The Life of the Fly 



The glass things are arranged on shelves. 

 I see retorts of different sizes, all with necks 

 bent at a sudden angle. In addition to their 

 long beak, some of them have a narrow little 

 tube coming out of their bulb. Look, young- 

 ster, and do not try to guess the object of 

 these curious vessels. I see glasses with feet 

 to them, funnel-shaped and deep; I stand 

 amazed at strange-looking bottles with two or 

 three mouths to each, at phials swelling into 

 a balloon with a long, narrow tube. What 

 an odd array of implements! And here are 

 glass cupboards with a host of bottles and jars, 

 filled with all manner of chemicals. The labels 

 apprise me of their contents: molybdate of 

 ammonia, chloride of antimony, permanganate 

 of potash and ever so many other strange 

 terms. Never, in all my reading, have I met 

 with such repellent language. 



Suddenly, bang ! And there is running and 

 stamping and shouting and cries of pain! 

 What has happened? I rush up from the 

 back of the room. The retort has burst, 

 squirting its boiling vitriol in every direction. 

 The wall opposite is all stained with it. Most 

 of my fellow-pupils have been more or less 

 struck. One poor youth has had the splashes 

 full in his face, right into his eyes. He Is 

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