Marvels of Scientific Invention. Thomas W. Corbin

found himself in need of a galvanometer exceeding in sensitiveness anything then known. Even the tiny needles or coils with their minute mirrors have some weight and so possess in an appreciable degree the property of inertia, in virtue of which they are loath to start movement and, having started, are reluctant to stop. This inertia, it is easy to see, militates against the accurate recording of rapid variations in minute currents, so the energetic Professor set about devising a new galvanometer which should answer his purpose. This is known as the "String Galvanometer."

      

Fig. 1.-This shows the principle of this wonderful Galvanometer invented by Lord Kelvin in its latest form. Current enters at a, passes round the coils, as shown by the arrows, and away at b. A light rod, c, is suspended by the fine fibre, d, so that the eight little magnets hang in the centres of the coils—four in each. The current deflects these magnets and so turns the mirror, m, at the bottom of the rod. At e are two large magnets which give the little ones the necessary tendency to keep at "zero."

The main body of the instrument is a large, powerful electro-magnet, in shape like a large pair of jaws nearly shut. Energised by a strong current, this magnet produces an exceedingly strong magnetic field in the small space between the "teeth" as it were. In this space there is stretched a fine thread of quartz which is almost perfectly elastic. It is a non-conductor, however, so it is covered with a fine coating of silver. Silver wire is sometimes used, but no way has yet been found of drawing any metallic wire so thin as the quartz fibre, which is sometimes as thin as two thousandths of a millimetre, or about a twelve-thousandth of an inch. A hundred pages of this book make up a thickness of about an inch, so that one leaf is about a fiftieth of an inch. Consequently the fibre in question could be multiplied 240 times before it became as stout as the paper on which these words are printed.

      

Fig. 2.—Here we see the working parts of the "String Galvanometer," by which the beating of the heart can be registered electrically. The current flows down the fine silvered fibre, between the poles, a and b, of a powerful magnet. As the current varies, the fibre bends more or less.

      The current to be measured, then, is passed through the stretched fibre and the interaction of the magnetic field by which the fibre is then surrounded, with the magnetic field in which it is immersed, causes it to be deflected to one side. Of course the deflection is exceedingly small in amount, and as it is undesirable to hamper its movements by the weight of a mirror, no matter how small, some other means of reading the instrument had to be devised. This is a microscope which is fixed to one of the jaws, through a fine hole in which the movements of the fibre can be viewed. Or what is often better still, a picture of the wire can be projected through the microscope on to a screen or on to a moving photographic plate or strip of photographic paper. In the latter case a permanent record is made of the changes in the flowing current.

      An electric picture can thus be made of the working of a man's heart. He holds in his hands two metal handles or is in some other way connected to the two ends of the fibre by wires just as the handles of a shocking coil are connected to the ends of the coil. The faint currents caused by the beating of his heart are thus set down in the form of a wavy line. Such a diagram is called a "cardiogram," and it seems that each of us has a particular form of cardiogram peculiar to himself, so that a man could almost be recognised and distinguished from his fellows by the electrical action of his heart.

      The galvanometer has a near relative, the electrometer, the astounding delicacy of which renders it equally interesting. It is particularly valuable in certain important investigations as to the nature and construction of atoms.

      The galvanometer, it will be remembered, measures minute currents; the electrometer measures minute pressures, particularly those of small electrically charged bodies.

      Every conductor (and all things are conductors, more or less) can be given a charge of electricity. Any insulated wire, for example, if connected to a battery will become charged—current will flow into it and there remain stationary. And that is what we mean by a charge as opposed to a current.

      Air compressed into a closed vessel is a charge. Air, however compressed, flowing along a pipe would be better described as a current.

      Imagine one of those cylinders used for the conveyance of gas under pressure and suppose that we desire to find the pressure of the gas with which it is charged. We connect a pressure-gauge to it, and see what the finger of the gauge has to say. What happens is that gas from the cylinder flows into the little vessel which constitutes the gauge and there records its own pressure.

      And just the same applies with electrometers. Precisely as the pressure-gauge measures the pressure of air or gas in some vessel, so the electrometer measures the electrical pressure in a charged body.

      Further, some of the charged bodies with which the student of physics is much concerned are far smaller than can be seen with the most powerful microscope. How wonderfully minute and delicate, therefore, must be the instrument which can be influenced by the tiny charge which so small a body can carry.

      It will be interesting here to describe an experiment performed with an electrometer by Professor Rutherford, by which he determined how many molecules there are in a centimetre of gas, a number very important to know but very difficult to ascertain, since molecules are too small to be seen. This number, by the way, is known to science as "Avogadro's Constant."

      Everyone has heard of radium, and knows that it is in a state which can best be described as a long-drawn-out explosion. It is always shooting off tiny particles. Night and day, year in and year out, it is firing off these exceedingly minute projectiles, of which there are two kinds, one of which appears to be atoms of helium.

      Some years ago, when radium was being much talked about and the names of M. and Madame Curie were in everyone's mouth, little toys were sold, the invention, I believe, of Sir William Crookes, called spinthariscopes. Each of these consisted of a short brass tube with a small lens in one end. Looking through the lens in a dark room, one could see little splashes of light on the walls of the tube. Those splashes were caused by a tiny speck of radium in the middle of the tube, the helium atoms from which, by bombarding the inner surface of the tube, produced the sparks.

      Now if we can count those splashes we can tell how many atoms of helium are being given off per minute. And if then we reckon how many minutes it takes to accumulate a cubic centimetre of helium we can easily reckon how many atoms go to the cubic centimetre. But the difficulty is to count them.

      So the learned Professor called in the aid of the electrometer. He could not count all the atoms shot off, so he put the piece of radium at one end of a tube and an electrometer at the other. Every now and then an atom shot right through the tube and out at the farther end. And since each of these atoms from radium is charged with electricity, each as it emerged operated the electrometer. By simply watching the twitching of the instrument, therefore, it was possible to count how many atoms shot through the tube—one atom one twitch. And from the size and position of the tube it was possible to reckon what proportion of the whole number shot off would pass that way.

      The result of the experiment showed that there are in a cubic centimetre of helium a number of atoms represented by 256 followed by seventeen noughts. And as helium is one of the few substances in which the molecule is formed of but one atom, that is also the number of molecules.

      And now consider this, please. A cubic centimetre