MAXIMS TO GUIDE THE YOUNG 171 (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) I cannot write unless he's sent above.) MAXIMS TO GUIDE THE YOUNG Always speak and act as in the presence of God. Drink no intoxicating liquor. Ever live, misfortunes excepted, within your income. Before you retire to bed, think over what you have done during the day. Never speak lightly of religion. Make no haste to be rich if you would prosper. Small and steady gains give competency with tranquillity of mind. Never play at any game of chance. Avoid the temptation, through fear that you may not withstand it. Earn your money before you spend it. Never run in debt, unless you see a way to get out of it. THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM At an early period in the history of Holland, a boy, who is the hero of the following narrative, was born in Haarlem, a town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, but happily still more so for its manufactures and inventions in peace. His father was a sluicer-that is, one whose employment it was to open and shut the sluices, or large oak gates, which placed at certain regular distances, close the entrances of the canals, and secure Holland from the danger to which it seems exposed-of finding itself under water, rather than above it. When the water is wanted, the sluicer raises the sluices more or less, as required, and closes them again carefully at night; otherwise the water would flow into the canals, overflow them, and inundate the whole country. Even the little children are fully aware of the importance of a punctual discharge of the sluicer's duties. The boy was about eight years old when, one day, he asked permission to take some cakes to a poor blind man, who lived at the other side of the dyke. His father gave him leave, but charged him not to stay too late. The child promised, and set off on his little journey. The blind man thankfully partook of his young friend's cakes, and the boy, THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM 173 mindful of his father's orders, did not wait, as usual, to hear one of the old man's stories, but as soon as he had seen him eat one muffin, took leave of him to return home. As he went along by the canals, then quite fúll, for it was in October, and the autumn rains had swelled the waters, the boy now stopped to pull the little blue flowers which his mother loved so well, and, in childish gayety, hummed some merry songs. The road gradually became more solitary, and soon neither the joyous shouts of the village, coming from his cottage home, nor the rough voice of the carter, grumbling at his lazy horses, were any longer to be heard. The little fellow now perceived that the blue of the flowers in his hand was scarcely distinguishable from the green of the surrounding herbage, and he looked up in some dismay. The night was falling; not, however, a dark winter night, but one of those beautiful, clear, moonlight nights, in which every object is perceptible, though not as distinctly as by day. The child thought of his father, of his injunction, and was preparing to quit the ravine in which he was almost buried, and to regain the beach, when suddenly a slight noise, like the trickling of water upon pebbles, attracted his attention. He was near one of the large sluices and he carefully examined it, and soon discovered a hole in the wood, through which the water was flowing. With the quick perception which every child in Holland has regarding the water, the boy saw that the water must soon enlarge the hole, through which it was now only drop ping, and that utter and general ruin would be the consequence of the inundation of the country. To see, to throw away the flowers, to climb from stone to stone till he reached the hole, and put his finger into it, was the work of a moment; and, to his delight, he found that he had succeeded in stopping the flow of the water. This was all very well for a little while, and the child thought only of the success of his device; but the night was closing in, and with the night came the cold. The little boy looked around in vain. No one came. He shouted-he called loudly-no one answered. He resolved to stay there all night, but, alas, the cold was becoming every moment more biting, and the poor finger fixed in the hole began to feel benumbed, and the numbness soon extended to the hand, and thence throughut the whole arm. The pain became still greater, still harder to bear, but still the boy moved not. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his father, of his mother, of his little bed, where he might now be sleeping soundly, but still the little fellow stirred not, for he knew that did he remove the small finger which he had opposed to the escape of the water, not only would he himself be drowned, but his father, his brothers, his neighbors―nay, the whole village. We know not what faltering of purpose, what momentary failures of courage there might have been during that long and terrible night; but certain it is that at daybreak he was found, in a most painful position, by a clergyman returning THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM 175 from an attendance at a death bed, who, as he advanced, thought he heard groans, and bending over the dyke, discovered a child seated on a stone, writhing from pain, and with pale face and tearful eyes. "In the name of wonder, boy," he exclaimed, “what are you doing there?" "I am hindering the water from running out," was the answer, in perfect simplicity, of the child, who during that whole night had been evincing such heroic fortitude and undaunted courage. The Muse of history, too often blind to true glory, has handed down to posterity the name of many a warrior and of the destroyer of thousands of his fellow-men, but she has left us in ignorance of the name of this real little hero of Haarlem. True worth is in being, not seeming; And nothing so royal as truth. -Alice Cary. |