p. 230 | Governing Children by Arthur's Home Magazine

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Jul 31, 1879

Governing Children.

By Arthur's Home Magazine

"I'LL not live in this way!" exclaimed Mrs. Lyon, passionately. "Such disorder, wrangling and irregularity, rob me of all peace; and make the house a bedlam, instead of a quiet home. Tom!"—she spoke sharply to a bright little fellow, who was pounding away with a wooden hammer on a chair, and making a most intolerable din;—"stop that noise, this instant! And you, Em', not a word more from your lips. If you can't live in peace with your sister, I'll separate you. D'ye hear! Hush, this instant!"

"Then make Jule give me my pincushion. She's got it in her pocket."

"It's no such thing; I havn't," retorted Julia.

"You have, I say."

"I tell you I havn't!"

"Will you hush?" The face of Mrs. Lyon was fiery red; and she stamped upon the floor, as she spoke.

"I want my pincushion. Make Jule give me my pincushion."

Irritated, beyond control, Mrs. Lyon caught Julia by the arm; and thrusting her hand into her pocket, drew out a thimble, a piece of lace, and a penknife.

"I told you it wasn't there! Couldn't you believe me?"

This impertinence was more than the mother could endure; and, acting from her indignant impulses, she boxed the ears of Julia, soundly. Conscious, at the same time, that Emily was chiefly to blame for all this trouble, by a wrong accusation of her sister; she turned upon her, also, administering an equal punishment. Frightened by all this, the younger children, whose incessant noise, for the last hour, had contributed to the overthrow of her mother's temper, became suddenly quiet, and skulked away into corners—and the baby, that was seated on the floor, between two pillows, curved her quivering lips, and glanced fearfully up at the distorted face in which she had been used to see the love-light that made her heaven.

A deep quiet followed this burst of passion; like the hush which succeeds the storm. Alas, for the evil traces that were left behind! Alas, for the repulsive image of that mother, daguerreotyped in an instant, on the memory of her children, and never to be effaced. How many, many times, in after years, will a sigh heave their bosoms, as that painful reflection looks out upon them from amid the dearer remembrances of childhood.

A woman of good impulses, but with scarcely any self-control, was Mrs. Lyon. She loved her children, and desired their good. That they showed so little forbearance, one with the other, manifested so little fraternal affection, grieved her deeply.

"My whole life is made unhappy by it!" she would often say. "What is to be done? It is dreadful to think of a family growing up in discord and disunion. Sister at variance with sister; and brother lifting his hand against brother."

As was usual after an ebullition of passion, Mrs. Lyon, deeply depressed in spirits, as well as discouraged, retired from her family to grieve and weep. Lifting the frightened baby from the floor, she drew its head tenderly against her bosom; and, leaving the nursery, sought the quiet of her own room. There, in repentance and humiliation, she recalled the stormy scene through which she had just passed. And blamed herself for yielding blindly to passion, instead of meeting the trouble among her children with a quiet discrimination.

To weeping, calmness succeeded. Still she was perplexed in mind, as well as grieved at her own want of self control. What was to be done with her children? How were they to be governed aright? Painfully did she feel her own unfitness for the task. By this time the baby was asleep, and the mother felt something of that tranquil peace that every true mother knows, when a young babe is slumbering on her bosom. A book lay on a shelf, near where she was sitting, and Mrs. Lyon scarcely conscious of the act, reached out her hand for the volume. She opened, without feeling any interest in its contents; but, she had read only a few sentences, when this remark arrested her attention.

"All right government of children begins with self-government."

The words seemed written for her; and the truth expressed, was elevated instantly into perception. She saw it in the clearest light; and closed the book, and bowed her head in sad acknowledgment of her own errors. Thus, for some time, she had been sitting, when the murmur of voices from below grew more and more distinct, and she was soon aroused to the painful fact, that, as usual, when left alone, the children were wrangling among themselves. Various noises, as of pounding on, and throwing about chairs, and other pieces of furniture, were heard; and, at length, a loud scream, mingled with angry vociferations, smote upon her ears.

Indignation swelled instantly in the heart of Mrs. Lyon; hurriedly placing the sleeping babe in its crib, she started for the scene of disorder, moved by an impulse to punish severely the young rebels against all authority; and was half way down the stairs, when her feet were checked by a remembrance of the sentiment—"All right government of children begins with self-government."

"Will anger subdue anger? When storm meets storm, is the tempest stilled?" These were the questions asked of herself, almost involuntarily. "This is no spirit in which to meet my children. It never has, and never will enforce order and obedience," she added, as she stood upon the stairs, struggling with herself, and striving for the victory. From the nursery came louder sounds of disorder. How weak the mother felt! Yet, in this very weakness was strength.

"I must not stand idly here," she said, as a sharper cry of anger smote her ears; and she so moved on quickly, and opening the nursery door, stood revealed to her children. Julia had just raised her hand to strike Emily, who stood confronting her with a fiery face. Both were a little startled at their mother's sudden appearance; and both, expecting the storm that usually came at such times, began to assume the defiant, stubborn air with which her intemperate reproofs were always met.

A few moments did Mrs. Lyon stand looking at her children—grief, not anger, upon her pale countenance. How still all became. What a look of wonder came gradually into the children's faces, as they glanced one at the other. Something of shame was next visible. And now, the mother was conscious of a new power over the young rebels of her household.

"Emily," said she, speaking mildly, yet with a touch of sorrow in her voice that she could not subdue; "I wish you would go up into my room, and sit with Mary while she sleeps."

Without a sign of opposition, or even reluctance, Emily went quietly from the nursery, in obedience to her mother's desire.

"This room is very much in disorder, Julia."

Many times had Mrs. Lyon said, under like circumstances, "Why don't you put things to rights?" or, "I never saw such girls! If all in the room was topsy turvey, you'd never turn over a hand to put things in order," or "Go and get the broom, this minute, and sweep up the room. You're the laziest girl that ever lived." Many many times, as we have said, had such language been addressed by Mrs. Lyon, under like circumstances, to Julia and her sisters, without producing anything better than a grumbling, partial execution of her wishes. But now, the mild intimation that the room was in disorder, produced all the effects desired. Julia went quickly about the work of restoring things to their right places, and in a little while, order was apparent where confusion reigned before. Little Tommy, whose love of hammering was an incessant annoyance to his mother, had ceased his din on her sudden appearance, and, for a few moments, stood in expectation of a boxed ear; for a time he was puzzled to understand the new aspect of affairs. Finding that he was not under the ban, as usual, he commenced slapping a stick over the top of an old table, making a most ear-piercing noise. Instantly, Julia said, in a low voice, to him—

"Don't Tommy,—don't do that. You know it makes mother's head ache."

"Does it make your head ache, mother?" asked the child, curiously, and with a pitying tone in his voice, as he came creeping up to her mother's side, and looking at her as if in doubt whether he would be repulsed or not.

"Sometimes it does, my son," replied Mrs. Lyon, kindly; "and it is always unpleasant. Won't you try to play without making so much noise?"

"Yes, mother, I'll try," answered the little fellow, cheerfully. "But I'll forget sometimes."

He looked earnestly at his mother as if something more was in his thoughts.

"Well, dear, what else?" said she encouragingly.

"When I forget, you'll tell me; won't you?"

"Yes, love."

"And then I'll stop. But don't scold me mother; for then I can't stop."

Mrs. Lyon's heart was touched. She caught her breath, and bent her face down, to conceal its expression, until it rested on the silken hair of the child.

"Be a good boy, Tommy, and mother will never scold you, any more;" she murmured gently, in his ears.

His arm stole upwards, and as they were twined closely about her neck, he pressed his lips tightly against her cheek—thus sealing his part of the contract with a kiss.

How sweet to the mother's taste were these first fruits of self-control. In the effort to govern herself, what a power had she acquired. In stilling the tempest of passion in her own bosom, she had poured the oil of peace over the storm-fretted hearts of her children.

Only first-fruits were these. In all her after days did that mother strive with herself, ere she entered into a contest with the inherited evils of her children; and just so far as she was able to overcome evil in herself, was she able to overcome evil in them. Often, very often, did she fall back into old states; and often, very often, was self-resistance only a light effort; but the feeble influence for good that flowed from her words or actions, whenever this was so, warned her of error, and prompted a more vigorous self-control. Need it be said, that she had an abundant reward?—Arthur's Home Magazine.