W‌e were occupied the last time we met in
considering the general character and arrangement
as regards the fluid portion of a candle,
and the way in which that fluid got into the
place of combustion. And now, I have to ask
your attention to the means by which we are
enabled to ascertain what happens in any particular
part of the flame—why it happens, what it
does in happening, and where, after all, the
whole candle goes to, because, as you know
very well, a candle being brought before us
and burned, disappears, if burned properly,
without the least trace of dirt in the candlestick—and
this is a very curious phenomenon. We will
examine this dark part first. And now, I take
this bent glass tube, and introduce one end
into the middle of the flame.
You see at once that something is coming from the flame.
At the other end you will see that something from the middle part of the flame is gradually
drawn out, and goes through the tube and into
that flask, and there behaves very differently
from what it does in the open air. It not
only escapes from the end of the tube, but
falls down to the bottom of the flask like
a heavy substance, as indeed it is. We find
that it is the wax of the candle made into
a vaporous fluid—not a gas. (You must learn
the difference between a gas and a vapor:
a gas remains permanent, a vapor is something
that will condense.) If you blow out a candle,
you perceive a very nasty smell, resulting
from the condensation of this vapor. This
is very different from what you have outside
the flame; and, in order to make that more
clear to you, I am about to produce and set
fire to a larger portion of this vapor—for
what we have in the small way in a candle,
to understand thoroughly, we must, as scientists,
produce in a larger way, if needful, that
we may examine the different parts.
Here is some wax in a glass flask, and I’ve made
it hot, as the inside of that candle-flame
is hot, and the matter about the wick is hot.
You see that the wax has become fluid, and
there is a little smoke coming from it and
vapor rising up that I can set on fire.
This, then, is exactly the same kind of vapor as
we have in the middle of the candle.
I have arranged another tube carefully in
the flame, and I was able, by a little care,
to get that vapor to pass through the tube
to the other extremity, where I will light
it, and obtain absolutely the flame of the
candle at a place distant from it.
Now, look at that. Is not that a very pretty experiment?
And you see from this that there are clearly
two different kinds of action—one the production
of the vapor, and the other the combustion
of it—both of which take place in particular
parts of the candle. I shall get no vapor
from that part which is already burnt. If
I raise the tube to the upper part of the
flame, so soon as the vapor has been swept
away, what comes away will be no longer combustible: it is already burned.
How burned? Why, burned
thus: in the middle of the flame, where the
wick is, there is this combustible vapor;
on the outside of the flame is the air which
we shall find necessary for the burning of
the candle; between the two, intense chemical
action takes place, whereby the air and the
fuel act upon each other, and at the very
same time that we obtain light the vapor itself
is consumed. If you examine where the heat
of a candle is, you will find it very curiously
arranged. Suppose I take this candle, and
hold a piece of paper close upon the flame,
where is the heat of that flame?
Do you not see that it is not in the inside? It is in a ring,
exactly in the place where I told
you the chemical action was; and even in my
irregular mode of making this experiment,
if there is not too much disturbance, there
will always be a ring because the heat is
where the air and the fuel come together.
This is most important for us as we proceed
with our subject. Air is absolutely necessary
for combustion; and, what is more, I must
have you understand that fresh air is necessary,
or else we should be imperfect in our reasoning
and our experiments.
Here is a jar of air.
I place it over a candle . . .
. . . and it burns very
nicely in it at first, showing that what I
have said about it is true; but there will
soon be a change. See how the flame is drawing
upwards, presently fading, and at last going
out. And going out, why? The jar is full of
air, partly changed, partly not changed; but
it does not contain sufficient of the fresh
air which is necessary for the combustion
of a candle. These are all points which we,
as young chemists, have to gather up; and
if we look a little more closely into this
kind of action, we shall soon find certain
steps of reasoning extremely interesting.
We have the case of the combustion of a candle;
we have the case of a candle being put out
by the want of air; and we have now the case
of imperfect combustion; and this is to us
so interesting, that I want you to understand
it as thoroughly as you do the case of a candle
burning in its best possible manner. I will
now make a great flame, because we need the
largest possible illustration.
Here is a larger wick made from these cotton balls. All these
things are the same as candles, after all.
If we have larger wicks, we must have a larger
supply of air, or we shall have less perfect
combustion.
Now look at the black substance
going up into the atmosphere; there is a regular
stream of it. Look at the soot that flies
off from the flame: see what an imperfect
combustion it is, because it cannot get enough
air. What, then, is happening? Why, certain
things which are necessary to the combustion
of a candle are absent, and very bad results
are accordingly produced; but we see what
happens to a candle when it is burnt in a
pure and proper state of air. Recall the charred
ring on the paper, and on the other side you
see that the burning of a candle produces
the same kind of soot—charcoal or carbon.
Let me explain to you—as it is quite necessary
for our purpose—that, although I take a
candle and give you, as the general result,
its combustion in the form of a flame, we
must see whether combustion is always in this
condition, or whether there are other conditions
of flame; and we shall soon discover that
there are, and that they are most important to us.
Here is a little gunpowder. You know that gunpowder burns with flame—
we may fairly call it flame. It contains carbon and other
materials, which altogether cause it to burn
with a flame. And here is some pulverised
iron, or iron filings.
Now, I propose burning these two things together. My object being
to make the gunpowder set fire to the filings
and burn them in the air, and thereby show
the difference between substances burning
with flame and not with flame. Now, here is
the mixture; and when I set fire to it, you
must watch the combustion, and you will see
that it is of two kinds. You will see the
gunpowder burning with a flame, and the filings
thrown up. You will see them burning too,
but without the production of flame. They
will each burn separately.
There is the gunpowder, which burns with a flame; and there are the
filings—they burn with a different kind
of combustion. You see, then, these two great
distinctions; and upon these differences depend
all the utility and all the beauty of flame
which we use for the purpose of giving off
light. When we use oil, or gas, or candle,
for the purpose of illumination, their fitness all depends
upon these different kinds of combustion.
There are such curious conditions of flame, that it requires some cleverness
and nicety of discrimination to distinguish
the kinds of combustion one from another.
For instance, here is a powder which is very combustible, consisting, as you see . . .
. . . , of separate little particles.
It is called lycopodium, and each of these particles can produce a
vapor, and produce its own flame; but, to
see them burning, you would imagine it was
all one flame. I will now set fire to a quantity, and you will see the effect.
We saw a cloud of flame,
apparently in one body; but that
rushing noise was proof that the combustion
was not a continuous or a regular one. This is not an example of combustion like that
of the filings I have been speaking of, to
which we must now return.
Suppose I take a candle,
and examine that part of it which
appears brightest to our eyes. Why? There
I get those black particles, which already
you have seen many times evolved from the
flame, and which I am now about to evolve in a different way.
I have arranged the glass tube
so as just to dip into this luminous
part, as in our first experiment, only higher.
You see the result. In place of having the
same white vapor that we had before, we now
have a black vapor. There it goes, as black
as ink. It is certainly very different from
the white vapor; and when we put a light to
it, we shall find that it does not burn.
Well, these particles, as I said before, are just the smoke of the candle. Why, it is the same
carbon which exists in the candle. And how comes it out of the candle wax? It evidently
existed in the wax, or else we should not
have had it here. And now I want you to follow
me in this explanation. You would hardly think
that all those substances which flew around
London, in the form of soots and blacks, are
the very beauty and life of the flame, and
which are burned as those iron filings were
burned. I want you now to follow me in this
point, that whenever a substance burns, as
the iron filings burnt in the flame of gunpowder,
without assuming the vaporous state (whether
it becomes liquid or remains solid), it becomes
exceedingly luminous. What I have to say is
applicable to all substances, whether they
burn or whether they do not burn; that they
are exceedingly bright if they retain their
solid form, and that it is to this presence
of solid particles in the candle-flame that
it owes its brilliancy.
I have here a piece of carbon or charcoal, which will burn and
give us light exactly in the same manner as if it were burnt as part of a candle.
The heat that is in the flame of a candle decomposes the vapor of the wax, and sets free the carbon
particles—they rise up heated and glowing
as this now glows, and then enter into the
air. But the particles when burnt never pass
off from a candle in the form of carbon. They
go off into the air as a perfectly invisible
substance. I shall tell you about this later.
Is it not beautiful to think that such a process
is going on, and that such a dirty thing as
charcoal can become so incandescent? You see
it comes to this—that all bright flames
contain these solid particles; all things
that burn and produce solid particles, either
during the time they are burning, as in the
candle, or immediately after being burnt,
as in the case of the gunpowder and iron-filings—all these things give us this glorious and beautiful light.
I’ve mixed potassium chlorate and
sugar. I shall touch them with a drop of sulfuric
acid, for the purpose of giving you an illustration of chemical action, and they will instantly burn.
Now, from the appearance of things,
you can judge for yourselves whether they
produce solid matter in burning. I have given
you the train of reasoning which will enable
you to say whether they do or do not; for
what is this bright flame but the solid particles
passing off?
When the particles are not separated, you
get no brightness. The flame of a candle owes
its brightness to the separation, during combustion,
of these particles of carbon. I can very quickly alter that arrangement.
Here, for instance, is a bright yellow flame
from propane in a Bunsen burner. Supposing I add so much air
to the flame as to cause all to burn before
those particles are set free, I shall not
have this brightness.
There is plenty of carbon
in the gas; but, because the atmosphere can
get to it, and mix with it before it burns,
you see how pale and blue the flame is.
The difference is solely due to the solid particles not being separated before the gas is burnt.
You observe that there are certain products
as the result of the combustion of a candle,
and that of these products one portion may
be considered as charcoal, or soot; that charcoal,
when afterwards burnt, produces some other
product; and it concerns us very much now
to ascertain what that other product is.
This vessel captures all the products of the candle,
and you will presently see that the vessel’s
walls become quite opaque. The sides of the
jar become cloudy, and the light begins to
burn feebly. It is the products, you see,
which make the light so dim, and this is the
same thing which makes the sides of the vessel
so opaque. If I take a spoon that has been
in the cold water, wipe it dry, and hold it
over a candle—so as not to soot it—you
will find that it becomes dim, just as the
vessel’s walls are dim.
And now, just to carry your thoughts forward to the time
we shall next meet, let me tell you that it is water which causes the dimness.
I will show you that we can make it, without difficulty,
assume the form of a liquid.
