p. 12 | Evils of Scowling

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jun 27, 1907

Evils of Scowling

DON'T scowl. Scowling spoils even the prettiest of faces. Before you know it, your forehead will resemble a small railroad map. There will be a grand trunk line from your scolding locks to the bridge of your nose, intersected by parallel lines running east and west, with curves arching your eyebrows.

And then think how much older you will look. Scowling is a habit that steals upon one almost unawares.

We frown when the light is too strong, and when it is too weak. We tie our brows into a knot when we are thinking, and we knit them even more tightly when we are not thinking.

There is no denying there are plenty of things to scowl about. The baby in the cradle wrinkles up its little nose when something fails to suit. The little toddler who likes sugar on his bread tells his troubles in the same way.

“Cross” we say about the children, and “worried to death” about the grown people, and as for ourselves, we simply “can’t help it.” But one must. Its reflex influences make others unhappy. It cheapens our religion. Scowling is silent scolding. It shows that the soul needs sweetening.

For humanity’s sake straighten out these creases before they become deeply engraved on the countenance.—St. Louis Republic.