Now, you will begin to understand what I am about to say. You saw that
when I burnt phosphorus in a jar, as the smoke produced by the phosphorus
and the oxygen of the air condensed, it left a good deal of gas unburnt,
just as this red gas left something untouched,--there was, in fact, this
gas left behind, which the phosphorus cannot touch, which the reddening
gas cannot touch, and this something is not oxygen, and yet is part of the
atmosphere.
So that is one way of opening out air into the two things of which it is
composed--oxygen, which burns our candles, our phosphorus, or anything
else; and this other substance--nitrogen--which will not burn them. This
other part of the air is by far the larger proportion, and it is a very
curious body, when we come to examine it; it is remarkably curious, and
yet you say, perhaps, that it is very uninteresting. It is uninteresting
in some respects because of this--that it shews no brilliant effects of
combustion. If I test it with a taper as I do oxygen and hydrogen, it
does not burn like hydrogen, nor does it make the taper burn like oxygen.
Try it in any way I will, it does neither the one thing nor the other: it
will not take fire; it will not let the taper burn; it puts out the
combustion of everything.
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