THE RIVER 33 



the last cold season, I had received from England a box 

 of stationery. The box, among other things, contained 

 a few packets of sealing-wax ; the packets were most 

 neatly done up, all the sticks of the sealing-wax being 

 separated from each other, except at the ends, by slips 

 of thin paper. 



In the afternoon, when I had returned from the office, 



for some reason or other I wanted some sealing-wax. 



I went to the box and took out one of the packets. 



I found it distorted out of all shape ; the sticks of 



.sealing-wax had not exactly melted, but they had 



[softened sufficiently to twine and twist, and to unite 



Lt the ends where they were not separated by the 



tpaper. At the same time, and what struck me as most 



[curious, was that, though the sealing-wax had thus 



[twisted and joined, it still to the touch seemed as hard 



ind firm as ever; and when I attempted to separate 



)ne of the sticks it broke off with a perfectly clean and 



sharp fracture, thus in a way illustrating the modern 



theory of the movement of glaciers. 



While engaged with the sealing-wax I had left lying 

 on the writing-table a sheet of notepaper. I found it 

 now coiled up by the heat into a complete cylinder. 



My evening experience was, however, perhaps the 

 most curious. I was brushing my hair before the 

 looking-glass by the light of a candle. As I brushed 

 my hair crackled loudly, and it gave out sparks that 

 even in the candle-light were faintly visible. In order 

 to ascertain their full brilliancy, I had the candle 

 removed ; and then as I brushed my hair in the dark 

 the sparks that issued were so many and so bright, that 



