Example and Instruction of Parents by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Mar 24, 1909

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 36, No. 12.

Example and Instruction of Parents

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle.

Who can estimate the value of the example of a kind, loving, Christian father and mother? Children are close imitators, and the parents, being the first and the natural guardians and instructors of the little ones, are generally the accepted models. Father, are you anxious that your little son should grow up to be courteous and chivalrous? Then you must stop that habit of speaking rudely, even to Peter, the hired man. You would be quite shocked and indignant if he should forget himself and speak to you in the same manner. But your little son watches your every action; he notes the inflection of your voice; and he can not understand why your tones are so much softer and gentler when you are talking to Mr. Jones, the wealthy merchant, or to Mrs. Blank, the popular society woman, than they are when you speak to mama. He can not understand you, but he imitates you, for all that.

Mother, be guarded and careful in your daily conduct before your little daughter. Relax not your vigilance for an hour. She sees and notices the unhappy expression on your face and the pucker on your brow, because things don’t go right. Can you not learn to discipline yourself for your child’s sake if not for your own? O, the effect of the parental example over the children, for good or for evil, is untold.

If we would have our boys and girls truthful, we must never deceive them. If we would like to see them cultivating habits of neatness and order, we must not go about our work all the morning slovenly and unkempt and in careless attire. Of course we should not dress in dainty, inappropriate garments while doing the hard work of the day, but we may at least be clean, and our clothes, even if cheap and coarse, may be whole.

If we would teach the boys and girls true refinement and gentleness, we must not speak either to them or to each other in a harsh, ungentle voice.

I think the voice a very good delineator of character. It is apt to be weak and peevish, whining, and unmusical, coarse or painfully shrill, or gentle, soft, and musical,—according to the disposition of its owner. There are some people whose voices are so harsh and disagreeable that it is a great trial to the nerves of sensitive people to listen to them.

O the music and the beauty Of a soft and gentle voice; How it thrills the soul like sunshine, How it makes the heart rejoice! O, ’tis sweeter than the music Of earth’s famous organs grand,— Than the tintinnabulation Of the bells of fairy land.

Can you possibly imagine cruel, unkind, discourteous words spoken in a soft, musical voice?

It is a trite saying, “As is the mother, so is the daughter; and as is the father, so is the son.” Of course this rule is not without exception. But it is quite apt to be true. But the law of heredity is not the only reason for this. It is almost as much the result of example as of heredity.

“What will you have to drink, my little man?” The guests were many about the luxurious table, and the wine flowed freely.

The little fellow hesitated only a moment. His father sat by his side, and was just about to raise his wine-glass to his lips, when his boy replied quietly:

“You will please give me just what you have given my papa. I will drink what he drinks.”

The father shuddered; strange he had never thought of it in that light before. A swift vision of the past rose before him. He was a child again, and stood beside his father’s coffin,—his poor father! strong drink had been his ruin,—and now he himself was following closely in his father’s steps; and already his little son—a noble lad—was imitating him.

The wine-glass dropped from his trembling hand, “Waiter, you may give my son a glass of water; I will take the same.” His good angel had won the victory.

Father, mother, be careful; the little ones are —

Stepping In Your Steps.

Climbing the mountain wild and high; Bold was the glance of his eagle eye; Proud was the spirit that knew no fear, Reckless the tread of the mountaineer: Up and up through the fields of snow, Down and down o’er the rocks below. On and on o’er the pathway steep,— On o’er the chasms wide and deep.

Hark! o’er the mountains bleak and wild Echoed the voice of a little child: “Papa, look out! I am coming, too, Stepping in your steps, just like you! Papa, O papa! just see me! Walking like papa—don’t you see?”

Pale was the cheek of the mountaineer,— Pale with the thrill of an awful fear; Paused he quick, and with eager face Clasped the child in his strong embrace; Backward glanced with his eye so dim,— Back o’er the path she had followed him.

Father, pause in the path of life, Rough with the chasms of sin and strife; When you walk with a step so free ’Mong the rocks where the dangers be, List to the voice that is sounding sweet,— List! they are coming—the little feet. Walk with care, they are coming, too, Stepping in your steps, just like you.