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The action of sound thus illustrated is exactly the same as that of light and radiant heat. They, like sound, are wave-motions. Like sound they diffuse themselves in space, diminishing in intensity according to the same law. Like sound also, light and radiant heat, when sent through a tube with a reflecting interior surface, may be conveyed to great distances with comparatively little loss. In fact, every experiment on the reflection of light has its analogy in the reflection of sound. On yonder gallery stands an electric lamp, placed close to the clock of this lecture-room. An assistant in the gallery ignites the lamp, and directs its powerful beam upon a mirror placed here behind the lecture-table. By the act of reflection the divergent beam is converted into this splendid luminous cone traced out upon the dust of the room. The point of convergence being marked and the lamp extinguished, I place my ear at that point. Here every sound-wave sent forth by the clock and reflected by the mirror is gathered up, and the ticks are heard as if they came, not from the clock, but from the mirror. Let us stop the clock, and place a watch w, Fig. 7, at the place occupied a moment ago by the electric light. At this great distance the ticking of the watch is distinctly heard. The hearing is much aided by introducing the end f of a glass funnel into the ear, the funnel here acting the part of an ear-trumpet. We know, moreover, that in optics the positions of a body and of its image are reversible. When a candle is placed at this lower focus, you see its image on the gallery above, and I have only to turn the mirror on its stand to make the image of the flame fall upon any one of the row of persons who occupy the front seat in the gallery. Removing the candle, and putting the watch, w, Fig. 8, in its place, the person on whom the light falls distinctly hears the sound. When the ear is assisted by the glass funnel, the reflected ticks of the clock in our first experiment are so powerful as to suggest the idea of something pounding against the tympanum, while the direct ticks are scarcely if at all, heard.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

One of these two parabolic mirrors, n n′, Fig. 9, is placed upon the table, the other, m m′, being drawn up to the ceiling of this theatre; they are five-and-twenty feet apart. When the carbon-points of the electric light are placed in the focus a of the lower mirror and ignited, a fine luminous cylinder rises like a pillar to the upper Fig. 9. mirror, which brings the parallel beam to a focus. At that focus is seen a spot of sunlike brilliancy, due to the reflection of the light from the surface of a watch, w, there suspended. The watch is ticking, but in my present position I do not hear it. At this lower focus, a, however, we have the energy of every sonorous wave converged. Placing the ear at a, the ticking is as audible as if the watch were at hand; the sound, as in the former case, appearing to proceed, not from the watch itself, but from the lower mirror.15

Curved roofs and ceilings and bellying sails act as mirrors upon sound. In our old laboratory, for example, the singing of a kettle seemed, in certain positions, to come, not from the fire on which it was placed, but from the ceiling. Inconvenient secrets have been thus revealed, an instance of which has been cited by Sir John Herschel.16 In one of the cathedrals in Sicily the confessional was so placed that the whispers of the penitents were reflected by the curved roof, and brought to a focus at a distant part of the edifice. The focus was discovered by accident, and for some time the person who discovered it took pleasure in hearing, and in bringing his friends to hear, utterances intended for the priest alone. One day, it is said, his own wife occupied the penitential stool, and both he and his friends were thus made acquainted with secrets which were the reverse of amusing to one of the party.

When a sufficient interval exists between a direct and a reflected sound, we hear the latter as an echo.

Sound, like light, may be reflected several times in succession, and, as the reflected light under these circumstances becomes gradually feebler to the eye, so the successive echoes become gradually feebler to the ear. In mountain regions this repetition and decay of sound produce wonderful and pleasing effects. Visitors to Killarney will remember the fine echo in the Gap of Dunloe. When a trumpet is sounded in the proper place in the Gap, the sonorous waves reach the ear in succession after one, two, three, or more reflections from the adjacent cliffs, and thus die away in the sweetest cadences. There is a deep cul-de-sac, called the Ochsenthal, formed by the great cliffs of the Engelhörner, near Rosenlaui, in Switzerland, where the echoes warble in a wonderful manner.

The sound of the Alpine horn, echoed from the rocks of the Wetterhorn or the Jungfrau, is in the first instance heard roughly. But by successive reflections the notes are rendered more soft and flute-like, the gradual diminution of intensity giving the impression that the source of sound is retreating further and further into the solitudes of ice and snow. The repetition of echoes is also in part due to the fact that the reflecting surfaces are at different distances from the hearer.

In large, unfurnished rooms the mixture of direct and reflected sound sometimes produces very curious effects. Standing, for example, in the gallery of the Bourse at Paris, you hear the confused vociferation of the excited multitude below. You see all the motions—of their lips as well as of their hands and arms. You know they are speaking—often, indeed, with vehemence—but what they say you know not. The voices mix with their echoes into a chaos of noise, out of which no intelligible utterance can emerge. The echoes of a room are materially damped by its furniture. The presence of an audience may also render intelligible speech possible where, without an audience, the definition of the direct voice is destroyed by its echoes. On the 16th of May, 1865, having to lecture in the Senate House of the University of Cambridge, I first made some experiments as to the loudness of voice necessary to fill the room, and was dismayed to find that a friend, placed at a distant part of the hall, could not follow me because of the echoes. The assembled audience, however, so quenched the sonorous waves that the echoes were practically absent, and my voice was plainly heard in all parts of the Senate House.

Sounds are also said to be reflected from the clouds. Arago reports that, when the sky is clear, the report of a cannon on an open plain is short and sharp, while a cloud is sufficient to produce an echo like the rolling of distant thunder. The subject of aërial echoes will be subsequently treated at length, when it will be shown that Arago’s conclusion requires correction.

Sir John Herschel, in his excellent article “Sound,” In the “Encyclopædia Metropolitana,” has collected with others the following instances of echoes. An echo in Woodstock Park repeats seventeen syllables by day and twenty by night; one, on the banks of the Lago del Lupo, above the fall of Terni, repeats fifteen. The tick of a watch may be heard from one end of the abbey church of St. Albans to the other. In Gloucester Cathedral, a gallery of an octagonal form conveys a whisper seventy-five feet across the nave. In the whispering-gallery of St. Paul’s, the faintest sound is conveyed from one side to the other of the dome, but is not heard at any intermediate point. At Carisbrook Castle, in the Isle of Wight, is a well two hundred and ten feet deep and twelve wide. The interior is lined by smooth masonry; when a pin is dropped into the well it is distinctly heard to strike the water. Shouting or coughing into this well produces a resonant ring of some duration.17