turn, a man takes a vessel of wax and pours it first down one, and then
the next and the next, and so on. When he has gone once round, if it is
sufficiently cool, he gives the first a second coat, and so on until they
are all of the required thickness. When they have been thus clothed, or
fed, or made up to that thickness, they are taken off, and placed
elsewhere. I have here, by the kindness of Mr. Field, several specimens of
these candles. Here is one only half-finished. They are then taken down,
and well rolled upon a fine stone slab, and the conical top is moulded by
properly shaped tubes, and the bottoms cut off and trimmed. This is done
so beautifully that they can make candles in this way weighing exactly
four, or six, to the pound, or any number they please.
We must not, however, take up more time about the mere manufacture, but go
a little further into the matter. I have not yet referred you to luxuries
in candles (for there is such a thing as luxury in candles). See how
beautifully these are coloured: you see here mauve, magenta, and all the
chemical colours recently introduced, applied to candles. You observe,
also, different forms employed. Here is a fluted pillar most beautifully
shaped; and I have also here some candles sent me by Mr. Pearsall, which
are ornamented with designs upon them, so that as they burn you have as it
were a glowing sun above, and a bouquet of flowers beneath. All, however,
that is fine and beautiful is not useful. These fluted candles, pretty as
they are, are bad candles; they are bad because of their external shape.
Nevertheless, I shew you these specimens sent to me from kind friends on
all sides, that you may see what is done, and what may be done in this or
that direction; although, as I have said, when we come to these
refinements, we are obliged to sacrifice a little in utility.
Now, as to the light of the candle. We will light one or two, and set them
at work in the performance of their proper functions. You observe a candle
is a very different thing from a lamp. With a lamp you take a little oil,
fill your vessel, put in a little moss or some cotton prepared by
artificial means, and then light the top of the wick. When the flame runs
down the cotton to the oil, it gets extinguished, but it goes on burning
in the part above. Now, I have no doubt you will ask, how is it that the
oil, which will not burn of itself, gets up to the top of the cotton,
where it will burn? We shall presently examine that; but there is a much
more wonderful thing about the burning of a candle than this. You have
here a solid substance with no vessel to contain it; and how is it that
this solid substance can get up to the place where the flame is? How is it
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