WHAT PEOPLE WILL SAY by Editor

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Feb 3, 1881

WHAT PEOPLE WILL SAY.

By Editor

A FEW days since, we were pondering the question, Why is it that, with a few exceptions, every one is under the thumb of Mrs. Grundy when we called to see a friend. Her little child was playing in the room. Presently the nurse girl came to take him away and prepare him for dinner. But the young gentleman preferred to remain with the company, when mamma interposed in this manner:—

"Oh! Willie must go and have his hair brushed. Why, that lady thinks Willie has not had his hair brushed to-day. See how astonished she looks! And [to the nurse], Mary, every one will think Willie has no more clean aprons unless you put one on him right away."

This had the desired effect. The child went at once to be brushed and dressed, from fear of what persons would think of him.

The next call was made on a poor, sick woman. She had a child somewhat younger than the other—two years old, perhaps. Soon the little one began to cry, interrupting our conversation.

"Oh, my!" said the mother. "See gampa looking at you. He thinks it is awful queer Minnie should cry."

Now, grandpa was a surly old man sitting in the corner of the room, reading his newspaper, and paying no attention whatever to the child. But Minnie straightened her face, and wiped her eyes, to see whether "gampa" didn't think her "awful queer."

This visit finished, we returned home, and proposed to take Ethel, our own little girl, out for a walk. We asked the lady who has her in charge to put on her coat. But Ethel said,—

"Oh, no! I want to wear my 'ittie boo shawl."

Immediately the lady exclaimed: "Mercy on us! If the little girl should go out with only her little blue shawl on, everybody in the street would look at her. And they would say to themselves: 'Is it possible that little girl hasn't got her winter coat yet?'"

At this Ethel laughed. The coat went on, and the walk proceeded. The young lady carried herself and eyed every passer-by in a manner that said, "Look at me. I've got my winter coat on."

Returned from the walk, her wraps were removed, but her mittens, being a novelty from gloves, she did not wish to relinquish.

"Mercy on us!" was again exclaimed. "Did I ever hear of a little girl wearing her mittens in the house? What would everybody think?"

At this point we sat down, with the clear conviction that we had arrived at the solution of the question previously pondered. From the earliest dawn of consciousness up to maturity, the motive most frequently held before our children is the opinion of others. What wonder that so many of us are slaves to Mrs. Grundy? Boys and girls thus trained will be at fourteen years of age thoroughly unconscious, and will ask themselves, in regard to every action, not what is wise and right, but "What will people say?" If parents and all who have the care of children will watch themselves, they will probably be surprised to discover to what an extent they present this motive. It is so easy in this manner to stop children from crying, or to induce them to conform to our wishes, that the temptation is great. But a very little thought will obviate this, and offer true motives of action.

For instance, take the case of Ethel. The very next day she was going to play in the yard, and her warm coat was needed; but again she preferred her shawl, and was cute enough to suggest,—

"Nobody tan see me in the yard."

We drew her into our arms, and said: "Our little darling must wear her coat because it is right to do so. Does she not remember how bad a cold and cough and sore eyes she had when she came from the asylum to live with us? She is now strong and well, and we love little Ethel too much to let her get sick again. At that time, you know, Pet, you had no warm clothes to wear: but now our heavenly Father has given you home and friends, and nice warm things, and he expects you to wear them and keep well. Is it not kind in our heavenly Father to take such good care of little Ethel?"

By this time the coat was on and buttoned, and the child's lips were held up to us for a kiss, as she said,—

"I 'ove heav'ly Father most, and 'ou next."

And thus with her thoughts drawn off from herself to the goodness of God, she went out to her play.

Now we submit if such motives are not far in advance of the former. Besides, the former are not true. People are not thinking about us, are not talking about us. If we pause to reflect, it is very apparent that the world—a few gossips excepted—is thinking of itself, not of us.

The one general reason to be given to children, however young, for any course to be pursued is, because it is right. Why it is right can also usually be explained to them. If we had one generation trained to such motives, we would need fewer prayers against a "man-fearing spirit," and heroes would be more common, who would "dare to be a Daniel, dare to stand alone."—N. Y. Independent.