More mysterious, if possible, than any of the facts I have discussed is the phenomenon of magnetic storms. The needle has been exhibiting for several weeks the most perfect uniformity of oscillation. Day after day, the careful microscopic observation of the needle’s progress has revealed a steady swaying to and fro, such as may be seen in the masts of a stately ship at anchor on the scarce-heaving breast of ocean. Suddenly a change is noted; irregular jerking movements are perceptible, totally distinct from the regular periodic oscillations. A magnetic storm is in progress. But where is the centre of disturbance, and what are the limits of the storm? The answer is remarkable. If the jerking movements observed in places spread over very large regions of the earth—and in some well-authenticated cases over the whole earth—be compared with the local time, it is found that (allowance being made for difference of longitude) they occur precisely at the same instant. The magnetic vibrations thrill in one moment through the whole frame of our earth!
But a very singular circumstance is observed to characterise these magnetic storms. They are nearly always observed to be accompanied by the exhibition of the aurora in high latitudes, northern and southern. Probably they never happen without such a display, but numbers of auroras escape our notice. The converse proposition, however, has been established as an universal one. No great display of the aurora ever occurs without a strongly marked magnetic storm.
Magnetic storms sometimes last for several hours or even days.
Remembering the influence which the sun has been found to exercise upon the magnetic needle, the question will naturally arise, Has the sun anything to do with magnetic storms? We have clear evidence that he has.
On the 1st of September, 1859, Messrs. Carrington and Hodgson were observing the sun, one at Oxford and the other in London. Their scrutiny was directed to certain large spots which, at that time, marked the sun’s face. Suddenly a bright light was seen by each observer to break out on the sun’s surface, and to travel, slowly in appearance, but in reality at the rate of about 7,000 miles in a minute, across a part of the solar disc. Now it was found afterwards that the self-registering magnetic instruments at Kew had made at that very instant a strongly marked jerk. We learned, also, that at that moment a magnetic storm prevailed at the West Indies, in South America, and in Australia. The signalmen in the telegraph stations at Washington and Philadelphia received strong electric shocks; the pen of Bain’s telegraph was followed by a flame of fire; and in Norway the telegraphic machinery was set on fire. At night great auroras were seen in both hemispheres. It is impossible not to connect these startling magnetic indications with the remarkable appearance observed upon the sun’s disc.
But there is other evidence. Magnetic storms prevail more commonly in some years than in others. In those years in which they occur most frequently, it is found that the ordinary oscillations of the magnetic needle are more extensive than usual. Now when these peculiarities had been noticed for many years, it was found that there was an alternate and systematic increase and diminution in the intensity of magnetic action, and that the period of the variation was about eleven years. But at the same time, a diligent observer had been recording the appearance of the sun’s face from day to day and from year to year. He had found that the solar spots are in some years more freely displayed than in others. And he had determined the period in which the spots are successively presented with maximum frequency to be about eleven years. On a comparison of the two sets of observations, it was found (and has now been placed beyond a doubt by many years of continued observation) that magnetic perturbations are most energetic when the sun is most spotted, and vice versâ.
For so remarkable a phenomenon as this, none but a cosmical cause can suffice. We can neither say that the spots cause the magnetic storms nor that the magnetic storms cause the spots. We must seek for a cause producing at once both sets of phenomena. There is as yet no certainty in this matter, but it seems as if philosophers would soon be able to trace in the disturbing action of the planets upon the solar atmosphere the cause as well of the marked period of eleven years as of other less distinctly marked periods which a diligent observation of solar phenomena is beginning to educe.
(From the Cornhill Magazine, June 1868.)
OUR CHIEF TIME-PIECE LOSING TIME.
A distinguished French astronomer, author of one of the most fascinating works on popular astronomy that has hitherto appeared, remarks that a man would be looked upon as a maniac who should speak of the influence of Jupiter’s moons upon the cotton trade. Yet, as he proceeds to show, there is an easily traced connection between the ideas which appear at first sight so incongruous. The link is found in the determination of celestial longitude.
Similarly, we should be disposed to wonder at an astronomer who, regarding thoughtfully the stately motion of the sidereal system, as exhibited on a magnified, and, therefore, appreciable scale by a powerful telescope, should speak of the connection between this movement and the intrinsic worth of a sovereign. The natural thought with most men would be that ‘too much learning’ had made the astronomer mad. Yet, when we come to inquire closely into the question of a sovereign’s intrinsic value, we find ourselves led to the diurnal motion of the stars, and that by no very intricate path. For, What is a sovereign? A coin containing so many grains of gold mixed with so many grains of alloy. A grain, we know, is the weight of such and such a volume of a certain standard substance—that is, so many cubic inches, or parts of a cubic inch, of that substance. But what is an inch? It is determined, we find, as a certain fraction of the length of a pendulum vibrating seconds in the latitude of London. A second, we know, is a certain portion of a mean solar day, and is practically determined by a reference to what is called a sidereal day—the interval, namely, between the successive passages by the same star of the celestial meridian of any fixed place. This interval is assumed to be constant, and it has, indeed, been described as the ‘one constant element’ known to astronomers.
We find, then, that there is a connection, and a very important connection, between the motion of the stars and our measures, not merely of value, but of weight, length, volume, and time. In fact, our whole system of weights and measures is founded on the apparent diurnal motion of the sidereal system, that is, on the real diurnal rotation of the earth. We may look on the meridian-plane in which the great transit-telescope of the Greenwich Observatory is made to swing, as the gigantic hand of a mighty dial, a hand which, extending outwards among the stars, traces out for us, by its motion among them, the exact progress of time, and so gives us the means of weighing, measuring, and valuing terrestrial objects with an exactitude which is at present beyond our wants.
The earth, then, is our ‘chief time-piece,’ and it is of the correctness of this giant clock that I am now to speak.
But how can we test a time-piece whose motions we select to regulate every other time-piece? If a man sets his watch every morning by the clock at Westminster, it is clearly impossible for him to test the accuracy of that clock by the motions of his watch. It would, indeed, be possible to detect any gross change of rate; but for the purpose of illustration I assume, what is indeed the case, that the clock is very accurate, and therefore that minute errors only are to be looked for even in long intervals of time. And just as the watch set by a clock cannot be made use of to test the clock for small errors, so our best time-pieces cannot be employed to detect slow variations, if any such exist, in the earth’s rotation-period.
Sir William Herschel, who early saw the importance of the subject, suggested another method. Some of the planets rotate in such a manner, and bear such distinct marks upon their surface, that it is possible, by a series of observations extending over a long interval of time, to determine the length of their rotation-period within a second or two. Supposing their rotation uniform, we at once obtain an accurate measure of time. Supposing their rotation not uniform, we obtain—(1) a hint of the kind of change we are looking for; and (2), by the comparison of two or more planets, the means