them well, we might pour the melted wax into the two halves bound tightly together, and so be able to take out the candles when cool without injuring them. The wicks were my next difficulty, and as the mother positively refused to allow us to devote our ties and handkerchiefs for the purpose, I took a piece of inflammable wood from a tree, a native of the Antilles, which I thought would serve our purpose; this I cut into long slips, and fixed in the centres of the moulds. My wife, too, prepared some wicks from the fibres of the karata tree, which she declared would beat mine completely out of the field. We put them to the proof.
On a large fire we placed a pot, in which we prepared our wax mixture—half bees' wax and half wax from the candle-berries. The moulds carefully prepared—half with karata fibre, and half with wooden splint wicks—stood on their ends in a tub of cold water, ready to receive the wax. They were filled; the wax cooled; the candles taken out and subjected to the criticism of all hands. When night drew on, they were formally tested. The decision was unanimous: neither gave such a good light as those with the cotton wicks; but even my wife declared that the light from mine was far preferable to that emitted by hers, for the former, though rather flaring, burned brilliantly, while the latter gave out such a feeble and flickering flame that it was almost useless.
I then turned shoemaker, for I had promised myself a pair of waterproof boots, and now determined to make them.
Taking a pair of socks, I filled them with sand, and then coated them over with a thin layer of clay to form a convenient mould; this was soon hardened in the sun, and was ready for use. Layer after layer of caoutchouc I brushed over it, allowing each layer to dry before the next was put on, until at length I considered that the shoes were of sufficient thickness. I dried them, broke out the clay, secured with nails a strip of buffalo-hide to the soles
