eswax, in due proportion, was
poured around till the molds were brim full--after which they were
plunged instantly into a tub of cold water standing outside. This to
prevent oozings from the tip--hot grease is the most insidious of all
substances. Only in zero weather would the first oozings harden enough
to plug the orifice quickly. When the candles had hardened properly, the
mold was either held over the fire, or thrust in hot water half a
minute, then the candles withdrawn by help of the reeds. They were
cooled a bit, to save the softened outside, then nubbed of surplus wick,
and laid in a dish outside. Careless or witless molders, by laying
candles still soft upon the pile, often made themselves double work.

Tallow for dipping, was kept barely fluid, by setting it over embers a
little way off the fire. The pot had to be deep, so the wicks could be
sunk in it to full length. They were thus sunk by stickfuls, lifted up
quickly, and hung between the ladder rungs to drip. Half the tallow on
them dripped away--indeed, after the first dipping they looked little
more than clotted ghosts of themselves in their last estate. In very
cold weather three drippings sufficed--otherwise there must be four or
five. Since the dip was the result of cooled accretions, it was always
top-heavy--much bigger at the nose than the base. A quick and skilled
worker, though, could dip a hundred candles in the time required to mold
two dozen. They burned out so quickly that was a crowning mercy--half a
dozen was the average of a long winter evening. Further they ran down,
in great masses--hence the importance of saving up drippings. Even
molded candles made them plentiful enough to be worth re-molding. This
unless discolored with the brass of candlesticks--in that case their
last end was soap grease.

Rush lights were dips--this I state on information and belief, since I
never saw one. Also on information and belief, it is here set forth,
that folk in the back countries where wicking was not easily had, used
instead of wicks, splinters of fat pine, known as light wood. In proof,
take Candle Wood Mountain, whose name is said to have come from
furnishing such fat pine, and of a special excellence. The pine
splinters must, I think, have given a better light than real wicks--my
father, in Tennessee, never ceased sighing for the lightwood, which had
made such cheery illumination back in his boyhood, in a Carolina home.

Every sort of waste fat bec