how children can reach the heart of the truth at once. Their utterances are sometimes entirely concordant with the results arrived at through years of thought by the earnest mind--results which no mind would ever arrive at save by virtue of the child-like in it. Well, then, upon this evening I read to them the story of the boy Jesus in the temple. Then I sought to make the story more real to them by dwelling a little on the growing fears of his parents as they went from group to group of their friends, tracing back the road towards Jerusalem and asking every fresh company they knew if they had seen their boy, till at length they were in great trouble when they could not find him even in Jerusalem. Then came the delight of his mother when she did find him at last, and his answer to what she said. Now, while I thus lingered over the simple story, my children had put many questions to me about Jesus being a boy, and not seeming to know things which, if he was God, he must have known, they thought. To some of these I had just to reply that I did not understand myself, and therefore could not teach them; to others, that I could explain them, but that they were not yet, some of them, old enough to receive and understand my explanation; while others I did my best to answer as simply as I could. But at this point we arrived at a question put by Wynnie, to answer which aright I considered of the greatest importance. Wynnie said: “That is just one of the things about Jesus that have always troubled me, papa.” “What is, my dear?” I said; for although I thought I knew well enough what she meant, I wished her to set it forth in her own words, both for her own sake, and the sake of the others, who would probably understand the difficulty much better if she presented it herself. “I mean that he spoke to his mother--” “Why don’t you say _mamma_, Wynnie?” said Charlie. “She was his own mamma, wasn’t she, papa?” “Yes, my dear; but don’t you know that the shoemaker’s children down in the village always call their mamma _mother_?” “Yes; but they are shoemaker’s children.” “Well, Jesus was one of that class of people. He was the son of a carpenter. He called his mamma, _mother_. But, Charlie, _mother_ is the more beautiful word of the two, by a great deal, I think. _Lady_ is a very pretty word; but _woman_ is a very beautiful word. Just so with _mamma_ and _mother_. _Mamma_ is pretty, but _mother_ is beautiful.” “Why don’t we always say _mother_ then?” “Just because it is the most beautiful, and so we keep it for Sundays--that is, for the more solemn times of life. We don’t want it to get common to us with too much use. We may think it as much as we like; thinking does not spoil it; but saying spoils many things, and especially beautiful words. Now we must let Wynnie finish what she was saying.” “I was saying, papa, that I can’t help feeling as if--I know it can’t be true--but I feel as if Jesus spoke unkindly to his mother when he said that to her.”