; and I might, if I pleased, put all the company around me in a bath of mercury vapour. And so, if we take this piece of lead and treat it in the same way, it will also give off vapour. Observe the fumes that rise from it; and even if it was so far enclosed from the air that you could not form any litharge, you would still have those abundant fumes flying off. I may also take a piece of gold, and shew you the same thing. I have here a piece of gold which I put upon a clean surface of Paris limestone. Applying the heat of the blowpipe to it, you see how the heat drives off the vapour; and if you notice at the end of the Lecture, you will observe on the stone a purple patch of condensed gold. Thus you see a proof of the volatilisation of gold. It is the same with silver. You will not be startled if I sometimes use one agent and sometimes another to illustrate a particular point. The volatility of gold and silver is the same thing, whether it be effected by the voltaic battery or by the blowpipe. [A lump of silver was placed in a charcoal crucible between the poles of a voltaic battery.] Now, look at the fumes of silver, and observe the peculiar and beautiful green colour which they produce. We shall now shew you this same process of boiling the silver, cast on a screen from the electric lamp which you have before you; and while Dr. Tyndall is kindly getting the lamp ready for this purpose, let me tell you that Deville proposes to throw out in this way all these extraneous things that I have spoken of, except two—namely, iridium and rhodium. It so happens, as he says, that iridium and rhodium do make the metal more capable of resisting the attacks of acids than platinum itself. Alloys are compounded up to 25 per cent. of rhodium and iridium, by which the chemical inaction of the platinum is increased, and also its malleability and other physical properties. [The image of the voltaic discharge through vapour of silver was now thrown upon the screen.] What you have now on the screen is an inverted image of what you saw when we heated the silver before. The fine stream that you see around the silver is the discharge of the electric force that takes place, giving you that glorious green light which you see in the ray; and if Dr. Tyndall will open the top of the lamp, you will see the quantity of fumes that will come out of the aperture, shewing you at once the volatility of silver.
I have now finished this imperfect account. It is but an apology for not having brought the process itself before you. I have done the best I could under the circumstances; and I know your kindness well, for if I were not aware that I might trust to it, I would not appear here so often as I have done. The gradual loss of memory and of my other faculties is making itself painfully evident to me, and requires, every time I appear before you, the continued remembrance of your kindness to enable me to get through my task. If I should happen to go on too long, or should fail in doing what you might desire, remember it is yourselves who are chargeable, by wishing me to remain. I have desired to retire, as I think every man ought to do before his faculties become impaired; but I must confess that the affection I have for this place, and for those who frequent this place, is such, that I hardly know when the proper time has arrived.
NOTES.
[Footnote 1: Page 16. The Royal George sunk at Spithead on The 29th of August, 1782. Colonel Pasley commenced operations for the removal of the wreck by the explosion of gunpowder, in August, 1839. The candle which Professor Faraday exhibited must therefore have been exposed to the action of salt water for upwards of fifty-seven years.]
[Footnote 2: Page 17. The fat or tallow consists of a chemical combination of fatty acids with glycerine. The lime unites with the palmitic, oleic, and stearic acids, and separates the glycerine. After washing, the insoluble lime soap is decomposed with hot dilute sulphuric acid. The melted fatty acids thus rise as an oil to the surface, when they are decanted. They are again washed and cast into thin plates, which, when cold, are placed between layers of cocoa-nut matting, and submitted to intense hydraulic pressure. In this way the soft oleic acid is squeezed out, whilst the hard palmitic and stearic acids remain. These are further purified by pressure at a higher temperature, and washing in warm dilute sulphuric acid, when they are ready to be made into candles. These acids are harder and whiter than the fats from which they were obtained, whilst at the same time they are cleaner and more combustible.]
[Footnote 3: Page 19. A little borax or phosphorus salt is sometimes added, in order to make the ash fusible.]
[Footnote 4: Page 27. Capillary attraction or repulsion is the cause which determines the ascent or descent of a fluid in a capillary tube. If a piece of thermometer tubing, open at each end, be plunged into water, the latter will instantly rise in the tube considerably above its external level. If, on the other hand, the tube be plunged into mercury, a repulsion instead of attraction will be exhibited, and the level of the mercury will be lower in the tube than it is outside.]
[Footnote 5: Page 29. The late Duke of Sussex was, we believe, the first to shew that a prawn might be washed upon this principle. If the tail, after pulling off the fan part, be placed in a tumbler of water, and the head be allowed to hang over the outside, the water will be sucked up the tail by capillary attraction, and will continue to run out through the head until the water in the glass has sunk so low that the tail ceases to dip into it.]
[Footnote 6: Page 37. The alcohol had chloride of copper dissolved in it: this produces a beautiful green flame.]
[Footnote 7: Page 54. Lycopodium is a yellowish powder found in the fruit of the club moss (Lycopodium clavatum). It is used in fireworks.]
[Footnote 8: Page 58. Bunsen has calculated that the temperature of the oxyhydrogen blowpipe is 8061° Centigrade. Hydrogen burning in air has a temperature of 3259° C., and coal-gas in air, 2350° C.]
[Footnote 9: Page 60. The following is the action of the sulphuric acid in inflaming the mixture of sulphuret of antimony and chlorate of potassa. A portion of the latter is decomposed by the sulphuric acid into oxide of chlorine, bisulphate of potassa, and perchlorate of potassa. The oxide of chlorine inflames the sulphuret of antimony, which is a combustible body, and the whole mass instantly bursts into flame.]
[Footnote 10: Page 63. The “air-burner,” which is of such value in the laboratory, owes its advantage to this principle. It consists of a cylindrical metal chimney, covered at the top with a piece of rather coarse iron-wire gauze. This is supported over an argand burner, in such a manner that the gas may mix in the chimney with an amount of air sufficient to burn the carbon and hydrogen simultaneously, so that there may be no separation of carbon in the flame with consequent deposition of soot. The flame, being unable to pass through the wire gauze, burns in a steady, nearly invisible manner above.]
[Footnote 11: Page 74. Water is in its densest state at a temperature of 39.1° Fahrenheit]
[Footnote 12: Page 74. A mixture of salt and pounded ice reduces the temperature from 32° F. to zero—the ice at the same time becoming fluid.]
[Footnote 13: Page 82. Potassium, the metallic basis of potash, was discovered by Sir Humphrey Davy in 1807, who succeeded in separating it from potash by means of a powerful voltaic battery. Its great affinity for oxygen causes it to decompose water with evolution of hydrogen, which takes fire with the heat produced.]
[Footnote 14: Page 98. Professor Faraday has calculated that there is as much electricity required to decompose one grain of water as there is in a very powerful flash of lightning.]
[Footnote 15: Page 101. A solution of acetate of lead submitted to the action of the voltaic current, yields lead at the negative pole, and brown peroxide of lead at the positive pole. A solution of nitrate of silver, under the same circumstances, yields silver at the negative pole, and peroxide of silver at the positive pole.]
[Footnote 16: Page 129. The gas which is thus employed as a test for the presence of oxygen, is the binoxide of nitrogen, or nitrous oxide. It is a colourless gas, which, when brought in contact with oxygen, unites with it, forming hyponitric acid, the red gas referred to.]
[Footnote 17: Page 152. Marble is a compound of carbonic acid and lime. The muriatic acid being the stronger of the two, takes the place of the carbonic acid, which escapes as a gas, the residue forming muriate of lime or chloride of calcium.]
[Footnote 18: Page 186. Lead pyrophorus is made by heating dry tartrate of lead in a glass tube (closed at one end, and drawn out to a fine point at the other) until no more vapours are evolved. The open end of the tube is then to be sealed before the blowpipe. When the tube is broken and the contents shaken out into the air, they burn with a red flash.]
[Footnote 19: Page 216. Water-gas is formed by passing vapour of water over red-hot charcoal or coke. It is a mixture of hydrogen and carbonic oxide; each of which is an inflammable gas.]
Poster’s note: “combustion that makes!” was corrected from a misprint “combusion that makes!” in the original.