As all elementary substances may exist as solids, liquids, or gases, or critically, according to the conditions of temperature and pressure, I am justified in hypothetically concluding that Jupiter is neither a solid, a liquid, nor a gaseous planet, but a critical planet, or an orb composed internally of dissociated elements in the critical state, and surrounded by a dense atmosphere of their vapors, and those of some of their compounds, such as water. The same reasoning applies to Saturn and the other large and rarefied planets.
The critical temperature of the dissociated elements of the sun is probably reached at the base of the photosphere, or that region revealed to us by the sun-spots. When I wrote “The Fuel of the Sun,” thirteen or fourteen years ago, I suggested, on the above grounds, the then heretical idea of the red-heat of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune, and showed that all such compounds as water must be dissociated at the base of the sun’s atmosphere; but being then unacquainted with the existence of this critical state of matter, I supposed the dissociated elements to exist as gases with a small solid nucleus or kernel in the centre.
Applying now the researches of Dr. Andrews to the conditions of solar existence, as I formerly applied the dissociation researches of Deville, I conclude that the sun has no nucleus, either solid, liquid, or gaseous, but is composed of dissociated matter in the critical state, surrounded, first, by a flaming envelope due to the re-combination of the dissociated matter, and outside of this another envelope of vapors due to this combination.
MURCHISON AND BABBAGE.
The curious contrast of character presented by these two eminent men, and the very different course of their lives, conveys a striking lesson to all those superficial thinkers and unthinking talkers who make sweeping generalizations concerning human character; who assume as a matter of course that any man who writes poetry must be merely a dreamer of day-dreams, incapable of transacting any practical daily business, and not at all reliable in money matters; whose eyes are always “in a fine frenzy rolling”; that he is, in short, a sort of amiable, harmless lunatic. All actors, according to such people, are dissipated spendthrifts; and if Sims Reeves, or any other public performer, is prevented by delicate larynx or other indisposition from appearing, they look knowing, shrug their shoulders, wink wisely, and assume, without the faintest shadow of evidence, that he is drunk.
In like manner they set up a typical philosopher of their own manufacture, and attribute his imaginary character to all who devote themselves to science. Their philosopher is a musty, dried-up, absent-minded pedant, whose ordinary conversation is conducted in words of seven syllables, who is always lost in profound abstractions; takes no interest in common things; regards music, dancing, play-acting, poetry, and every cheerful pursuit as frivolous and contemptible—a creature who never makes a joke, seldom laughs, and who in matters of business is even more incapable than the poet.
The singular contrast of character presented by Babbage and Murchison affords at once a most complete refutation of such generalizations. Here were two men, both philosophers, one the very type of amiability, suavity, and all conceivable polish, the very perfection of a courtier, but differing from the vulgar courtier of the Court in this respect, that his high-toned courtesy was not bestowed upon kings only, but also upon all his human brethren, and with especial gracefulness upon those whose rank was below his own.
I doubt whether there is any man now living, or has lived during this generation, that could equal Sir Roderick Murchison in the art of distributing showers of compliments upon a large number of different people in succession, and making each recipient delightfully satisfied with himself. In his position as Chairman to the Geological Section of the British Association, he did this with marvelous tact, without the least fulsomeness or repetition, or any display of patronizing. Every man who read a paper before that section was better than ever satisfied with the great merits and vast importance of his communication, after hearing the Chairman’s comments upon it. None but a most detestably strong-minded and logical brute could resist the insinuating flattery of Sir Roderick.
How different was poor Babbage! Who that attends any sort of scientific gatherings has not seen Sir Roderick? but who in the world, excepting the organ-grinders and the police magistrate has ever seen Babbage, or even his portrait? What a contrast between the seclusion and the public existence; between the hedgehog bristles and the velvet softness, of the one and the other!