Chapter XIII: A pleasant Ride

The story of Maddox had a very good effect upon the minds of the young Bensons. They immediately brought out their books, and spent some time in reading and learning their lessons. Afterwards Mrs. Mansfield heard them the catechism, and explained to them some parts of it which they did not clearly understand.

When Mr. Mansfield came in to dinner, he said that he should be obliged in the afternoon to go upon business to a place about ten miles off; and he asked his wife, if she would like to accompany him in their one-horse chaise.

“Thank you, my dear,” returned Mrs. Mansfield; “but it would give me more pleasure if you would take the boys. I know they would enjoy a ride, and they have been very good this morning.”

“Have they so?” said the obliging grandpapa. “Why then, if you will give up your place, I will take them very willingly. I like the company of good children.”

The party thus settled, dinner was quickly dispatched; the chaise stood ready at the door, and the boys jumped into it with a look of pleasure on their countenances that can more easily be fancied than described.

Part of the road they were to travel lay through a large forest. Here they had an opportunity of seeing a variety of trees; and Mr. Mansfield answered with the greatest readiness every question they put to him concerning them.

“What tree is that, grandpapa?” inquired Charles, pointing to one that grew near the road; “the one, I mean, that has such an amazing large trunk, and the branches of it spread so wide all round?”

_Mr. Mansfield._ It is an oak, my dear; the most valuable timber tree that grows.

_Arthur._ What are timber trees?

_Mr. Mansfield._ Trees that are used in building houses and ships; they are principally oaks, elms, and ash-trees.

_Arthur._ And you say that the oak is the most valuable of them all; pray what makes it so?

_Mr. Mansfield._ The wood is very hard, and tough; not apt to splinter, nor liable to be eaten by worms; and as it remains sound for a great while when under water, it answers very well for building ships, or for piles, or bridges; in short, for any thing that requires strength and durability.

They now came to a part of the forest where many large oaks had been recently felled. Leafless, and stript of all, but the stumps of the larger branches, they lay at length upon the ground, and made a striking contrast to the green and flourishing trees that grew around.

Charles inquired, what made them look so white? Mr. Mansfield replied, that they had been stript of their bark, or outer skin, which was used by the tanner, in the process of manufacturing leather. “Indeed,” added he, “every part of the oak may be employed in tanning; the saw-dust, the leaves, all have a binding quality, that, in process of time, will harden the raw hide of beasts into leather.”

“Acorns grow upon oaks, don’t they, sir?” said Charles.

“To be sure they do,” answered Arthur. “I have seen them in abundance since we have been riding. Are they good to eat, grandpapa?”

_Mr. Mansfield._ _You_ would find them bitter and disagreeable, but pigs and deer fatten upon them. Did you ever take notice of the cups?

As he said this, he broke off a bough from a tree which they were passing, and gave it to the boys to examine.

“Would you suppose,” asked he, “that these large oaks, that cover so much ground, and form the glory of the forest, all sprung from acorns no larger than these?”

“It is very wonderful,” said Arthur. “Pray, sir, are they long growing?”

_Mr. Mansfield._ An oak seldom comes to perfection in less than two hundred years, and they will sometimes live four or five hundred. Our English oaks are particularly esteemed, but they are much fewer in number than they once were. In ancient times, before there were so many inhabitants, and when cultivation was little attended to, almost the whole island was but one forest. It has been cleared by degrees, however, and converted into corn and pasture land; and we have only now a few forests of any size. In consequence of this, oak timber is much scarcer than it used to be. If you go into old houses, that were built two or three centuries ago, you will see nothing but oaken floors and oaken wainscots. Now the case is altered, and people are obliged to be contented with wood of a very inferior quality. Deal, for instance, is much used for the purposes I have mentioned.

_Charles._ Are there any deal trees in this forest, grandpapa?

_Mr. Mansfield._ There are no such things as deal trees, Charles. It is the wood of the fir, which, when cut up into timber, is called deal. By and by, I will point out to you a plantation of firs, of which there are several different species. They are all ever-greens; that is, they do not lose their leaves in winter. The Scotch fir is the most hardy, and thrives well on the bleak mountains of the north. It may likewise be reckoned the most useful; for it supplies us with the best deal for making masts of ships, floors, wainscots, tables, boxes, and other things. The trunk and branches afford excellent pitch and tar. The roots, when divided into small splinters, are sometimes burnt by poor people instead of candles. The outer bark is used, as well as that of the oak, in tanning leather; and I have heard that there is a place in Scotland where they make ropes of the inner bark; and that in some of the northern countries of Europe, in times of scarcity, they grind it, and mix it with their flour when they make bread.

_Arthur._ I see another large tree, grandpapa, but it does not look like the oak.

_Mr. Mansfield._ ’Tis a beech, a very useful tree to the cabinet-maker. Its branches, you observe, slope gently downwards, instead of growing straight out, and it is more full of leaf than the oak. That tree on the left is an ash. Its foliage is very light. The wood is much used for making implements of husbandry, particularly hop-poles.

“And _there_ is a fine stately tree!” observed Charles; “is it another beech?”

_Mr. Mansfield._ No, Charles, that is an elm; a timber tree of great value. You may often see them in hedgerows, and they are frequently planted in rows to make avenues in parks. The inner part of the wood is almost as solid and heavy as iron; and is therefore much used in mill-work, and to make axle-trees, keels of boats, chairs, and coffins.

“Pray, pray,” interrupted Arthur, “look at that tree a little way off, how the leaves flutter with the wind! They are in constant motion; but yet it is very calm, and all the other trees are still.”

“That tree,” replied Mr. Mansfield, “is called an aspen, or trembling poplar. It is the nature of it to be in that constant agitation, whether the wind is high or not.”

“What is done with the aspen?” inquired Charles.

_Mr. Mansfield._ The stem is bored for water-pipes, and is made into milk-pails, clogs, and pattens.

The business which Mr. Mansfield had to transact, detained them so long that it grew very dark as they were returning home; and the little boys were surprised, in the midst of the gloom, to see a bright shining speck upon the ground. “What is that, what is that, grandpapa?” they exclaimed at the same instant. “It looks,” added Charles, “as if one of the stars had fallen to the earth.” “And I see another, and another,” said Arthur, laughing: “oh, what can they be?”

“They are glow-worms,” replied Mr. Mansfield; “and you may find numbers of them, after dark, at this time of the year.”

“They are very pretty,” said Arthur. “I should like to see one near. Will you be so kind, sir, as to stop for a moment, and let me get out and fetch one?”

Mr. Mansfield consented, and Arthur jumped out, and presently returned in triumph with his prize. They then saw that the glow-worm was a small insect, something bigger than a wood-louse; and that the brightness proceeded from a part under the tail. The light it gave was strong enough for them to see what time it was by their grandfather’s watch, when held close to it.

“I have been trying, grandpapa,” said Arthur, after having sat still for some time, with the glow-worm in his hand, “to find what it is that occasions the light; but I cannot make it out.”

“I believe, Arthur,” said Mr. Mansfield, smiling, “that this wonderful little insect has puzzled philosophers much wiser than you. I never heard its luminous appearance explained in a very satisfactory manner; and not at all in a way that _you_ would understand.”

_Charles._ There is no difficulty in finding out glow-worms, let it be ever so dark.

_Mr. Mansfield._ Your observation, my dear, brings to my mind a pretty fable I once read about a glow-worm; and the moral of it is, that we ought not to boast of any external advantages we may possess, or despise those who happen to be without them; since the very things we are proud of, often bring down misfortunes upon us.

_Arthur._ But what was the fable, grandpapa? In my book they always put the fable first; but you have begun with the moral.

_Mr. Mansfield._ “A glow-worm, vain of her beauty, began to upbraid a poor humble wood-louse, that lay beside her. ‘Dost not thou admire my splendid tail,’ said she, ‘that sends forth a light almost as glorious as the stars? Insignificant reptile that _thou_ art! wonder at thy boldness, in venturing so near to one of my brilliant appearance. What admiration wilt _thou_ acquire, or when wilt _thou_ become the pride and glory of the night?’

“The wood-louse replied with great humility, ‘Happy in myself, I do not wish to draw the attention of others; and if I have not thy beauty to boast of, I am at least without thy pride.’

“A nightingale, who was singing in a neighbouring bush, attracted by the light of the glow-worm, flew to the spot where she lay, and seizing the vain insect in her beak, carried it away to feast her family. The wood-louse, concealed in darkness, escaped the enemy’s notice.”