If I
took the air proceeding from another candle, and sent it down by a
complicated arrangement into this tube, I should put this burning candle
out. But what will you say when I tell you that my breath will put out
that candle? I do not mean by blowing at all, but simply that the nature
of my breath is such that a candle cannot burn in it. I will now hold my
mouth over the aperture, and without blowing the flame in any way, let no
air enter the tube but what comes from my mouth. You see the result. I did
not blow the candle out. I merely let the air which I expired pass into
the aperture, and the result was that the light went out for want of
oxygen, and for no other reason. Something or other--namely, my lungs--had
taken away the oxygen from the air, and there was no more to supply the
combustion of the candle. It is, I think, very pretty to see the time it
takes before the bad air which I throw into this part of the apparatus has
reached the candle. The candle at first goes on burning, but so soon as
the air has had time to reach it, it goes out. And, now, I will shew you
another experiment, because this is an important part of our philosophy.
Here is a jar which contains fresh air, as you can see by the circumstance
of a candle or gas-light burning it.
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