“One story is about Aladdin and his lamp. If he rubbed his lamp, he could have whatever he wished; something would come, I have forgotten what its name was, and bring him whatever he asked for.”
Just then, down came the great branch which his father had been sawing off, falling from its place on the tree to the ground.
Rollo looked at it a moment, and then, when his father began sawing again, he said,
“Should not you like such a lamp, father?”
“Such a lamp as what, my son?” said his father.
“Why, such a one as Aladdin’s.”
“Aladdin’s! why, what do you know of Aladdin’s lamp?”
“Why, I read about it in Henry’s story book,” said Rollo. “I just told you, father.”
“Did you?” said his father. “Won’t you just hand me up the paint brush?”
“Well, father,” said Rollo, as he handed him the brush, “don’t you wish you had an Aladdin’s lamp?”
“No, not particularly,” said his father.
“O father!” exclaimed Rollo, with surprise, “I am sure I do. Don’t you wish I had such a lamp, father?”
“No,” said his father.
“Why, father, I really think I could do some good with it. For instance, I could just rub my lamp, and then have all your trees pruned for you, at once, without any further trouble.”
“But that would not be worth while; for you might have a much larger and better garden than this made at once, with thousands of trees, bearing delicious fruit; and ponds, and waterfalls, and beautiful groves.”
“O, so I could,” said Rollo.
“And, then, how soon do you think you should get tired of it, and want another?”
“O, perhaps, I should want another pretty soon; but then I could have another, you know.”
“Yes, and how long do you think you could find happiness, in calling beautiful gardens into existence, one after another?”
“O, I don’t know;—a good while.”
“A day?”
“O, yes, father.”
“A week?”
“Why, perhaps, I should be tired in a week.”
“Then all your power of receiving enjoyment from gardens would be run out and exhausted in a week; whereas mine, without any Aladdin’s lamp, lasts me year after year, pleasantly increasing all the time without ever reaching satiety.”
“What is satiety, father?”
“The feeling we experience when we have had so much of a good thing that we are completely tired and sick of it. If I should give a little child as much honey as he could eat, or let him play all the time, or buy him a vast collection of pictures, he would soon get tired of these things.”
“O father, I never should get tired of looking at pictures.”
“I think you would,” said his father.
Here the conversation stopped a few minutes, while Rollo went to wheel away a load of his sticks. Before he returned, he had prepared himself to renew his argument. He said,
“Father, even if I did get tired of making beautiful gardens, I could then do something else with the lamp, and that would give me new pleasure.”
“Yes, but the new pleasure would be run out and exhausted just as soon as the pleasure of having a garden would have been; so that you would, in a short time, be satiated with every thing, and become completely wretched and miserable.”
“But, father,” said Rollo, after being silent a little while, “I don’t think I should get tired of my beautiful gardens very soon: I don’t think I should get tired even of looking at pictures of them.”
“Should you like to try the experiment?”
“Yes, sir,” said Rollo, very eagerly.
Rollo’s father had a great many books of pictures and engravings of various kinds in his library; and sometimes he used to allow the children to see them, but only a very few at a time. They had not yet seen them all. He only allowed them to see them as fast as they had time to examine them thoroughly, and read about them and understand them. But now he said to Rollo,
“I could let you have all the books of prints and engravings I have got, and see them all at one time, and that would be giving you Aladdin’s lamp, exactly, so far as my pictures are concerned.”
“Well,” said Rollo, clapping his hands.
“But then, in a short time, you would get tired of looking at them; you would become satiated, and would in fact spoil the whole pleasure by attempting to enjoy it too fast. But then I think it would perhaps do you good.”
“How, father?”
“Why, by teaching you the value of moderation, and the uselessness of Aladdin’s lamps in all human enjoyments. It would be a very valuable experiment in intellectual philosophy, which I think it very probable might be of use to you. So, if you please, you may try it.”
“Well, father, I am sure I should like to see the pictures.”
“That is all settled then,” said his father; “some day you shall.”
THE GREAT BEETLE AND WEDGE
Rollo was coming home one morning after having been away on an errand, and he saw a large wood pile near Farmer Cropwell’s door. Now it happened that Rollo had once been on a journey pretty far back into the country; it was at the time when Jonas told him and Lucy the stories related in the book called “Jonas’s Stories.” On that journey, Jonas had one day told him that the sap of the maple-tree was sweet, and had let him taste of some, where it oozed out at the end of the log. Seeing Farmer Cropwell’s wood pile reminded Rollo of this; and he thought he would look at the ends of all the logs, and see if he could not find some drops of sweet sap there.
But he could not, for two reasons: none of those trees were maple-trees, and then, besides, they were all dry. There was no sap in them of any kind; at least, not enough to ooze out. While Rollo was looking there, one of Farmer Cropwell’s large boys came out with an axe in his hand. He rolled out a pretty large log of wood, though it was not very long, and struck his axe into the end of it, as if he was going to split it.
“I don’t believe you can split that great log,” said Rollo.
“I don’t expect to do it with the axe,” said the boy, as he left the axe sticking in the log.
“How then?” said Rollo.
“I have got beetle and wedges here, round behind the wood pile.”
So the boy went to another side of the wood pile, and brought a large beetle and an iron wedge. When he got back to his log, he started out the axe which he had left sticking into it. Then Rollo saw that the axe had made a little indentation, or cleft, in the wood. He put the point of the wedge into this cleft, and drove it in a very little, with a few light blows with the axe. Then he took the great heavy beetle, and began driving the wedge in, with very heavy blows.
Presently, Rollo saw a little crack beginning to extend out each side from the wedge. The crack ran along across the end of the log, and thence down the side, and grew wider and wider every moment. At last, the wedge was driven in as far as it would go, and still the log was not split open.
“Now stop,” said Rollo; “I will put a stick in, and keep the crack open, while you drive the wedge in, in another place.”
“O, that won’t do,” said the boy; “a stick would not keep it open.”
“Why not?” said Rollo.
“Because it is not solid enough; the sides of the cleft draw together very hard. They would crush the stick.”
Here Rollo put his hand into his pocket, and drew out a walnut, and he asked the boy if it would crack a walnut.
“Try it,” said the boy.
So Rollo put the walnut into the crack. He slipped it along until he got it to a place where the crack was just wide enough to receive it, and hold it steady. He left it there, and then the boy began to knock out the wedge.
He struck it first upon one side, and then upon the other, and thus gradually worked it out. The walnut was crushed all to pieces. The boy then drove in the wedge again, so as to open the log as it was before. He then went to the place where he had got the beetle and wedge at first, and brought a large wooden wedge which he had made before, and began to put that into the crack, not very far from the iron wedge.
“This will keep it open,” said he.
“Yes, I think it will,” said Rollo. “But put it up close to the iron wedge.”
“No,” said the boy; “for then I can’t knock the iron wedge out.”
So the boy put the large wooden wedge in, at a little distance from the iron one, and drove it in rather gently with the beetle. This opened the cleft a little more, so that the iron wedge came out pretty easily.
“I don’t see what makes the sides of the logs draw together so hard,” said Rollo.
“O, they can’t help it,” said the boy.
“That is no reason,” rejoined Rollo. “I should think that, after the log is once split open, it would stay so. If I split a piece of wood in two with my knife, the pieces don’t try to come together again.”
So Rollo began to examine the log, and to look into the cracks, to see if he could find out what it was that made the parts draw together so hard as to crush the walnut. Presently, he observed that the log was not split open from end to end. The crack commenced at one end, and extended nearly towards the other, but not quite; so that at this other end the log was solid and whole, just as it always had been. So Rollo perceived that the two halves being joined and held together firmly here, they could only be separated at the other end by the wedge springing them open, and, of course, by their elasticity they tended to spring together again. Then besides, he saw, by looking into the crack, a great number of splinters, large and small, which extended obliquely from one side to the other, and bound the two sides strongly towards each other.
By this time the boy had got the wedge knocked out.
“It is strange,” said Rollo, “that such a small wedge will split such a tough and solid log.”
“O, not very strange,” said the boy. “You see,” he continued, taking up the wedge, and pointing to the several parts as he explained them, “you see here at this part, where it enters the wood it is sharp, and the sides spread out each way, so that, when I drive it in, they force the wood apart.”
“Why don’t they have the back of the wedge wider still? and then it would force the wood open farther; and then you would not have to put in a wooden wedge afterwards,—so,” he added, making a sign with his fingers. He put the tips of his fingers together, and then separated his hands, so as to represent a very blunt-shaped wedge.
“Then it would not drive in so easily,” answered the boy. “Perhaps I could not drive it in at all, if it was so blunt.”
“They might have the wedge longer then,” said Rollo, “and then it would be just as tapering, and yet it would be a great deal broader at the back, because the back would be farther off.”
“That would make the wedge a great deal too heavy. It would not drive.”
“Why, yes, it would,” said Rollo.
“No, it would not,” said the boy. “It would be just like a shoemaker’s lap-stone; pounding it would hardly move it.”
Rollo did not understand what the boy meant by what he said about the shoemaker’s lap-stone; so he paused a moment, and presently he said,
“I don’t think it would make any difference, if it was heavy. And, besides, it might be made of wood, and that wouldn’t be heavy.”
“O, wood wouldn’t do,” said the boy.
Now it happened that while they had been talking, the boy had gone on driving in his wooden wedge into the cleft that the iron one had made, and it had been gradually splitting the log open more and more. So that just as the boy was saying that “a wooden wedge wouldn’t do,” Rollo was actually seeing with his own eyes that it would do; for at that moment the boy gave the last blow, and the halves of the log came apart and fell over, one to one side, and the other to the other.
“Why, there,” said Rollo, “you have split the log open with a wooden wedge.”
“O, that is because I had an iron one in first,” said the boy.
“What difference does that make?” said Rollo.
“A great deal of difference,” said the boy.
“But what difference?” persisted Rollo.
“I don’t know exactly what difference,” said the boy; “only I know you can’t do any thing with a wooden wedge until you have first opened a seam with an iron one.”
Rollo was confident that it could not possibly make any difference whether a wooden wedge was used first or last. The boy was sure that it did, though he could not tell why. Finally, they determined to try it; so the boy struck his axe into the end of the next log, and then attempted to drive in his wooden wedge. But he did not succeed at all. The wedge would not stay. Rollo told him that he did not strike hard enough. Then he struck harder, but it did no good. The wedge dropped out the moment he let go of it, and on taking it up, they found that the edge of it was bruised and battered; so that even Rollo gave up all hopes of making it enter.
“Ah!” said the boy, taking up the wedge, and looking at it, “now I know what the reason is. It is the edge.”
“Where?” said Rollo. “Let me see.”
“Why, when there is no crack,” said the boy, “you see the edge of the wedge comes against the solid wood, and when I drive, it only bruises and batters it; but the iron is hard, and goes in. But then, when a crack is made, the wedge can go in easily; for the edge does not touch; then only the sides rub against the wood.”
“How?” said Rollo. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll show you in a minute,” said the boy. So he took the iron wedge, and went to work driving it into the log. It soon began to make a crack, which ran along the log, and opened wider and wider. When, at length, it was pretty wide, he put the wooden wedge in, and he showed Rollo that the edge of the wedge did not now have to force its way, but went easily into the crack, and only the sides came in contact with the two parts of the log which it was separating.
“That’s curious,” said Rollo.
“Yes,” said the boy.
“I wish I had a little beetle and wedge,” said Rollo. “I have got a hammer. That would do for a beetle, if I only had a wedge.”
“O, a hammer won’t do,” said the boy.
“Why not? Would not an axe do as well as a beetle?”
“No,” said the boy, “it would spoil the axe and the wedge too.”
“How?” asked Rollo.
“Why, it would bruise it all up,—hard iron knocking against the hard iron.”
“Would it?” said Rollo.
“Yes,” replied the farmer’s boy; “it would spoil the head of the axe, and the head of the wedge too.”
“Is that the reason why they make a wooden beetle?”
“Yes,” said the boy; “and they put iron rings around the ends to keep the wood from being bruised and battered.”
“O, I wish I had a little beetle and wedge!” said Rollo.
“Perhaps you might make one.”
“O, I could not make an iron wedge—nor the beetle rings.”
“No, but you might make wedges of wood,—pretty hard wood; that would do to split up pieces of pine boards, and then you would not need any rings to your beetle.”
“Jonas can help me,” said Rollo.
“Yes,” said the boy; “Jonas will know all about it.”
So Rollo set out to go home, full of the idea of making a wooden beetle and wedge, so as to split up pieces of boards. He determined, in case he should succeed, to make a smaller one still for Thanny.
THE LITTLE BEETLE AND WEDGE
When Rollo got home, he looked about for Jonas every where, but could not find him. He went around the house and yard, calling “Jonas! Jonas!” very loud. Presently Nathan came out to the door, and told him that his mother wanted to see him. So Rollo went in to his mother.
“You ought not to make such a noise,” said she, “calling Jonas. You disturb us all.”
“But, mother,” said he, “I want to find him very much.”
“No doubt,” said his mother; “but you must find him with your eyes, not with your tongue.”
“Why, mother,” said Rollo, laughing, “what do you mean by that?”
“Boys very generally have a habit of trying to find people with their tongues, that is, by calling them; but it is a very bad habit. You see,” she continued, “there are five or six persons now in and about the house, and if you go around calling out for Jonas, you disturb us all; but if you go about quietly, and look for him, you do not disturb any body.”
“But then it is not so easy to find him by looking for him,” said Rollo.
“Why not?” asked his mother.
“Because,” said Rollo, “I can call out for him, in a moment, in the yard, and then if he is any where within hearing, he answers; and so I know where he is. But it would take me some time to go to all the places that are within hearing.”