are doing well at school. Now--eh! now, are you clever enough to tell me
where was Moses when he put the candle out?"

"That depends, uncle," answered the young gentleman, "on whether he had
lighted the candle to see with at night, or by daylight to seal a
letter."

"Eh! very good, now! 'Pon my word, very good," exclaimed Uncle Bagges.
"You must be Lord Chancellor, sir--Lord Chancellor, one of these days."

"And now, uncle," asked Harry, who was a favorite with the old
gentleman, "can you tell me what you do when you put a candle out?"

"Clap an extinguisher on it, you young rogue, to be sure."

"Oh! but I mean, you cut off its supply of oxygen," said Master Harry.

"Cut off its ox's--eh? what? I shall cut off your nose, you young dog,
one of these fine days."

"He means something he heard at the Royal Institution," observed Mrs.
Wilkinson. "He reads a great deal about chemistry, and he attended
Professor Faraday's lectures there on the chemical history of a candle,
and has been full of it ever since."

"Now, you sir," said Uncle Bagges, "come you here to me, and tell me
what you have to say about this chemical, eh? or comical; which? this
comical chemical history of a candle."

"He'll bore you, Bagges," said Mrs. Wilkinson. "Harry, don't be
troublesome to your uncle."

"Troublesome! Oh, not at all. He amuses me. I like to hear him. So let
him teach his old uncle the comicality and chemicality of a farthing
rushlight."

"A wax candle will be nicer and cleaner, uncle, and answer the same
purpose. There's one on the mantle-shelf. Let me light it."

"Take care you don't burn your fingers, or set any thing on fire," said
Mrs. Wilkinson.

"Now, uncle," commenced Harry, having drawn his chair to the side of Mr.
Bagges, "we have got our candle burning. What do you see?"

"Let me put on my spectacles," answered the uncle.

"Look down on the top of the candle around the wick. See, it is a
little cup full of melted wax. The heat of the flame has melted the wax
just round the wick. The cold air keeps the outside of it hard, so as to
make the rim of it. The melted wax in the little cup goes up through the
wick to be burnt, just as oil does in the wick of a lamp. What do you
think makes it go up, uncle?"

"Why--why, the flame draws it up, doesn't it?"

"Not exactly, uncle. It goes up through little tiny passages in the
cotton wick, because very, very small channels, or pipes, or pores, have
the power in themselv