Luther was a man of a sociable disposition, always enjoying conversation enlivened by wit and edifying anecdote. He excelled in spicy conversation himself, and was the life of every circle of distinguished men. But he especially found the sweetest enjoyment in conversation with his wife and children, and often, too, from the innocent prattle of the latter he derived no ordinary edification. When his heart was sad, he would take one of them into his arms and tenderly caress it. Thus, on more than one occasion, he took the youngest child, and, pressing it to his bosom, with deep emotion exclaimed, “Ah! what a blessing these little ones are, of which the vulgar and the obstinate are not worthy.” On another occasion he said, “I am richer than all papal theologians in the world, for I am contented with little. I have a wife and six children, whom God has bestowed on me; such treasures the papistic divines do not deserve.” Little Martin was once playing with a dog; “See,” said Luther, who took a religious view of the most ordinary circumstances, and thus also in social life he became the teacher of those around him; “See,” said he, “this child preaches God’s word in its actions; for God says, ‘Have, then, dominion over the fishes of the sea and the beasts of the earth,’ for the dog suffers himself to be governed by the child.” On one occasion, this same child was speaking of the enjoyments of heaven, and said “In heaven, loaves of bread grow on the trees.” The father replied with a smile, “The life of children is the happiest and best of all, for they have no worldly cares; they know nothing about fanatics and errorists in the church, and have only pure thoughts and pleasant reflections.” He was amusing himself one day with the child, and said, “We were all once in this same happy state of mind in Eden; simple, upright, without guile or hypocrisy—we were sincere, just as this child speaks of God, and in earnest.” At another time, he remarked that Martin afforded him special delight because he was his youngest child. “We do not find such natural kindness in old persons; it does not flow so freely and fully. That which is colored or feigned loses our favor; it is not so impressive; it does not afford as much pleasure as that which springs up naturally from the heart. Hence children are the best playmates; they speak and do everything sincerely and naturally. How Abraham’s heart must have beat,” he continued, “when he was called on to sacrifice his son! I do not think he told Sarah anything about it! I could contend with God if he demanded anything similar of me.” Here the maternal feeling of Catharine was roused, and she observed, “I cannot believe that God could demand of parents the slaughter of their children.” He removed her objections by reminding her of the greater sacrifice which God the Father made by offering his own son as a ransom for our sins.