ture, he gave a strong blow of the hammer, and smashed the glass into a hundred pieces.
I immediately began to console him, remarking that I did not myself always succeed, and that unaccountable circumstances sometimes defeated the skill even of the most accomplished workman. I then advised him to try a larger[1] piece of glass. Just after the crash I had put my hand upon a heavier hammer, which I immediately withdrew on his perceiving it. Thus encouraged, he called for a larger piece of glass, and a bit of iron with a smaller hole in it. In the meantime all the men in the shop rested from their work to witness this feat of every-day occurrence. Their master now seized the heavier hammer, which I had previously just touched. Finding him preparing for a strong and decided blow, I turned aside my head, in order to avoid seeing him blush—and also to save my own face from the coming cloud of splinters.
I just saw the last triumphant flourish of the heavy hammer waving over his head, and then heard, on its thundering fall, the crash made by the thousand fragments of glass which it scattered over the workshop.
I still, however, felt it my duty to administer what consolation I could to a fellow-creature in distress; so I repeated to him (which was the truth) that I, too, occasionally failed. Then looking at my watch, and observing to my companion that these tools were not adapted to my mode of work, I reminded him that we had a pressing engagement I then took leave of this celebrated instrument-maker, with many thanks for all he had shown me.
After such a misadventure, I thought it would be cruel to
- ↑ The larger the piece of glass to be punched the more certainly the process succeeds.
