would have telephoned that message within the hearing of the seamstress.
The truth of the matter was that her heart—as much as she had left of it—was all wrapt up in her pet dogs, and her interest in human beings had become as a matter of habit, simply a question of the amount of service they could render her. She is probably whining to-day about the seamstress who didn't know her place and who was jealous of people who had means.—George W. Coleman, "Searchlights."
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Animals as Pest Destroyers—See Barriers.
Animals Before Men—See Heartless
Pagans.
Animals, Inferior to Man—See Man's
Conquest of Animals.
Animals not Original—See Originality
of Man.
Animals, Reason in—See Reasoning
Power in Animals.
ANIMISM
The child's religious nature, like that of primitive man, is animistic. Professor Dawson, in "The Child and His Religion," says:
It is hard for children to resist the feeling
that a summer shower comes with a sort of
personal benevolence to water the dry flowers
and grass. A little girl of four years illustrated
this feeling on a certain occasion.
There was a thunder-shower after a long
dry spell. The rain was pattering on the
sidewalk outside the house. The child
stretched forth her hands toward the raindrops
and said: "Come, good rain, and
water our plants!" Flowers and trees have
individuality for most children, if not for
all. Ruth's mama found her sitting among
the wild geraniums, some distance from the
house. "What are you doing, Ruth?" "I'm
sitting by the flowers. They are lonesome
and like to have me with them, don't you
know?" At another time she said: "Mama,
these daisies seem to look up at me and
talk to me. Perhaps they want us to kiss
them." On one occasion she said to her
brother, who was in the act of gathering
some flowers she claimed for herself, "I
don't think it nice to break off those poor
flowers. They like to live just as well as
you do." The boy thus chided by his sister
for gathering her flowers was generally very
fond of plants and trees, and felt a quite
human companionship in them. He could
not bear to see flowering plants hanging in
a broken condition, or lying crusht upon the
sidewalk. Even at the age of ten years, he
would still work solicitously over flowers
like the violets, bluets, and crowfoots, with
evident concern for their comfort.
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Announcement, Apt—See Choir, The.
ANSWER, A SOFT
A drunken carter came into a Greenock
(Scotland) train and sat opposite a clergyman,
who was reading his paper. Recognizing
the profession of his vis-a-vis, the
carter leaned forward and in a maudlin
way remarked, "I don't believe there's any
heaven." The clergyman paid no heed. "Do
you hear me?" persisted the carter. "I don't
believe there's any heaven." Still the clergyman
remained behind his newspaper. The
carter, shouting his confession loudly, said,
"I tell ye to your face, and you're a minister,
that I don't believe there's any heaven."
"Very well," said the clergyman; "if you do
not believe there is any heaven, go elsewhere,
but please go quietly." (Text.)—London
Graphic.
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Anthem, Extending a National—See Praise, United.
ANTHROPOMORPHISM
Spiritual manhood has put away childish
thinking. What, for instance, does a child
think about God? Professor Street publishes
some first-hand illustrations of childish
conceptions of God. He says that children
"completely anthropomorphize God, making
Him subservient to time, space, and passions,
just the same as they themselves are." I recall
an example or two: When a girl was
told that the stars were God's eyes, she at
once asked where His legs were. Another
saw, for the first time, a cupola on a barn.
Gazing at it she asked, "Does God live in
that little house?" A boy asked some one
if God made the river running back of his
house. On receiving an affirmative answer,
he promptly replied, "He must have had a
big shovel." When another boy refused to
say his prayers, he was asked for the reason.
He answered, "Why, they are old. God has
heard them so many times that they are old
to Him, too. Why, He knows them as well
as I do myself."—F. F. Shannon.
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