Although light travels with such amazing rapidity, there is of course a certain time occupied in its passage through space—there is no such thing as instantaneity in nature. A certain period of time, however small, must elapse in the performance of any act whatever, and it has been proved by a careful observation of the time at which the eclipses of the satellites of Jupiter are perceived, that light travels at the rate of 192,500 miles per second, and by the aberration of the fixed stars, 191,515, the mean of these two sets of observations would probably afford the correct rate. Such a velocity is, however, somewhat difficult to appreciate, and therefore, to assist our comprehension of their great magnitude, Sir J. Herschel has given some very interesting comparative calculations, and coming from such an authority we can readily believe them to be correct.
"A cannon-ball moving uniformly at its greatest velocity would require seventeen years to reach the sun. Light performs the same distance in about seven minutes and a half.
"The swiftest bird, at its utmost speed, would require nearly three weeks to make the tour of the earth, supposing it could proceed without stopping to take food or rest. Light performs the same distance in less time than is required for a single stroke of its wing."
Dismissing for the present the theory of undulations, it will be necessary to examine the phenomena of light, regarding it as radiant matter, without reference to either of the contending theories.
Light issues from the sun, passes through millions of miles to the earth, and as it falls upon different substances, a variety of effects are apparent. There is a certain class of bodies which obstruct the passage of the rays of light, and where light is not, a shadow is cast, and the substance producing the shadow is said to be opaque. Wood, stone, the metals, charcoal, are all examples of opacity; whilst glass, talc, and horn allow a certain number of the rays to travel through their particles, and are therefore called transparent. Nature, however, never indulges in sudden extremes, and as no substance is so opaque as not (when reduced in thickness) to allow a certain amount of light to pass through its substance, so, on the other hand, however transparent a body may be, a greater or lesser number of the rays are always stopped, and hence opacity and transparency are regarded as two extremes of a long chain; being connected together by numerous intermediate links, they pass by insensible gradations the one into the other.
If a gold leaf, which is about the one two-hundredth part of an inch in thickness, is fixed on a glass plate and held before a light, a green colour is apparent, the gold appearing like a green, semi-transparent substance. When plates of glass are laid one above the other, and the flame of a candle observed through them, the light decreases enormously as the number of glass-plates are increased. Even in the air a considerable portion of light is intercepted. It has been estimated that of the horizontal sunbeams passing through about two hundred miles of air, one two-thousandth part only reaches us, and that no sensible light can penetrate more than seven hundred feet deep into the sea; consequently, the vast depths discovered in laying the Atlantic telegraph must be in absolute darkness.
Light is thrown out on all sides from a luminous body like the spokes of a cart-wheel, and in the absence of any obstruction, the rays are distributed equally on all sides, diverging like the radii drawn from the centre of a circle. As a natural consequence arising from the divergence of each ray from the other, the intensity of light decreases as the distance from the luminous source increases, and vice versâ. Perhaps the best mechanical notion of this law is afforded by an ordinary fan; the point from which the sticks radiate, and where they all meet, may be termed the light; the sticks are the rays proceeding from it. (Fig. 253.)
Fig. 253.