With shears we trimmed the wick ends.

The iron candlesticks were filled and cleaned of drippings and set on the little corner shelf above the sink.
When night fell again and the slender white shaft, rising above its base of iron, was crowned with yellow flame, I can think of nothing more beautiful in color, shape and symbolism.

It was the torch of liberty and learning in the new world--a light-house on the shore of the great deep.
The work of the day ended, the candles were grouped near the edge of the table and my aunt's armchair was placed beside them.

Then I sat on Uncle Peabody's lap by the fire or, as time went on, in my small chair beside him, while Aunt Deel adjusted her spectacles and began to read.
At last those of wearied bones and muscles had sat down to look abroad with the mind's eye.

Their reason began to concern itself with problems beyond the narrow limits of the house and farm; their imaginations took the wings of the poet and rose above all their humble tasks.
I recall how, when the candles were lighted, storyteller, statesman, explorer, poet and preacher came from the far ends of the earth and poured their souls into ours.