And now for the application of these experiments. I have already mentioned a series of coloured rings observed around the sun by Mr. Huxley and myself from the Rhone glacier; I have also referred to the cloud iridescences on the Aletschhorn; and to the colours observed during my second ascent of Monte Rosa, the magnificence of which is neither to be rendered by pigments nor described in words. All these splendid phenomena are, I believe, produced by diffraction, the vesicles or spherules of water in the case of the cloud acting the part of the sporules in the case of the lycopodium. The coloured fringe which surrounds the _Spirit of the Brocken_, and the spectra which I have spoken of as surrounding the sun, are also produced by diffraction. By the interference of their rays in the earth's atmosphere the stars can momentarily quench themselves; and probably to an intermittent action of this kind their twinkling, and the swift chromatic changes already mentioned, are due. Does not all this sound more like a fairy tale than the sober conclusions of science? What effort of the imagination could transcend the realities here presented to us? The ancients had their spheral melodies, but have not we ours, which only want a sense sufficiently refined to hear them? Immensity is filled with this music; wherever a star sheds its light its notes are heard. Our sun, for example, thrills concentric waves through space, and every luminous point that gems our skies is surrounded by a similar system. I have spoken of the rising, climbing and crossing of the tiny ripples of a calm tide upon a smooth strand; but what are they to those intersecting ripples of the "uncontinented deep" by which Infinity is engine-turned! Crossing solar and stellar distances, they bring us the light of sun and stars; thrilled back from our atmosphere, they give us the blue radiance of the sky; rounding liquid spherules, they clash at the other side, and the survivors of the tumult bear to our vision the wondrous cloud-dyes of Monte Rosa. FOOTNOTES: [A] The vibrations of the air of a room in which a musical instrument is sounded may be made manifest by the way in which fine sand arranges itself upon a thin stretched membrane over which it is strewn; and indeed Savart has thus rendered visible the vibrations of the tympanum itself. Every trace of sand was swept from a paper drum held in the clock-tower of Westminster when the Great Bell was sounded. Another way of showing the propagation of aerial pulses is to insert a small gas jet into a vertical glass tube about a foot in length, in which the flame may be caused to burn tranquilly. On pitching the voice to the note of an open tube a foot long, the little flame quivers, stretches itself, and responds by producing a clear melodious note of the same pitch as that which excited it. The flame will continue its song for hours without intermission.