In 1819, an editor at New Monthly Magazine sat down to write a list of the year’s most vital inventions. It was a big year for England. People lit their homes with gas lamps, and scientists were thrilled to discover a new metal they named cadmium.
But the most exciting invention – to this editor, anyway – was the same one that dazzled people everywhere in Victorian England. No matter where you turned in 1819, people were obsessed with a new gadget.
“No invention, perhaps, ever excited more general attention among all classes of people,” the editor wrote, “than the kaleidoscope.”
The kaleidoscope was created by Sir David Brewster, a Scottish inventor who received the patent in 1817. Brewster named his invention in Greek that translates to “beautiful form to see.”
The original kaleidoscopes were tubes containing a system of mirrors and loose glass, ribbons, or other trinkets. When the viewer adjusted the kaleidoscope, the mirrors reflected these loose objects in mesmerizing, symmetrical patterns.
Mathematicians quickly latched on to the invention, which promised a glimpse of infinity. One contemporary writer crunched the astounding numbers:
Supposing the instrument to contain 20 small pieces of glass, etc. and that you make 10 changes in each minute, it will take the inconceivable space of 462,880,899,576 years and 860 days to go through the immense variety of changes it is capable of producing; amounting (according to our frail idea of the nature of things) to an eternity.
The beautiful patterns inspired artists and designers, who created countless textile patterns, dishes, and carpets with colorful symmetrical patterns.
Above all, playing with kaleidoscopes was fun. People everywhere compared their devices, swapping or paying a small sum for a peek inside another person’s kaleidoscope. Within three months, Brewster reckoned he sold more than 200,000 kaleidoscopes – not a bad first quarter!
But Brewster’s patent left gaping loopholes, allowing copycat manufacturers to jump on the trend. Before long, Brewster watched helplessly as cheap kaleidoscopes flooded the marketplace. “Every boy in the street studies his Kaleidoscope,” someone wrote, “though he bumps his head against a wall.”
Kaleidoscopes became a distracting public nuisance. Some people found them as annoying as fidget spinners or teenagers addicted to texting for the first time. Stern naysayers shamed people for their obsession with kaleidoscopes, warning that they were worshipping a false god incapable of replicating nature’s beauty.
At the same time, kaleidoscopes were increasingly designed with metal stands, transitioning from handheld devices to stationary fixtures in the home. In the 1870s, a naturalized American citizen named Charles Bush introduced a new innovation. His kaleidoscopes were filled with liquid-filled capsules, which captured the light and refracted it through air bubbles. Because the liquid didn’t settle immediately when the viewer adjusted their kaleidoscope, the beautiful patterns were uniquely dynamic. Today, Bush’s kaleidoscopes sell for $1,400-3,000.
I didn’t know any of this as I quietly browsed the kaleidoscopes at Nellie Bly, a gallery in the former ghost town of Jerome, Arizona, where I spent a morning over the holidays. Today, Nellie Bly appears to be one of the world’s largest kaleidoscope dealers, featuring the work of more than 90 makers – most of them on the metal stands.
And even though kaleidoscopes are no longer as fashionable as they once were, the ones I saw were as mesmerizing as ever.
If you want to learn more about kaleidoscopes, I left out lots of interesting facts covered by Atlas Obscura.
Something else
Over the holidays, I wrapped my biggest freelance project to date – and if you enjoy Scavenger, I really think you’re going to love it. I’ll share more later this spring, but Todd VanDerWerff recently teased the project on his podcast, “I Think You’re Interesting.” If you subscribe to his show, you’ll be the first to receive an update.
One more note
You probably noticed that today’s newsletter looks a little different! I finally traded my beloved TinyLetter for Substack, which will allow me to schedule newsletters in advance. For now, and possibly forever, Scavenger will continue to be freely available. I’ll give you plenty of notice if I ever decide to take advantage of Substack’s paid subscription model.