chemists on a material very different from the
old-fashioned Russian tallow--if you, I say, were to try and snuff an
old candle, the chances are that you would either cut the cotton wick
too much or too little, if you did not snuff the light out. After a
time these sources of light would grow lengthy of black, burnt wick, a
curious mushroomy, sooty portion would grow on the top, and the flame of
the candle would become dull yellow and smoky. Then, if you cut too
little off, the light would not be much improved; if you cut too low
down, it was worse; if lower still, you put the light out. But the
skilful hand every few minutes cut to the happy medium, as the Doctor
did, and the light burned up fairly white and clear; so that, according
to the custom at the cottage, Mrs Burnet could see well to continue
reading aloud to her weary husband, this being his one great enjoyment
in the calm life on the island.

Now, it seems rather hard on Vince to keep him waiting hungrily at the
door while the writer of this little history of boy life runs away from
his narrative to begin prattling in print about candles; but what has
preceded these lines on light, and the allusion to chemistry, does ask
for a little explanation, for many of you who read will say, What can
chemistry have to do with tallow candles?

A great deal. I daresay you have read a little chemistry, or heard
lectures thereon. Many of you may have been bitten by the desire to try
a little yourselves, as I was, and tried making hydrogen and oxygen
gases, burning phosphorus, watch-spring and sulphur in the latter; and
even tried to turn the salts of metals back into the metals themselves.
But that by the way. Let us return to the candle--such a one as Vince
had left burning, smoking and smelling unpleasantly, in the flat brass
candlestick upon the little hall table, for it was time he was off to
bed. Now, the chemists took the candle, and pulled it to pieces, just
as the candle-makers took the loose, fluffy cotton wick metaphorically
to pieces, and constructed another by plaiting the cotton strands
together and making a thin, light wick, which, as it burned, had a
tendency to curl over to the side of the conical flame where the point
of the wick touched the air and burned more freely--so freely, in fact,
from getting more oxygen from the air than the other part, as to burn
all away, and never need snuffing. That is the kind of wick you use in
your candles to-day;