who contrived the mechanism known by his
name. It was not by any means a simple
mechanism; it resembled the machinery of a
clock, and was very expensive in consequence.
But its merit consisted in the regularity and
abundance with which it supplied the wick with
oil, and in the clear, even, and never flickering
light it always afforded. The Carcel lamp did
not, however, remain long in use; for it was
superseded towards the year 1825 by the
moderator lamp, with which every one of us is
acquainted, and which may almost be looked
upon as perfection, in the matter of oil lighting.

The ameliorations introduced into oils, kept
pace with the improvements in lamp machinery.
About the year 1790, the manner of refining
lamp oil by means of sulphuric acid was
discovered almost simultaneously in England and
in France. After this, new oils were extracted
from all sorts of substances, coal and peat
among them; and finally petroleum, the
cheapest, if not quite the safest of oils, was
discovered in America in 1845. In the three
years that followed the opening of the first
petroleum spring, ten million pounds' worth
sterling of the valuable mineral oil was
exported into Europe. Since then, petroleum
springs have been found in Hanover and
Galicia. It remains now, for some one to
invent a method, of rendering this highly
combustible liquid less dangerous; and it may
then acquire a greater and more wide-spread
popularity.

In proportion as lamps became better and
cheaper, so did candles. One of the great
drawbacks to candles, especially those of tallow,
had been the constant necessity for snuffing
them. In the seventeenth century, when
theatres were lighted with tallow candles, the
chandeliers had to be lowered between each
act for the purpose of docking the wicks, and
this circumstance afforded matter for
endless jokes in small theatres, where the actors
often came forward in their costumes to
perform the needful ceremony. Molière's
comedies are filled with allusions to the luckless
players who, after moving their audiences
by tragic orations, were compelled to appear
ignominiously before the curtain, snuffers in
hand. The invention of the plaited wick,
steeped in boracic acid and thus made
completely combustible, would have been a
godsend to those Hamlets and Othellos; but
unhappily for them, it only made its appearance
in 1811, at about the same time as
the stearine, paraffine, and ordinary composite
candles; the cheapness of which, as compared
with wax tapers, allowed our grandfathers to
sit up much later of nights than they had been
wont.

But wax and tallow, whale oil and colza oil,
were all thrown into the shade by the sudden
discovery of gas. The idea of this invention
was of itself simple enough. Flame is nothing
but hydrogen in a state of combustion. Things
burn more or less easily, according as they
contain much or little of this gas; when they
contain none, they are not inflammable. This
axiom of chemistry was known a very long time
ago, and it is singular that men should have
been so tardy in considering, that if substances
such as coal and wood were dispossessed of
their hydrogen, by a process of distillation, the
very essence of flame would be obtained, without
the burning of any tangible substance.
As it was, the first experiments were not made
until 1792. In that year, an Englishman,
named Murdoch, distilled some hydrogen gas
from coal and lighted his house, at Redwith,
with it. But the invention excited no great
interest until 1804, when Mr. Murdoch
introduced gas lighting into a manufactory at
Manchester. Twelve years later, the first gas
company was established in London; and in 1816
the present method of lighting took the place
of the almost useless oil lamps that swung
creaking at the corners of the streets, without
shedding their rays further than a few feet
around them.

More than fifty years have elapsed since
then; and science has already been at work
attempting to dethrone gas, as gas in its time
dethroned oil. Electric light, magnesium light,
different varieties of new gases, have turn by
turn been tried, but without, as yet, any definite
success. No one can doubt, however, that the
art of lighting has more strides to make yet,
before coming to a standstill. Our descendants
will probably think gas a very poor sort of
light. But there is one thing we would
like to know. In proportion as the facilities
for lighting increase, are we to keep later and
later hours, until at last we really do completely
succeed in turning night into day? Already
we have taken to dining at eight, and rising
from table to begin the evening at about ten.
Great balls now commence, at about the time
when, a hundred years ago, they were supposed
to finish; and our forefathers' maxim of "early
to bed," appears to mean, in modern language,
that people should acquire the laudable habit
of lying down to rest as early as possible—in
the morning.

        A BED AT THE BUSTARD.

THE Bustard is a roadside country inn, of
which I have little to say, save that it is a
picturesque gabled old hostelry, full of oak beams
and ties and cross-trees, with many-sided rooms
—all corners and recesses: and that I, weary
traveller, was there accommodated with a bed.
Some question certainly arose between the
landlady and her maid as to whether there was a
spare room at disposal; the maid seemed to
think not; but the mistress, with a quick frown
on the girl, assured me there was. After supper
I was accordingly shown my chamber. It
was no haunted room, so far as appearance went.
There was nothing strange nor supernatural
about the very comfortable-looking old
fourposter, hung with snow-white dimity, nor about
the old press, with its ancient brass wire
handles in fish-shaped plates two by two, nor
about the dressing table, nor the white window-