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I do not suppose that there is any one in this room who has not
occasionally blown a common soap-bubble, and while admiring the
perfection of its form, and the marvellous brilliancy of its colours,
wondered how it is that such a magnificent object can be so easily
produced.
I hope that none of you are yet tired of playing with bubbles, because,
as I hope we shall see during the week, there is more in a common bubble
than those who have only played with them generally imagine.
The wonder and admiration so beautifully portrayed by Millais in a
picture, copies of which, thanks to modern advertising enterprise, some
of you may possibly have seen, will, I hope, in no way fall away in
consequence of these lectures; I think you will find that it will grow
as your knowledge of the subject increases. You may be interested to
hear that we are not the only juveniles who have played with bubbles.
Ages ago children did the same, and though no mention of this is made by
any of the classical authors, we know that they did, because there is an
Etruscan vase in the Louvre in Paris of the greatest antiquity, on which
children are represented blowing bubbles with a pipe. There is however,
no means of telling now whose soap they used.
It is possible that some of you may like to know why I have chosen
soap-bubbles as my subject; if so, I am glad to tell you. Though there
are many subjects which might seem to a beginner to be more wonderful,
more brilliant, or more exciting, there are few which so directly bear
upon the things which we see every day. You cannot pour water from a jug
or tea from a tea-pot; you cannot even do anything with a liquid of any
kind, without setting in action the forces to which I am about to
direct your attention. You cannot then fail to be frequently reminded of
what you will hear and see in this room, and, what is perhaps most
important of all, many of the things I am going to show you are so
simple that you will be able without any apparatus to repeat for
yourselves the experiments which I have prepared, and this you will find
more interesting and instructive than merely listening to me and
watching what I do.
There is one more thing I should like to explain, and that is why I am
going to show experiments at all. You will at once answer because it
would be so dreadfully dull if I didn't. Perhaps it would. But that is
not the only reason. I would remind you then that when we want to find
out anything that we do not know, there are two ways of proceeding. We
may either ask somebody else who does know, or read what the most
learned men have written about it, which is a very good plan if anybody
happens to be able to answer our question; or else we may adopt the
other plan, and by arranging an experiment, try for ourselves. An
experiment is a question which we ask of Nature, who is always ready to
give a correct answer, provided we ask properly, that is, provided we
arrange a proper experiment. An experiment is not a conjuring trick,
something simply to make you wonder, nor is it simply shown because it
is beautiful, or because it serves to relieve the monotony of a lecture;
if any of the experiments I show are beautiful, or do serve to make
these lectures a little less dull, so much the better; but their chief
object is to enable you to see for yourselves what the true answers are
to questions that I shall ask.
Now I shall begin by performing an experiment which you have all
probably tried dozens of times. I have in my hand a common camel's-hair
brush. If you want to make the hairs cling together and come to a point,
you wet it, and then you say the hairs cling together because the brush
is wet. Now let us try the experiment; but as you cannot see this brush
across the room, I hold it in front of the lantern, and you can see it
enlarged upon the screen (Fig. 1, left hand). Now it is dry, and the
hairs are separately visible. I am now dipping it in the water, as you
can see, and on taking it out, the hairs, as we expected, cling
together (Fig. 1, right hand), because they are wet, as we are in the
habit of saying. I shall now hold the brush in the water, but there it
is evident that the hairs do not cling at all (Fig. 1, middle), and yet
they surely are wet now, being actually in the water. It would appear
then that the reason which we always give is not exactly correct. This
experiment, which requires nothing more than a brush and a glass of
water, then shows that the hairs of a brush cling together not only
because they are wet, but for some other reason as well which we do not
yet know. It also shows that a very common belief as to opening our eyes
under water is not founded on fact. It is very commonly said that if you
dive into the water with your eyes shut you cannot see properly when you
open them under water, because the water gums the eyelashes down over
the eyes; and therefore you must dive in with your eyes open if you wish
to see under water. Now as a matter of fact this is not the case at all;
it makes no difference whether your eyes are open or not when you dive
in, you can open them and see just as well either way. In the case of
the brush we have seen that water does not cause the hairs to cling
together or to anything else when under the water, it is only when taken
out that this is the case. This experiment, though it has not explained
why the hairs cling together, has at any rate told us that the reason
always given is not sufficient.
I shall now try another experiment as simple as the last. I have a pipe
from which water is very slowly issuing, but it does not fall away
continuously; a drop forms which slowly grows until it has attained a
certain definite size, and then it suddenly falls away. I want you to
notice that every time this happens the drop is always exactly the same
size and shape. Now this cannot be mere chance; there must be some
reason for the definite size, and shape. Why does the water remain at
all? It is heavy and is ready to fall, but it does not fall; it remains
clinging until it is a certain size, and then it suddenly breaks away,
as if whatever held it was not strong enough to carry a greater weight.
Mr. Worthington has carefully drawn on a magnified scale the exact shape
of a drop of water of different sizes, and these you now see upon the
diagram on the wall (Fig. 2). These diagrams will probably suggest the
idea that the water is hanging suspended in an elastic bag, and that the
bag breaks or is torn away when there is too great a weight for it to
carry. It is true there is no bag at all really, but yet the drops take
a shape which suggests an elastic bag. To show you that this is no
fancy, I have supported by a tripod a large ring of wood over which a
thin sheet of india-rubber has been stretched, and now on allowing water
to pour in from this pipe you will see the rubber slowly stretching
under the increasing weight, and, what I especially want you to notice,
it always assumes a form like those on the diagram. As the weight of
water increases the bag stretches, and now that there is about a pailful
of water in it, it is getting to a state which indicates that it cannot
last much longer; it is like the water-drop just before it falls away,
and now suddenly it changes its shape (Fig. 3), and it would immediately
tear itself away if it were not for the fact that india-rubber does not
stretch indefinitely; after a time it gets tight and will withstand a
greater pull without giving way. You therefore see the great drop now
permanently hanging which is almost exactly the same in shape as the
water-drop at the point of rupture. I shall now let the water run out by
means of a syphon, and then the drop slowly contracts again. Now in this
case we clearly have a heavy liquid in an elastic bag, whereas in the
drop of water we have the same liquid but no bag that is visible. As the
two drops behave in almost exactly the same way, we should naturally be
led to expect that their form and movements are due to the same cause,
and that the small water-drop has something holding it together like the
india-rubber you now see.
Let us see how this fits the first experiment with the brush. That
showed that the hairs do not cling together simply because they are wet;
it is necessary also that the brush should be taken out of the water, or
in other words it is necessary that the surface or the skin of the water
should be present to bind the hairs together. If then we suppose that
the surface of water is like an elastic skin, then both the experiments
with the wet brush and with the water-drop will be explained.
Let us therefore try another experiment to see whether in other ways
water behaves as if it had an elastic skin.
I have here a plain wire frame fixed to a stem with a weight at the
bottom, and a hollow glass globe fastened to it with sealing-wax. The
globe is large enough to make the whole thing float in water with the
frame up in the air. I can of course press it down so that the frame
touches the water. To make the movement of the frame more evident there
is fixed to it a paper flag.
Now if water behaves as if the surface were an elastic skin, then it
should resist the upward passage of the frame which I am now holding
below the surface. I let go, and instead of bobbing up as it would do if
there were no such action, it remains tethered down by this skin of the
water. If I disturb the water so as to let the frame out at one corner,
then, as you see, it dances up immediately (Fig. 4). You can see that
the skin of the water must have been fairly strong, because a weight of
about one quarter of an ounce placed upon the frame is only just
sufficient to make the whole thing sink.
This apparatus which was originally described by Van der Mensbrugghe I
shall make use of again in a few minutes.
I can show you in a more striking way that there is this elastic layer
or skin on pure clean water. I have a small sieve made of wire gauze
sufficiently coarse to allow a common pin to be put through any of the
holes. There are moreover about eleven thousand of these holes in the
bottom of the sieve. Now, as you know, clean wire is wetted by water,
that is, if it is dipped in water it comes out wet; on the other hand,
some materials, such as paraffin wax, of which paraffin candles are
made, are not wetted or really touched by water, as you may see for
yourselves if you will only dip a paraffin candle into water. I have
melted a quantity of paraffin in a dish and dipped this gauze into the
melted paraffin so as to coat the wire all over with it, but I have
shaken it well while hot to knock the paraffin out of the holes. You
can now see on the screen that the holes, all except one or two, are
open, and that a common pin can be passed through readily enough. This
then is the apparatus. Now if water has an elastic skin which it
requires force to stretch, it ought not to run through these holes very
readily; it ought not to be able to get through at all unless forced,
because at each hole the skin would have to be stretched to allow the
water to get to the other side. This you understand is only true if the
water does not wet or really touch the wire. Now to prevent the water
that I am going to pour in from striking the bottom with so much force
as to drive it through, I have laid a small piece of paper in the sieve,
and am pouring the water on to the paper, which breaks the fall (Fig.
5). I have now poured in about half a tumbler of water, and I might put
in more. I take away the paper but not a drop runs through. If I give
the sieve a jolt then the water is driven to the other side, and in a
moment it has all escaped. Perhaps this will remind you of one of the
exploits of our old friend Simple Simon,
"Who went for water in a sieve,
But soon it all ran through."
But you see if you only manage the sieve properly, this is not quite so
absurd as people generally suppose.
If now I shake the water off the sieve, I can, for the same reason, set
it to float on water, because its weight is not sufficient to stretch
the skin of the water through all the holes. The water, therefore,
remains on the other side, and it floats even though, as I have already
said, there are eleven thousand holes in the bottom, any one of which is
large enough to allow an ordinary pin to pass through. This experiment
also illustrates how difficult it is to write real and perfect nonsense.
You may remember one of the stories in Lear's book of Nonsense Songs.
"They went to sea in a sieve, they did,
In a sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a sieve they went to sea.
* * *
"They sailed away in a sieve, they did,
In a sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil,
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;"
And so on. You see that it is quite possible to go to sea in a
sieve--that is, if the sieve is large enough and the water is not too
rough--and that the above lines are now realized in every particular
(Fig. 6).
I may give one more example of the power of this elastic skin of water.
If you wish to pour water from a tumbler into a narrow-necked bottle,
you know how if you pour slowly it nearly all runs down the side of the
glass and gets spilled about, whereas if you pour quickly there is no
room for the great quantity of water to pass into the bottle all at
once, and so it gets spilled again. But if you take a piece of stick or
a glass rod, and hold it against the edge of the tumbler, then the water
runs down the rod and into the bottle, and none is lost (Fig. 7); you
may even hold the rod inclined to one side, as I am now doing, but the
water runs down the wet rod because this elastic skin forms a kind of
tube which prevents the water from escaping. This action is often made
use of in the country to carry the water from the gutters under the roof
into a water-butt below. A piece of stick does nearly as well as an iron
pipe, and it does not cost anything like so much.
I think then I have now done enough to show that on the surface of
water there is a kind of elastic skin. I do not mean that there is
anything that is not water on the surface, but that the water while
there acts in a different way to what it does inside, and that it acts
as if it were an elastic skin made of something like very thin
india-rubber, only that it is perfectly and absolutely elastic, which
india-rubber is not.
You will now be in a position to understand how it is that in narrow
tubes water does not find its own level, but behaves in an unexpected
manner. I have placed in front of the lantern a dish of water coloured
blue so that you may the more easily see it. I shall now dip into the
water a very narrow glass pipe, and immediately the water rushes up and
stands about half an inch above the general level. The tube inside is
wet. The elastic skin of the water is therefore attached to the tube,
and goes on pulling up the water until the weight of the water raised
above the general level is equal to the force exerted by the skin. If I
take a tube about twice as big, then this pulling action which is going
on all round the tube will cause it to lift twice the weight of water,
but this will not make the water rise twice as high, because the larger
tube holds so much more water for a given length than the smaller tube.
It will not even pull it up as high as it did in the case of the smaller
tube, because if it were pulled up as high the weight of the water
raised would in that case be four times as great, and not only twice as
great, as you might at first think. It will therefore only raise the
water in the larger tube to half the height, and now that the two tubes
are side by side you see the water in the smaller tube standing twice as
high as it does in the larger tube. In the same way, if I were to take a
tube as fine as a hair the water would go up ever so much higher. It is
for this reason that this is called Capillarity, from the Latin word
_capillus_, a hair, because the action is so marked in a tube the size
of a hair.
Supposing now you had a great number of tubes of all sizes, and placed
them in a row with the smallest on one side and all the others in the
order of their sizes, then it is evident that the water would rise
highest in the smallest tube and less and less high in each tube in the
row (Fig. 8), until when you came to a very large tube you would not be
able to see that the water was raised at all. You can very easily
obtain the same kind of effect by simply taking two square pieces of
window glass and placing them face to face with a common match or small
fragment of anything to keep them a small distance apart along one edge
while they meet together along the opposite edge. An india-rubber ring
stretched over them will hold them in this position. I now take this
pair of plates and stand it in a dish of coloured water, and you at once
see that the water creeps up to the top of the plates on the edge where
they meet, and as the distance between the plates gradually increases,
so the height to which the water rises gradually gets less, and the
result is that the surface of the liquid forms a beautifully regular
curve which is called by mathematicians a rectangular hyperbola (Fig.
9). I shall have presently to say more about this and some other curves,
and so I shall not do more now than state that the hyperbola is formed
because as the width between the plates gets greater the height gets
less, or, what comes to the same thing, because the weight of liquid
pulled up at any small part of the curve is always the same.
If the plates or the tubes had been made of material not wetted by
water, then the effect of the tension of the surface would be to drag
the liquid away from the narrow spaces, and the more so as the spaces
were narrower. As it is not easy to show this well with paraffined glass
plates or tubes and water, I shall use another liquid which does not wet
or touch clean glass, namely, quicksilver. As it is not possible to see
through quicksilver, it will not do to put a narrow tube into this
liquid to show that the level is lower in the tube than in the
surrounding vessel, but the same result may be obtained by having a wide
and a narrow tube joined together. Then, as you see upon the screen, the
quicksilver is lower in the narrow than in the wide tube, whereas in a
similar apparatus the reverse is the case with water (Fig. 10).
I want you now to consider what is happening when two flat plates partly
immersed in water are held close together. We have seen that the water
rises between them. Those parts of these two plates, which have air
between them and also air outside them (indicated by the letter _a_ in
Fig. 11), are each of them pressed equally in opposite directions by the
pressure of the air, and so these parts do not tend to approach or to
recede from one another. These parts again which have water on each side
of each of them (as indicated by the letter _c_) are equally pressed in
opposite directions by the pressure of the water, and so these parts do
not tend to approach or to recede from one another. But those parts of
the plates (_b_) which have water between them and air outside would,
you might think, be pushed apart by the water between them with a
greater force than that which could be exerted by the air outside, and
so you might be led to expect that on this account a pair of plates if
free to move would separate at once. But such an idea though very
natural is wrong, and for this reason. The water that is raised between
the plates being above the general level must be under a less pressure,
because, as every one knows, as you go down in water the pressure
increases, and so as you go up the pressure must get less. The water
then that is raised between the plates is under a less pressure than the
air outside, and so on the whole the plates are pushed together. You can
easily see that this is the case. I have two very light hollow glass
beads such as are used to decorate a Christmas tree. These will float in
water if one end is stopped with sealing-wax. These are both wetted by
water, and so the water between them is slightly raised, for they act in
the same way as the two plates, but not so powerfully. However, you will
have no difficulty in seeing that the moment I leave them alone they
rush together with considerable force. Now if you refer to the second
figure in the diagram, which represents two plates which are neither of
them wetted, I think you will see, without any explanation from me, that
they should be pressed together, and this is made evident by experiment.
Two other beads which have been dipped in paraffin wax so that they are
neither of them wetted by water float up to one another again when
separated as though they attracted each other just as the clean glass
beads did.
If you again consider these two cases, you will see that a plate that is
wetted tends to move towards the higher level of the liquid, whereas one
that is not wetted tends to move towards the lower level, that is if the
level of the liquid on the two sides is made different by capillary
action. Now suppose one plate wetted and the other not wetted, then, as
the diagram imperfectly shows, the level of the liquid between the
plates _where it meets_ the non-wetted plate is higher than that
outside, while where it meets the wetted plate it is lower than that
outside; so each plate tends to go away from the other, as you can see
now that I have one paraffined and one clean ball floating in the same
water. They appear to repel one another.
You may also notice that the surface of the liquid near a wetted plate
is curved, with the hollow of the curve upwards, while near a non-wetted
plate the reverse is the case. That this curvature of the surface is of
the first importance I can show you by a very simple experiment, which
you can repeat at home as easily as the last that I have shown. I have a
clean glass bead floating in water in a clean glass vessel, which is
not quite full. The bead always goes to the side of the vessel. It is
impossible to make it remain in the middle, it always gets to one side
or the other directly. I shall now gradually add water until the level
of the water is rather higher than that of the edge of the vessel. The
surface is then rounded near the vessel, while it is hollow near the
bead, and now the bead sails away towards the centre, and can by no
possibility be made to stop near either side. With a paraffined bead the
reverse is the case, as you would expect. Instead of a paraffined bead
you may use a common needle, which you will find will float on water in
a tumbler, if placed upon it very gently. If the tumbler is not quite
full the needle will always go away from the edge, but if rather
over-filled it will work up to one side, and then possibly roll over the
edge; any bubbles, on the other hand, which were adhering to the glass
before will, the instant that the water is above the edge of the glass,
shoot away from the edge in the most sudden and surprising manner. This
sudden change can be most easily seen by nearly filling the glass with
water, and then gradually dipping in and taking out a cork, which will
cause the level to slowly change.
So far I have given you no idea what force is exerted by this elastic
skin of water. Measurements made with narrow tubes, with drops, and in
other ways, all show that it is almost exactly equal to the weight of
three and a quarter grains to the inch. We have, moreover, not yet seen
whether other liquids act in the same way, and if so whether in other
cases the strength of the elastic skin is the same.
You now see a second tube identical with that from which drops of water
were formed, but in this case the liquid is alcohol. Now that drops are
forming, you see at once that while alcohol makes drops which have a
definite size and shape when they fall away, the alcohol drops are not
by any means so large as the drops of water which are falling by their
side. Two possible reasons might be given to explain this. Either
alcohol is a heavier liquid than water, which would account for the
smaller drop if the skin in each liquid had the same strength, or else
if alcohol is not heavier than water its skin must be weaker than the
skin of water. As a matter of fact alcohol is a lighter liquid than
water, and so still more must the skin of alcohol be weaker than that of
water.
We can easily put this to the test of experiment. In the game that is
called the tug-of-war you know well enough which side is the strongest;
it is the side which pulls the other over the line. Let us then make
alcohol and water play the same game. In order that you may see the
water, it is coloured blue. It is lying as a shallow layer on the bottom
of this white dish. At the present time the skin of the water is pulling
equally in all directions, and so nothing happens; but if I pour a few
drops of alcohol into the middle, then at the line which separates the
alcohol from the water we have alcohol on one side pulling in, while we
have water on the other side pulling out, and you see the result. The
water is victorious; it rushes away in all directions, carrying a
quantity of the alcohol away with it, and leaves the bottom of the dish
dry (Fig. 13).
This difference in the strength of the skin of alcohol and of water, or
of water containing much or little alcohol, gives rise to a curious
motion which you may see on the side of a wine-glass in which there is
some fairly strong wine, such as port. The liquid is observed to climb
up the sides of the glass, then to gather into drops, and to run down
again, and this goes on for a long time. This is explained as
follows:--The thin layer of wine on the side of the glass being exposed
to the air, loses its alcohol by evaporation more quickly than the wine
in the glass. It therefore becomes weaker in alcohol or stronger in
water than that below, and for this reason it has a stronger skin. It
therefore pulls up more wine from below, and this goes on until there is
so much that drops form, and it runs back again into the glass, as you
now see upon the screen (Fig. 14). There can be no doubt that this
movement is referred to in Proverbs xxiii. 31: "Look not thou upon the
wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it
moveth itself aright."
If you remember that this movement only occurs with strong wine, and
that it must have been known to every one at the time that these words
were written, and used as a test of the strength of wine, because in
those days every one drank wine, then you will agree that this
explanation of the meaning of that verse is the right one. I would ask
you also to consider whether it is not probable that other passages
which do not now seem to convey to us any meaning whatever, may not in
the same way have referred to the common knowledge and customs of the
day, of which at the present time we happen to be ignorant.
Ether, in the same way, has a skin which is weaker than the skin of
water. The very smallest quantity of ether on the surface of water will
produce a perceptible effect. For instance, the wire frame which I left
some time ago is still resting against the water-skin. The buoyancy of
the glass bulb is trying to push it through, but the upward force is
just not sufficient. I will however pour a few drops of ether into a
glass, and simply pour the vapour upon the surface of the water (not a
drop of _liquid_ is passing over), and almost immediately sufficient
ether has condensed upon the water to reduce the strength of the skin to
such an extent that the frame jumps up out of the water.
There is a well-known case in which the difference between the strength
of the skins of two liquids may be either a source of vexation or, if we
know how to make use of it, an advantage. If you spill grease on your
coat you can take it out very well with benzine. Now if you apply
benzine to the grease, and then apply fresh benzine to that already
there, you have this result--there is then greasy benzine on the coat to
which you apply fresh benzine. It so happens that greasy benzine has a
stronger skin than pure benzine. The greasy benzine therefore plays at
tug-of-war with pure benzine, and being stronger wins and runs away in
all directions, and the more you apply benzine the more the greasy
benzine runs away carrying the grease with it. But if you follow the
directions on the bottle, and first make a ring of clean benzine round
the grease-spot, and then apply benzine to the grease, you then have the
greasy benzine running away from the pure benzine ring and heaping
itself together in the middle, and escaping into the fresh rag that you
apply, so that the grease is all of it removed.
There is a difference again between hot and cold grease, as you may see,
when you get home, if you watch a common candle burning. Close to the
flame the grease is hotter than it is near the outside. It has therefore
a weaker skin, and so a perpetual circulation is kept up, and the grease
runs out on the surface and back again below, carrying little specks of
dust which make this movement visible, and making the candle burn
regularly.
You probably know how to take out grease-stains with a hot poker and
blotting-paper. Here again the same kind of action is going on.
A piece of lighted camphor floating in water is another example of
movement set up by differences in the strength of the skin of water
owing to the action of the camphor.
I will give only one more example.
If you are painting in water-colours on greasy paper or certain shiny
surfaces the paint will not lie smoothly on the paper, but runs together
in the well-known way; a very little ox-gall, however, makes it lie
perfectly, because ox-gall so reduces the strength of the skin of water
that it will wet surfaces that pure water will not wet. This reduction
of the surface tension you can see if I use the same wire frame a third
time. The ether has now evaporated, and I can again make it rest against
the surface of the water, but very soon after I touch the water with a
brush containing ox-gall the frame jumps up as suddenly as before.
It is quite unnecessary that I should any further insist upon the fact
that the outside of a liquid acts as if it were a perfectly elastic skin
stretched with a certain definite force.
Suppose now that you take a small quantity of water, say as much as
would go into a nut-shell, and suddenly let it go, what will happen? Of
course it will fall down and be dashed against the ground. Or again,
suppose you take the same quantity of water and lay it carefully upon a
cake of paraffin wax dusted over with lycopodium which it does not wet,
what will happen? Here again the weight of the drop--that which makes it
fall if not held--will squeeze it against the paraffin and make it
spread out into a flat cake. What would happen if the weight of the drop
or the force pulling it downwards could be prevented from acting? In
such a case the drop would only feel the effect of the elastic skin,
which would try to pull it into such a form as to make the surface as
small as possible. It would in fact rapidly become a perfectly round
ball, because in no other way can so small a surface be obtained. If,
instead of taking so much water, we were to take a drop about as large
as a pin's head, then the weight which tends to squeeze it out or make
it fall would be far less, while the skin would be just as strong, and
would in reality have a greater moulding power, though why I cannot now
explain. We should therefore expect that by taking a sufficiently small
quantity of water the moulding power of the skin would ultimately be
able almost entirely to counteract the weight of the drop, so that very
small drops should appear like perfect little balls. If you have found
any difficulty in following this argument, a very simple illustration
will make it clear. Many of you probably know how by folding paper to
make this little thing which I hold in my hand (Fig. 15). It is called a
cat-box, because of its power of dispelling cats when it is filled with
water and well thrown. This one, large enough to hold about half a pint,
is made out of a small piece of the _Times_ newspaper. You may fill it
with water and carry it about and throw it with your full power, and the
strength of the paper skin is sufficient to hold it together until it
hits anything, when of course it bursts and the water comes out. On the
other hand, the large one made out of a whole sheet of the _Times_ is
barely able to withstand the weight of the water that it will hold. It
is only just strong enough to allow of its being filled and carried, and
then it may be dropped from a height, but you cannot throw it. In the
same way the weaker skin of a liquid will not make a large quantity take
the shape of a ball, but it will mould a minute drop so perfectly that
you cannot tell by looking at it that it is not perfectly round every
way. This is most easily seen with quicksilver. A large quantity rolls
about like a flat cake, but the very small drops obtained by throwing
some violently on the table and so breaking it up appear perfectly
round. You can see the same difference in the beads of gold now upon the
screen (Fig. 16). They are now solid, but they were melted and then
allowed to cool without being disturbed. Though the large bead is
flattened by its weight, the small one appears perfectly round. Finally,
you may see the same thing with water if you dust a little lycopodium on
the table. Then water falling will roll itself up into perfect little
balls. You may even see the same thing on a dusty day if you water the
road with a water-pot.
If it were not for the weight of liquids, that is the force with which
they are pulled down towards the earth, large drops would be as
perfectly round as small ones. This was first beautifully shown by
Plateau, the blind experimentalist, who placed one liquid inside another
which is equally heavy, and with which it does not mix. Alcohol is
lighter than oil, while water is heavier, but a suitable mixture of
alcohol and water is just as heavy as oil, and so oil does not either
tend to rise or to fall when immersed in such a mixture. I have in front
of the lantern a glass box containing alcohol and water, and by means of
a tube I shall slowly allow oil to flow in. You see that as I remove the
tube it becomes a perfect ball as large as a walnut. There are now two
or three of these balls of oil all perfectly round. I want you to notice
that when I hit them on one side the large balls recover their shape
slowly, while the small ones become round again much more quickly. There
is a very beautiful effect which can be produced with this apparatus,
and though it is not necessary to refer to it, it is well worth while
now that the apparatus is set up to show it to you. In the middle of the
box there is an axle with a disc upon it to which I can make the oil
adhere. Now if I slowly turn the wire and disc the oil will turn also.
As I gradually increase the speed the oil tends to fly away in all
directions, but the elastic skin retains it. The result is that the ball
becomes flattened at its poles like the earth itself. On increasing the
speed, the tendency of the oil to get away is at last too much for the
elastic skin, and a ring breaks away (Fig. 17), which almost
immediately contracts again on to the rest of the ball as the speed
falls. If I turn it sufficiently fast the ring breaks up into a series
of balls which you now see. One cannot help being reminded of the
heavenly bodies by this beautiful experiment of Plateau's, for you see a
central body and a series of balls of different sizes all travelling
round in the same direction (Fig. 18); but the forces which are acting
in the two cases are totally distinct, and what you see has nothing
whatever to do with the sun and the planets.
We have thus seen that a large ball of liquid can be moulded by the
elasticity of its skin if the disturbing effect of its weight is
neutralized, as in the last experiment. This disturbing effect is
practically of no account in the case of a soap-bubble, because it is so
thin that it hardly weighs anything. You all know, of course, that a
soap-bubble is perfectly round, and now you know why; it is because the
elastic film, trying to become as small as it can, must take the form
which has the smallest surface for its content, and that form is the
sphere. I want you to notice here, as with the oil, that a large bubble
oscillates much more slowly than a small one when knocked out of shape
with a bat covered with baize or wool.
The chief result that I have endeavoured to make clear to-day is this.
The outside of a liquid acts as if it were an elastic skin, which will,
as far as it is able, so mould the liquid within it that it shall be as
small as possible. Generally the weight of liquids, especially when
there is a large quantity, is too much for the feebly elastic skin, and
its power may not be noticed. The disturbing effect of weight is got rid
of by immersing one liquid in another which is equally heavy with which
it does not mix, and it is hardly noticed when very small drops are
examined, or when a bubble is blown, for in these cases the weight is
almost nothing, while the elastic power of the skin is just as great as
ever.
LECTURE II.
I did not in the last lecture by any direct experiment show that a
soap-film or bubble is really elastic, like a piece of stretched
india-rubber.
A soap-bubble consisting, as it does, of a thin layer of liquid, which
must have of course both an inside and an outside surface or skin, must
be elastic, and this is easily shown in many ways. Perhaps the easiest
way is to tie a thread across a ring rather loosely, and then to dip the
ring into soap water. On taking it out there is a film stretched over
the ring, in which the thread moves about quite freely, as you can see
upon the screen. But if I break the film on one side, then immediately
the thread is pulled by the film on the other side as far as it can go,
and it is now tight (Fig. 19). You will also notice that it is part of a
perfect circle, because that form makes the space on one side as great,
and therefore on the other side, where the film is, as small, as
possible. Or again, in this second ring the thread is double for a short
distance in the middle. If I break the film between the threads they are
at once pulled apart, and are pulled into a perfect circle (Fig. 20),
because that is the form which makes the space within it as great as
possible, and therefore leaves the space outside it as small as
possible. You will also notice, that though the circle will not allow
itself to be pulled out of shape, yet it can move about in the ring
quite freely, because such a movement does not make any difference to
the space outside it.
I have now blown a bubble upon a ring of wire. I shall hang a small ring
upon it, and to show more clearly what is happening, I shall blow a
little smoke into the bubble. Now that I have broken the film inside the
lower ring, you will see the smoke being driven out and the ring lifted
up, both of which show the elastic nature of the film. Or again, I have
blown a bubble on the end of a wide pipe; on holding the open end of the
pipe to a candle flame, the outrushing air blows out the flame at once,
which shows that the soap-bubble is acting like an elastic bag (Fig.
21). You now see that, owing to the elastic skin of a soap-bubble, the
air inside is under pressure and will get out if it can. Which would you
think would squeeze the air inside it most, a large or a small bubble?
We will find out by trying, and then see if we can tell why. You now
see two pipes each with a tap. These are joined together by a third pipe
in which there is a third tap. I will first blow one bubble and shut it
off with the tap 1 (Fig. 22), and then the other, and shut it off with
the tap 2. They are now nearly equal in size, but the air cannot yet
pass from one to the other because the tap 3 is turned off. Now if the
pressure in the largest one is greatest it will blow air into the other
when I open this tap, until they are equal in size; if, on the other
hand, the pressure in the small one is greatest, it will blow air into
the large one, and will itself get smaller until it has quite
disappeared. We will now try the experiment. You see immediately that I
open the tap 3 the small bubble shuts up and blows out the large one,
thus showing that there is a greater pressure in a small than in a large
bubble. The directions in which the air and the bubble move is indicated
in the figure by arrows. I want you particularly to notice and remember
this, because this is an experiment on which a great deal depends. To
impress this upon your memory I shall show the same thing in another
way. There is in front of the lantern a little tube shaped like a U half
filled with water. One end of the U is joined to a pipe on which a
bubble can be blown (Fig. 23). You will now be able to see how the
pressure changes as the bubble increases in size, because the water will
be displaced more when the pressure is more, and less when it is less.
Now that there is a very small bubble, the pressure as measured by the
water is about one quarter of an inch on the scale. The bubble is
growing and the pressure indicated by the water in the gauge is
falling, until, when the bubble is double its former size, the pressure
is only half what it was; and this is always true, the smaller the
bubble the greater the pressure. As the film is always stretched with
the same force, whatever size the bubble is, it is clear that the
pressure inside can only depend upon the curvature of a bubble. In the
case of lines, our ordinary language tells us, that the larger a circle
is the less is its curvature; a piece of a small circle is said to be a
quick or a sharp curve, while a piece of a great circle is only slightly
curved; and if you take a piece of a very large circle indeed, then you
cannot tell it from a straight line, and you say it is not curved at
all. With a part of the surface of a ball it is just the same--the
larger the ball the less it is curved; and if the ball is very large
indeed, say 8000 miles across, you cannot tell a small piece of it from
a true plane. Level water is part of such a surface, and you know that
still water in a basin appears perfectly flat, though in a very large
lake or the sea you can see that it is curved. We have seen that in
large bubbles the pressure is little and the curvature is little, while
in small bubbles the pressure is great and the curvature is great. The
pressure and the curvature rise and fall together. We have now learnt
the lesson which the experiment of the two bubbles, one blown out by the
other, teaches us.
A ball or sphere is not the only form which you can give to a
soap-bubble. If you take a bubble between two rings, you can pull it
out until at last it has the shape of a round straight tube or cylinder
as it is called. We have spoken of the curvature of a ball or sphere;
now what is the curvature of a cylinder? Looked at sideways, the edge of
the wooden cylinder upon the table appears straight, _i. e._ not curved
at all; but looked at from above it appears round, and is seen to have a
definite curvature (Fig. 24). What then is the curvature of the surface
of a cylinder? We have seen that the pressure in a bubble depends upon
the curvature when they are spheres, and this is true whatever shape
they have. If, then, we find what sized sphere will produce the same
pressure upon the air inside that a cylinder does, then we shall know
that the curvature of the cylinder is the same as that of the sphere
which balances it. Now at each end of a short tube I shall blow an
ordinary bubble, but I shall pull the lower bubble by means of another
tube into the cylindrical form, and finally blow in more or less air
until the sides of the cylinder are perfectly straight. That is now done
(Fig. 25), and the pressure in the two bubbles must be exactly the same,
as there is a free passage of air between the two. On measuring them you
see that the sphere is exactly double the cylinder in diameter. But
this sphere has only half the curvature that a sphere half its diameter
would have. Therefore the cylinder, which we know has the same curvature
that the large sphere has, because the two balance, has only half the
curvature of a sphere of its own diameter, and the pressure in it is
only half that in a sphere of its own diameter.
I must now make one more step in explaining this question of curvature.
Now that the cylinder and sphere are balanced I shall blow in more air,
making the sphere larger; what will happen to the cylinder? The cylinder
is, as you see, very short; will it become blown out too, or what will
happen? Now that I am blowing in air you see the sphere enlarging, thus
relieving the pressure; the cylinder develops a waist, it is no longer a
cylinder, the sides are curved inwards. As I go on blowing and enlarging
the sphere, they go on falling inwards, but not indefinitely. If I were
to blow the upper bubble till it was of an enormous size the pressure
would become extremely small. Let us make the pressure nothing at all at
once by simply breaking the upper bubble, thus allowing the air a free
passage from the inside to the outside of what was the cylinder. Let me
repeat this experiment on a larger scale. I have two large glass rings,
between which I can draw out a film of the same kind. Not only is the
outline of the soap-film curved inwards, but it is exactly the same as
the smaller one in shape (Fig. 26). As there is now no pressure there
ought to be no curvature, if what I have said is correct. But look at
the soap-film. Who would venture to say that that was not curved? and
yet we had satisfied ourselves that the pressure and the curvature rose
and fell together. We now seem to have come to an absurd conclusion.
Because the pressure is reduced to nothing we say the surface must have
no curvature, and yet a glance is sufficient to show that the film is so
far curved as to have a most elegant waist. Now look at the plaster
model on the table, which is a model of a mathematical figure which also
has a waist.
Let us therefore examine this cast more in detail. I have a disc of card
which has exactly the same diameter as the waist of the cast. I now hold
this edgeways against the waist (Fig. 27), and though you can see that
it does not fit the whole curve, it fits the part close to the waist
perfectly. This then shows that this part of the cast would appear
curved inwards if you looked at it sideways, to the same extent that it
would appear curved outwards if you could see it from above. So
considering the waist only, it is curved both towards the inside and
also away from the inside according to the way you look at it, and to
the same extent. The curvature inwards would make the pressure inside
less, and the curvature outwards would make it more, and as they are
equal they just balance, and there is no pressure at all. If we could in
the same way examine the bubble with the waist, we should find that this
was true not only at the waist but at every part of it. Any curved
surface like this which at every point is equally curved opposite ways,
is called a surface of no curvature, and so what seemed an absurdity is
now explained. Now this surface, which is the only one of the kind
symmetrical about an axis, except a flat surface, is called a catenoid,
because it is like a chain, as you will see directly, and, as you know,
_catena_ is the Latin for a chain. I shall now hang a chain in a loop
from a level stick, and throw a strong light upon it, so that you can
see it well (Fig. 28). This is exactly the same shape as the side of a
bubble drawn out between two rings, and open at the end to the air.[1]
[Footnote 1: If the reader finds these geometrical relations too
difficult to follow, he or she should skip the next pages, and go on
again at "We have found...." p. 77.]
Let us now take two rings, and having placed a bubble between them,
gradually alter the pressure. You can tell what the pressure is by
looking at the part of the film which covers either ring, which I shall
call the cap. This must be part of a sphere, and we know that the
curvature of this and the pressure inside rise and fall together. I have
now adjusted the bubble so that it is a nearly perfect sphere. If I blow
in more air the caps become more curved, showing an increased pressure,
and the sides bulge out even more than those of a sphere (Fig. 29). I
have now brought the whole bubble back to the spherical form. A little
increased pressure, as shown by the increased curvature of the cap,
makes the sides bulge more; a little less pressure, as shown by the
flattening of the caps, makes the sides bulge less. Now the sides are
straight, and the cap, as we have already seen, forms part of a sphere
of twice the diameter of the cylinder. I am still further reducing the
pressure until the caps are plane, that is, not curved at all. There is
now no pressure inside, and therefore the sides have, as we have
already seen, taken the form of a hanging chain; and now, finally, the
pressure inside is less than that outside, as you can see by the caps
being drawn inwards, and the sides have even a smaller waist than the
catenoid. We have now seen seven curves as we gradually reduced the
pressure, namely--
1. Outside the sphere.
2. The sphere.
3. Between the sphere and the cylinder.
4. The cylinder.
5. Between the cylinder and the catenoid.
6. The catenoid.
7. Inside the catenoid.
Now I am not going to say much more about all these curves, but I must
refer to the very curious properties that they possess. In the first
place, they must all of them have the same curvature in every part as
the portion of the sphere which forms the cap; in the second place, they
must all be the curves of the least possible surface which can enclose
the air and join the rings as well. And finally, since they pass
insensibly from one to the other as the pressure gradually changes,
though they are distinct curves there must be some curious and intimate
relation between them. This though it is a little difficult, I shall
explain. If I were to say that these curves are the roulettes of the
conic sections I suppose I should alarm you, and at the same time
explain nothing, so I shall not put it in that way; but instead, I shall
show you a simple experiment which will throw some light upon the
subject, which you can try for yourselves at home.
I have here a common bedroom candlestick with a flat round base. Hold
the candlestick exactly upright near to a white wall, then you will see
the shadow of the base on the wall below, and the outline of the shadow
is a symmetrical curve, called a hyperbola. Gradually tilt the candle
away from the wall, you will then notice the sides of the shadow
gradually branch away less and less, and when you have so far tilted the
candle away from the wall that the flame is exactly above the edge of
the base,--and you will know when this is the case, because then the
falling grease will just fall on the edge of the candlestick and splash
on to the carpet,--I have it so now,--the sides of the shadow near the
floor will be almost parallel (Fig. 30), and the shape of the shadow
will have become a curve, known as a parabola; and now when the
candlestick is still more tilted, so that the grease misses the base
altogether and falls in a gentle stream upon the carpet, you will see
that the sides of the shadow have curled round and met on the wall, and
you now have a curve like an oval, except that the two ends are alike,
and this is called an ellipse. If you go on tilting the candlestick,
then when the candle is just level, and the grease pouring away, the
shadow will be almost a circle; it would be an exact circle if the flame
did not flare up. Now if you go on tilting the candle, until at last the
candlestick is upside down, the curves already obtained will be
reproduced in the reverse order, but above instead of below you.
You may well ask what all this has to do with a soap-bubble. You will
see in a moment. When you light a candle, the base of the candlestick
throws the space behind it into darkness, and the form of this dark
space, which is everywhere round like the base, and gets larger as you
get further from the flame, is a cone, like the wooden model on the
table. The shadow cast on the wall is of course the part of the wall
which is within this cone. It is the same shape that you would find if
you were to cut a cone through with a saw, and so these curves which I
have shown you are called conic sections. You can see some of them
already made in the wooden model on the table. If you look at the
diagram on the wall (Fig. 31), you will see a complete cone at first
upright (A), then being gradually tilted over into the positions that I
have specified. The black line in the upper part of the diagram shows
where the cone is cut through, and the shaded area below shows the true
shape of these shadows, or pieces cut off, which are called sections.
Now in each of these sections there are either one or two points, each
of which is called a focus, and these are indicated by conspicuous
dots. In the case of the circle (D Fig. 31), this point is also the
centre. Now if this circle is made to roll like a wheel along the
straight line drawn just below it, a pencil at the centre will rule the
straight line which is dotted in the lower part of the figure; but if we
were to make wheels of the shapes of any of the other sections, a pencil
at the focus would certainly not draw a straight line. What shape it
would draw is not at once evident. First consider any of the elliptic
sections (C, E, or F) which you see on either side of the circle. If
these were wheels, and were made to roll, the pencil as it moved along
would also move up and down, and the line it would draw is shown dotted
as before in the lower part of the figure. In the same way the other
curves, if made to roll along a straight line, would cause pencils at
their focal points to draw the other dotted lines.
We are now almost able to see what the conic section has to do with a
soap-bubble. When a soap-bubble was blown between two rings, and the
pressure inside was varied, its outline went through a series of forms,
some of which are represented by the dotted lines in the lower part of
the figure, but in every case they could have been accurately drawn by a
pencil at the focus of a suitable conic section made to roll on a
straight line. I called one of the bubble forms, if you remember, by its
name, catenoid; this is produced when there is no pressure. The dotted
curve in the second figure B is this one; and to show that this catenary
can be so drawn, I shall roll upon a straight edge a board made into the
form of the corresponding section, which is called a parabola, and let
the chalk at its focus draw its curve upon the black board. There is the
curve, and it is as I said, exactly the curve that a chain makes when
hung by its two ends. Now that a chain is so hung you see that it
exactly lies over the chalk line.
All this is rather difficult to understand, but as these forms which a
soap-bubble takes afford a beautiful example of the most important
principle of continuity, I thought it would be a pity to pass it by. It
may be put in this way. A series of bubbles may be blown between a pair
of rings. If the pressures are different the curves must be different.
In blowing them the pressures slowly and _continuously_ change, and so
the curves cannot be altogether different in kind. Though they may be
different curves, they also must pass slowly and continuously one into
the other. We find the bubble curves can be drawn by rolling wheels made
in the shape of the conic sections on a straight line, and so the conic
sections, though distinct curves, must pass slowly and continuously one
into the other. This we saw was the case, because as the candle was
slowly tilted the curves did as a fact slowly and insensibly change from
one to the other. There was only one parabola, and that was formed when
the side of the cone was parallel to the plane of section, that is when
the falling grease just touched the edge of the candlestick; there is
only one bubble with no pressure, the catenoid, and this is drawn by
rolling the parabola. As the cone is gradually inclined more, so the
sections become at first long ellipses, which gradually become more and
more round until a circle is reached, after which they become more and
more narrow until a line is reached. The corresponding bubble curves are
produced by a gradually increasing pressure, and, as the diagram shows,
these bubble curves are at first wavy (C), then they become straight
when a cylinder is formed (D), then they become wavy again (E and F),
and at last, when the cutting plane, _i. e._ the black line in the upper
figure, passes through the vertex of the cone the waves become a series
of semicircles, indicating the ordinary spherical soap-bubble. Now if
the cone is inclined ever so little more a new shape of section is seen
(G), and this being rolled, draws a curious curve with a loop in it; but
how this is so it would take too long to explain. It would also take too
long to trace the further positions of the cone, and to trace the
corresponding sections and bubble curves got by rolling them. Careful
inspection of the diagram may be sufficient to enable you to work out
for yourselves what will happen in all cases. I should explain that the
bubble surfaces are obtained by spinning the dotted lines about the
straight line in the lower part of Fig. 31 as an axis.
As you will soon find out if you try, you cannot make with a soap-bubble
a great length of any of these curves at one time, but you may get
pieces of any of them with no more apparatus than a few wire rings, a
pipe, and a little soap and water. You can even see the whole of one of
the loops of the dotted curve of the first figure (A), which is called a
nodoid, not a complete ring, for that is unstable, but a part of such a
ring. Take a piece of wire or a match, and fasten one end to a piece of
lead, so that it will stand upright in a dish of soap water, and project
half an inch or so. Hold with one hand a sheet of glass resting on the
match in middle, and blow a bubble in the water against the match. As
soon as it touches the glass plate, which should be wetted with the soap
solution, it will become a cylinder, which will meet the glass plate in
a true circle. Now very slowly incline the plate. The bubble will at
once work round to the lowest side, and try to pull itself away from the
match stick, and in doing so it will develop a loop of the nodoid, which
would be exactly true in form if the match or wire were slightly bent,
so as to meet both the glass and the surface of the soap water at a
right angle. I have described this in detail, because it is not
generally known that a complete loop of the nodoid can be made with a
soap-bubble.
We have found that the pressure in a short cylinder gets less if it
begins to develop a waist, and greater if it begins to bulge. Let us
therefore try and balance one with a bulge against another with a waist.
Immediately that I open the tap and let the air pass, the one with a
bulge blows air round to the one with a waist and they both become
straight. In Fig. 32 the direction of the movement of the air and of the
sides of the bubble is indicated by arrows. Let us next try the same
experiment with a pair of rather longer cylinders, say about twice as
long as they are wide. They are now ready, one with a bulge and one with
a waist. Directly I open the tap, and let the air pass from one to the
other, the one with a waist blows out the other still more (Fig. 33),
until at last it has shut itself up. It therefore behaves exactly in the
opposite way that the short cylinder did. If you try pairs of cylinders
of different lengths you will find that the change occurs when they are
just over one and a half times as long as they are wide. Now if you
imagine one of these tubes joined on to the end of the other, you will
see that a cylinder more than about three times as long as it is wide
cannot last more than a moment; because if one end were to contract ever
so little the pressure there would increase, and the narrow end would
blow air into the wider end (Fig. 34), until the sides of the narrow end
met one another. The exact length of the longest cylinder that is
stable, is a little more than three diameters. The cylinder just becomes
unstable when its length is equal to its circumference, and this is
3-1/7 diameters almost exactly.
I will gradually separate these rings, keeping up a supply of air, and
you will see that when the tube gets nearly three times as long as it is
wide it is getting very difficult to manage, and then suddenly it grows
a waist nearer one end than the other, and breaks off forming a pair of
separate and unequal bubbles.
If now you have a cylinder of liquid of great length suddenly formed and
left to itself, it clearly cannot retain that form. It must break up
into a series of drops. Unfortunately the changes go on so quickly in a
falling stream of water that no one by merely looking at it could follow
the movements of the separate drops, but I hope to be able to show to
you in two or three ways exactly what is happening. You may remember
that we were able to make a large drop of one liquid in another, because
in this way the effect of the weight was neutralized, and as large drops
oscillate or change their shape much more slowly than small, it is more
easy to see what is happening. I have in this glass box water coloured
blue on which is floating paraffin, made heavier by mixing with it a
bad-smelling and dangerous liquid called bisulphide of carbon.
[Sidenote: _See Diagram at the end of the Book._
Fig. 35.]