Part 31
It had not yet been shown whether ozone was a simple or a compound gas. If simple, of course it could be but another form of oxygen. At first, however, the chances seemed against this view; and there were not wanting skilful chemists who asserted that ozone was a compound of the oxygen of the air with the hydrogen which forms an element of the aqueous vapour nearly always present in the atmosphere.
It was important to set this question at rest. This was accomplished by the labours of De la Rive and Marignac, who proved that ozone is simply another form of oxygen.
Here we touch on a difficult branch of modern chemical research. The chemical elements being recognized as the simplest forms of matter, it might be supposed that each element would be unchangeable in its nature. That a compound should admit of change, is of course a thing to be expected. If we decompose water, for instance, into its component elements, oxygen and hydrogen, we may look on these gases as exhibiting water to us in another form. And a hundred instances of the sort might be adduced, in which, either by separating the elements of a compound, or by re-arranging them, we obtain new forms of matter without any real change of substance. But with an element, the case, one would suppose, should be different.
However, the physicist must take facts as he finds them; and amongst the most thoroughly recognized chemical facts we have this one, that elementary substances may assume different forms. Chemists call the phenomenon allotropy. A well-known instance of allotropy is seen in red phosphorus. Phosphorus is one of the chemical elements; and, as every one knows, the form in which it is usually obtained is that of a soft, yellow, semi-transparent solid, somewhat resembling bees’ wax in consistence, poisonous, and readily taking fire. Red phosphorus is the same element, yet differs wholly in its properties. It is a powder, it does not readily take fire, and it is not poisonous.
Ozone, then, is another form of oxygen. It is the only instance yet discovered of gaseous allotropy.
And now we have to deal with the difficult and still-vexed questions of the way in which the change from oxygen is brought about, and the actual distinction between the two forms of the same gas. Schönbein held that common oxygen is produced by the combination of two special forms of oxygen—the positive and the negative, or, as he called them, ozone and antozone. He showed that, in certain conditions of the air, the atmospheric oxygen exhibits qualities which are the direct reverse of those which ozone exhibits, and are distinct from those of ordinary oxygen. In oxygen thus negatived or antozonized, animals cannot live any more than they can in nitrogen. The products of decomposition are not only not destroyed as by ozone, but seem subject to preservative influences, and speedily become singularly offensive; dead animal matter rapidly putrefies, and wounds show a tendency to mortification.
But the theory of positive and negative forms of oxygen, though still held by a few physicists, has gradually given way before the advance of new and sounder modes of inquiry. It has been proved, in the first place, that ozone is denser than ordinary oxygen. The production of ozone is always followed by a contraction of the gas’s volume, the contraction being greater or less according to the amount of oxygen which has been ozonized. Regularly as the observers—Messrs. Andrews and Tait—converted a definite proportion of oxygen into ozone, the corresponding contraction followed, and as regularly was the original volume of the gas restored when, by the action of heat, the ozone was reconverted into oxygen.
And now a very singular experiment was made by the observers, with results which proved utterly perplexing to them. Mercury has the power of absorbing ozone; and the experimenters thought that if, after producing a definite contraction by the formation of ozone, they could absorb the ozone by means of mercury, the quantity of oxygen which remained would serve to show them how much ozone had been formed, and thence, of course, they could determine the density of ozone.
Suppose, for instance, that we have one hundred cubic inches of oxygen, and that by any process we reduce it to a combination of oxygen and ozone occupying ninety-five cubic inches. Now, if the mercury absorbed the ozone, and we found, say, that there only remained eighty-five cubic inches of oxygen, we could reason in this way:—Ten cubic inches were occupied by the ozone before the mercury absorbed it; but these correspond to fifteen cubic inches of oxygen; hence, ozone must be denser than oxygen in the proportion of fifteen to ten, or three to two. And whatever result might have followed, a real absorption of the ozone by the mercury would have satisfactorily solved the problem.
But the result actually obtained did not admit of interpretation in this way. The apparent absorption of the ozone by the mercury, that is, the disappearance of the ozone from the mixture, was accompanied by _no diminution of volume at all_. In other words, returning to our illustrative case, after the absorption of the ozone from the ninety-five cubic inches occupied by the mixture, there still remained ninety-five cubic inches of oxygen; so that it seemed as though an evanescent volume of ozone corresponded in weight to five cubic inches of oxygen. This solution, of course, could not be admitted, since it made the density of ozone _infinite_.
The explanation of this perplexing experiment is full of interest and instruction. The following is the account given by Mr. C. W. Heaton (Professor of Chemistry at Charing Cross Hospital), slightly modified, however, so that it may be more readily understood.
Modern chemists adopt, as a convenient mode of representing the phenomena which gases exhibit, the theory that every gas, whether elementary or compound, consists of minute molecules. They suppose that these molecules are of equal size, and are separated by equal intervals so long as the gas remains unchanged in heat and density. This view serves to account for the features of resemblance presented by all gases. The features in which gases vary are accounted for by the theory that the molecules are differently constituted. The molecules are supposed to be clusters of atoms, and the qualities of a gas are assumed to depend on the nature and arrangement of these ultimate atoms. The molecules of some elements consist but of a single atom; the molecules of others are formed by pairs of atoms; those of others by triplets; and so on. Again, the molecules of compound gases are supposed to consist of combinations of different _kinds_ of atoms.
Now, Dr. Odling, to whom we owe the solution of the perplexing problem described above, thus interpreted the observed phenomena. A molecule of oxygen contains two atoms, one of ozone contains three, _and the oxidizing power of ozone depends on the ease with which it parts with its third atom of oxygen_. Thus, in the experiment which perplexed Messrs. Andrews and Tait, the mercury only _seemed_ to absorb the ozone; in reality it converted the ozone into oxygen by removing its third atom. And now we see how to interpret such a result as we considered in our illustrative case. Five cubic inches of oxygen gave up their atoms, each atom combining with one of the remaining oxygen doublets, so as to form a set of ozone triplets. Clearly, then, fifteen cubic inches of oxygen were transformed into ozone. They now occupied but ten cubic inches; so that the mixture, or ozonized oxygen, contained eighty-five cubic inches of oxygen and ten of ozone. When the mercury was introduced, it simply transformed all the ozone triplets into oxygen doublets, by taking away the odd atom from each. It thus left ten cubic inches of oxygen, which, with the remaining eighty-five, constituted the ninety-five cubic inches observed to remain after the supposed absorption of the ozone.
It follows, of course, that ozone is half as heavy again as oxygen.
But, as Mr. Heaton remarked, “this beautiful hypothesis, although accounting perfectly for all known facts, was yet but a probability. One link was lacking in the chain of evidence, and that link M. Soret has supplied by a happily devised experiment.” Although mercury and most substances are only capable of converting ozone into oxygen, oil of turpentine has the power of absorbing ozone in its entirety. Thus, when the experiment was repeated, with oil of turpentine in place of the mercury, the ozone was absorbed, and the remaining oxygen, instead of occupying ninety-five inches, occupied but eighty-five. After this, no doubt could remain that Dr. Odling’s ingeniously conceived hypothesis was the correct explanation of Messrs. Andrews and Tait’s experiment.
We recognize, then, in ozone a sort of concentrated oxygen, with this peculiar property, that it possesses an extraordinary readiness to part with its characteristic third atom, and so disappear _as ozone_, two-thirds of its weight remaining as oxygen.
It is to this peculiarity that ozone owes the properties which render it so important to our welfare. We are indeed, as yet, in no position to theorize respecting this element, our knowledge of its very existence being so recent, and our information respecting its presence in our atmosphere being of still more recent acquisition.
Indeed, it is well remarked by Mr. Heaton, that we had, until quite lately, no reason for confidently adopting Schönbein’s view that ozone exists in our atmosphere. The test-papers which Schönbein made use of turned blue under the influence of ozone, it is true, but they were similarly influenced by other elements which are known to exist in our atmosphere, and even the sun’s rays turned them blue. However, Dr. Andrews has shown how the character of the air producing the change can be further tested, so as to render it certain that ozone only has been at work. If air which colours the test-papers be found to lose the property after being heated, the change can only be due to ozone, because nitrous and nitric acids (which have the power of colouring the test-papers) would not be removed by the heat, whereas ozone is changed by heat into oxygen.
Once we are certain that ozone exists in the air, we must recognize the fact that its presence cannot fail to have an important bearing on our health and comfort; for ozone is an exceedingly active agent, and cannot exist anywhere without setting busily to its own proper work. What that work is, and whether it is beneficial or deleterious to ourselves, remains to be considered.
In the first place, ozone has immense power as a disinfectant. It decomposes the products emanating from putrefying matter more effectually than any other known element. Perhaps the most striking proof ever given of its qualities in this respect is that afforded by an experiment conducted by Dr. Richardson a few years ago.
He placed a pint of blood taken from an ox in a large wide-mouthed bottle. The blood had then coagulated, and it was left exposed to the air until it had become entirely redissolved by the effects of decomposition. At the end of a year the blood was put into a stoppered bottle, and set aside for seven years. “The bottle was then taken from its hiding-place,” says Dr. Richardson, “and an ounce of the blood was withdrawn. The fluid was so offensive as to produce nausea when the gases evolved from it were inhaled. It was subjected by Dr. Wood and myself to a current of ozone. For a few minutes the odour of ozone was destroyed by the odour of the gases from the blood; gradually the offensive smell passed away; then the fluid mass became quite sweet, and at last a faint odour of ozone was detected, whereupon the current was stopped. The blood was thus entirely deodorized; but another and most singular phenomenon was observed. The dead blood coagulated as the products of decomposition were removed, and this so perfectly, that from the new clot that was formed serum exuded. Before the experiment commenced, I had predicted on theoretical grounds that secondary coagulation would follow on purification; and this experiment, as well as several others afterwards performed, verified the truth of the prediction.”
It will of course be understood that ozone, in thus acting as a disinfectant, is transformed into oxygen. It parts with its third atom as in the mercury experiment, and so loses its distinctive peculiarity. Thus we might be led to anticipate the results which come next to be considered.
Ozone has certain work to do, and in doing that work is transmuted into oxygen. It follows, then, that where there has been much work for ozone to do, there we shall find little ozone left in the air. Hence, in open spaces where there is little decomposing matter, we should expect to find more ozone than in towns or cities. This accords with what is actually observed. And not only is it found that country air contains more ozone than town air, but it is found that air which has come from the sea has more ozone than even the country air, while air in the crowded parts of large cities has no ozone at all, nor has the air of inhabited rooms.
So far as we have gone, we might be disposed to speak unhesitatingly in favour of the effects produced by ozone. We see it purifying the air which would otherwise be loaded by the products of decomposing matter, we find it present in the sea air and the country air which we know to be so bracing and health-restoring after a long residence in town, and we find it absent just in those places which we look upon as most unhealthy.
Again, we find further evidence of the good effects of ozone in the fact that cholera and other epidemics never make their dreaded appearance in the land when the air is well supplied with ozone—or in what the meteorologists call “the ozone-periods.” And though we cannot yet explain the circumstance quite satisfactorily, we yet seem justified in ascribing to the purifying and disinfecting qualities of ozone our freedom at those times from epidemics to which cleanliness and good sanitary regulations are notedly inimical.
But there is a reverse side to the picture. And as we described an experiment illustrating the disinfecting qualities of ozone before describing the good effects of the element, we shall describe an experiment illustrating certain less pleasing qualities of ozone, before discussing the deleterious influences which it seems capable of exerting.
Dr. Richardson found that when the air of a room was so loaded with ozone as to be only respirable with difficulty, animals placed in the room were affected in a very singular manner. “In the first place,” he says, “all the symptoms of nasal catarrh and of irritation of the mucous membranes of the nose, the mouth, and the throat were rapidly induced. Then followed free secretion of saliva and profuse action of the skin—perspiration. The breathing was greatly quickened, and the action of the heart increased in proportion.” When the animals were suffered to remain yet longer within the room, congestion of the lungs followed, and the disease called by physicians “congestive bronchitis” was set up.
A very singular circumstance was noticed also as to the effects of ozone on the different orders of animals. The above-mentioned effects, and others which accompanied them, the description of which would be out of place in these pages, were developed more freely in carnivorous than in herbivorous animals. Rats, for example, were much more easily influenced by ozone than rabbits were.
The results of Dr. Richardson’s experiments prepare us to hear that ozone-periods, though characterized by the absence of certain diseases, bring with them their own forms of disease. Apoplexy, epilepsy, and other similar diseases seem peculiarly associated with the ozone-periods, insomuch that eighty per cent. of the deaths occurring from them take place on days when ozone is present in the air in larger quantities than usual. Catarrh, influenza, and affections of the bronchial tubes, also affect the ozone-periods.
We see, then, that we have much yet to learn respecting ozone before we can pronounce definitively whether it is more to be welcomed or dreaded. We must wait until the researches which are in progress have been carried out to their conclusion, and perhaps even then further modes of inquiry will have to be pursued before we can form a definite opinion.
_DEW._
There are few phenomena of common occurrence which have proved more perplexing to philosophers than those which attend the deposition of dew. Every one is familiar with these phenomena, and in very early times observant men had noticed them; yet it is but quite recently that the true theory of dew has been put forward and established. This theory affords a striking evidence of the value of careful and systematic observation applied even to the simplest phenomena of nature.
It was observed, in very early times, that dew is only formed on clear nights, when, therefore, the stars are shining. It was natural, perhaps, though hardly philosophical, to conclude that dew is directly shed down upon the earth from the stars; accordingly, we find the reference of dew to stellar influences among the earliest theories propounded in explanation of the phenomenon.
A theory somewhat less fanciful, but still depending on supposed stellar influences, was shortly put forward. It was observed that dew is only formed when the atmosphere is at a low temperature; or, more correctly, when the air is at a much lower temperature than has prevailed during the daytime. Combining this peculiarity with the former ancient philosophers reasoned in the following manner: Cold generates dew, and dew appears only when the skies are clear—that is, when the stars are shining; hence it follows that the stars generate cold, and thus lead indirectly to the formation of dew. Hence arose the singular theory, that as the sun pours down heat upon the earth, so the stars (and also the moon and planets) pour down cold.
Nothing is more common—we may note in passing—than this method of philosophizing, especially in all that concerns weather-changes; and perhaps it would be impossible to find a more signal instance of the mistakes into which men are likely to fall when they adopt this false method of reasoning; for, so far is it from being true that the stars shed cold upon the earth, that the exact reverse is the case. It has been established by astronomers and physicists that an important portion of the earth’s heat-supply is derived from the stars.
Following on these fanciful speculations came Aristotle’s theory of dew—celebrated as one of the most remarkable instances of the approximation which may sometimes be made to the truth by clever reasoning on insufficient observations. For we must not fall into the mistake of supposing, as many have done, that Aristotle framed hypotheses without making observations; indeed, there has seldom lived a philosopher who has made more observations than he did. His mistake was that he extended his observations too widely, not making enough on each subject. He imagined that, by a string of syllogisms, he could make a few supply the place of many observations.
Aristotle added two important facts to our knowledge respecting dew—namely, first, that dew is only formed in serene weather; and secondly, that it is not formed on the summits of mountains. Modern observations show the more correct statement of the case to be that dew is _seldom_ formed either in windy weather or on the tops of mountains. Now, Aristotle reasoned in a subtle and able manner on these two observations. He saw that dew must be the result of processes which are interfered with when the air is agitated, and which do not extend high above the earth’s surface; he conjectured, therefore, that dew is simply caused by the discharge of vapour from the air. “Vapour is a mixture,” he said, “of water and heat, and as long as water can get a supply of heat, vapour rises. But vapour cannot rise high, or the heat would get detached from it; and vapour cannot exist in windy weather, but becomes dissipated. Hence, in high places, and in windy weather, dew cannot be formed for want of vapour.” He derided the notion that the stars and moon cause the precipitation of dew. “On the contrary, the sun,” he said, “is the cause; since its heat raises the vapour, from which the dew is formed when that heat is no longer present to keep up the vapour.”
Amidst much that is false, there is here a good deal that is sound. The notion that heat is some substance which floats up the vapour, and may become detached from it in high or windy places, is of course incorrect. So also is the supposition that the dew is produced by the _fall_ of condensed vapour as the heat passes away. Nor is it correct to say that the absence of the sun causes the condensation of vapour, since, as we shall presently see, the cold which causes the deposition of dew results from more than the mere absence of the sun. But, in pointing out that the discharge of vapour from the air, owing to loss of heat, is the true cause of the deposition of dew, Aristotle expressed an important truth. It was when he attempted to account for the discharge that he failed. It will be observed, also, that his explanation does not account for the observed fact that dew is only formed in clear weather.
Aristotle’s views did not find acceptance among the Greeks or Romans; they preferred to look on the moon, stars, and planets as the agents which cause the deposition of dew. “This notion,” says a modern author, “was too beautiful for a Greek to give up, and the Romans could not do better than follow the example of their masters.”
In the middle ages, despite the credit attached to Aristotle’s name, those who cultivated the physical sciences were unwilling to accept his views; for the alchemists (who alone may be said to have been students of nature) founded their hopes of success in the search for the philosopher’s stone, the _elixir vitæ_, and the other objects of their pursuit, on occult influences supposed to be exercised by the celestial bodies. It was unlikely, therefore, that they would willingly reject the ancient theory which ascribed dew to lunar and stellar radiations.
But at length Baptista Porta adduced evidence which justified him in denying positively that the moon or stars exercise any influence on the formation of dew. He discovered that dew is sometimes deposited on the inside of glass panes; and again, that a bell-glass placed over a plant in cold weather is more copiously covered with dew within than without; nay, he observed that even some opaque substances show dew on their _under_ surface when none appears on the upper. Yet, singularly enough, Baptista Porta rejected that part of Aristotle’s theory which was alone correct. He thought his observations justified him in looking on dew as condensed—not from vapour, as Aristotle thought—but from the air itself.
But now a new theory of dew began to be supported. We have seen that not only the believers in stellar influence, but Aristotle also, looked on dew as falling from above. Porta’s experiments were opposed to this view. It seemed rather as if dew rose from the earth. Observation also showed that the amount of dew obtained at different heights from the ground diminishes with the height. Hence, the new theorists looked upon dew as an exhalation from the ground and from plants—a fine steam, as it were, rising upwards, and settling principally on the under surfaces of objects.