cle--oxygen and hydrogen gases, if mixed together and blown through
a pipe, burn with plenty of heat but with very little light. But if
their flame is blown upon a piece of quick-lime, it gets so bright
as to be quite dazzling, Make the smoke of oil of turpentine pass
through the same flame, and it gives the flame a beautiful brightness
directly."

"I wonder," observed Uncle Bagges, "what has made you such a bright
youth."

"Taking after uncle, perhaps," retorted his nephew. "Don't put my
candle and me out. Well, carbon, or charcoal is what causes the
brightness of all lamps, and candles, and other common lights; so, of
course, there is carbon in what they are all made of."

"So carbon is smoke, eh? and light is owing to your carbon. Giving
light out of smoke, eh? as they say in the classics," observed Mr.
Bagges.

"But what becomes of the candle," pursued Harry, "as it burns away?
where does it go?"

"Nowhere," said his mamma, "I should think. It burns to nothing."

"Oh, dear, no!" said Harry, "everything--everybody goes somewhere."

"Eh!--rather an important consideration, that," Mr. Bagges moralized.

"You can see it goes into smoke, which makes soot, for one thing,"
pursued Harry. "There are other things it goes into, not to be seen
by only looking, but you can get to see them by taking the right
means,--just put your hand over the candle, uncle."

"Thank you, young gentleman, I had rather be excused."

"Not close enough down to burn you, uncle; higher up. There--you
feel a stream of hot air; so something seems to rise from the candle.
Suppose you were to put a very long slender gas-burner over the flame,
and let the flame burn just within the end of it, as if it were a
chimney,--some of the hot steam would go up and come out at the top,
but a sort of dew would be left behind in the glass chimney, if
the chimney was cold enough when you put it on. There are ways of
collecting this sort of dew, and when it is collected it turns out to
be really water. I am not joking, uncle. Water is one of the things
which the candle turns into in burning,--water coming out of fire. A
jet of oil gives above a pint of water in burning. In some lighthouses
they burn, Professor Faraday says, up to two gallons of oil in a
night, and if the windows are cold the steam from the oil clouds the
inside of the windows, and, in frosty weather, freezes into ice."

"Water out of a candle, eh?" exclaimed Mr. Bagges. "As hard to get, I