M. Rouelle, an eminent French chemist, was not the most cautious of
operators. One day, while performing some experiments, he said to his
auditors: "Gentlemen, you see this cauldron upon the brazier; well, if I
were to cease stirring for one moment, an explosion would ensue, that
would blow us all into the air." The audience had scarce had time to
reflect on this comfortable piece of information, when the operator
actually did forget to stir, and his prediction was amply verified. The
explosion took place with a terrible crash; all the windows of the
laboratory were smashed to pieces, and two hundred auditors were whirled
away into the garden. Fortunately, no one received any serious injury,
the chief violence of the explosion having been in the direction of the
chimney. The demonstrator himself marvellously escaped without further
harm than the loss of his wig.--A certain Scotch Professor--not of the
present generation--as remarkable for the felicity of his
experimentation as Rouelle could be for his failures, was once
performing an experiment with some combustible materials, when the
mixture exploded, and the phial which he held in his hand flew into a
thousand pieces. "Gentlemen," said the Doctor to his students, with the
most unaffected gravity, "I can assure you that I have performed this
experiment often with the same phial, and never knew it break in my
hands before." The simplicity of this somewhat superfluous assurance
gave rise to a general laugh, in which the Professor, instantly
discerning the cause of it in his own excellent Irishism, most heartily
joined.
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