The child does not know what is true, what is actual. I never can depend on his statements, except, as it appears, when he tells what he has had to eat. If riding is spoken of, e. g., he has a vivid picture of riding in his mind. To-day, when I asked him "Did you see papa ride?" he answered, _Yes, indeed, papa rode away off into the woods_. Yet his father had not gone to ride at all. In the same way he often denies what he has seen and done. He comes out of his father's room and I ask, "Well, have you said good-night to papa?" _No._ His father told me afterward that the child had done it. In the park we see some crested titmice, and I tell the nurse that, in the previous autumn, I saw for the first time Finnish parrots or cross-bills here, but that I have not seen any since. When the child's father asked later, "Well, Adolph, what did you see in the park?" _Crested titmice, with golden crests_ (he adds out of his own invention) _and Finnish parrots_. He mixes up what he has heard and seen with what he imagines. Truth has to be taught to a child. The less this is done, the easier it is to inoculate him with religious notions, i. e., of miraculous revelation; otherwise one must be prepared for many questions that are hard to answer. _29th month._--Sad stories affect him to tears, and he runs away. Names of animals and plants he remembers often more easily than I do, and informs me. He reasons logically. Lately, when he asked for some foolish thing, I said to him, "Sha'n't I bring the moon for you, too?" _No_, said he, _you can't do that, it is too high up in the clouds_. _30th to 33d months._--He now often calls himself "Adolph," and then speaks of himself in the third person. He frequently confounds "I" and "you," and does not so consistently use the first person for the second, and the reverse. The transition is very gradually taking place to the correct use of the personal pronoun. Instead of _my mamma_, he repeats often, when he is in an affectionate mood, _your mamma_, _your mamma_. Some new books are given to him. In the book of beetles there are shown to him the party-colored and the gray, so-called "sad," grave-digger (_necrophorus_). The latter now becomes prominent in his plays. "Why is he called the sad?" I asked the child yesterday. _Ah! because he has no children_, he answered, sorrowfully. Probably he has at some time overheard this sentence, which has no meaning for him, from a grown person. Adult persons' ways of speaking are thus employed without an understanding of them; pure verbal memory. In the same way, he retains the names, in his new book, of butterflies (few of them German) better than I do, however crabbed and difficult they may be.