Professor Vulliemin, writes: "We all loved him, for he loved us all; we loved him so warmly that when some time passed without our seeing him, we were quite troubled about it, and when he again appeared we could not take our eyes off him . . . him whom we used to call our Father Pestalozzi". Yet another writes: "I seem still to see this kind old man . . . with such a quick, tender glance in his eyes, and such a kind smile upon his lips, that everybody felt attracted to him, men, women and children gladly accepting his affectionate embraces".

He was a man full of the most devoted affection and kindness. Ramsauer tells us that when he was ill "Pestalozzi reproached himself with being the cause; he knew he had worked me too much, and was anxious to nurse me himself, as a father would nurse his child". Dr. Mayo describes how, when he was ill, Pestalozzi was terribly uneasy; he could not rest till the symptoms declared themselves more favourable. He said: 'J'ai en crainte, comme un pauvre diable'. He comes early in the morning to my bedside; kisses my hand when I place it in his; and when I tell him I am better, he is quite delighted and exclaims 'Grâces à Dieu, Grâces à Dieu!""

Two or three incidents of his life throw interesting side-lights on his character. One day some of Fellenberg's workmen brought to him a disreputable-looking, raggedly clothed man, whom they had found lying in a field, half dead with hunger and fatigue. The man turned out to be Pestalozzi, who, in his enthusiasm for collecting minerals, had wandered so far from home, and so loaded his pockets and handkerchief with his captures, that he had become exhausted, had lost his

way, and finally collapsed beside a ditch. On another occasion, when on a similar errand, he was seen by a policeman wearily dragging himself along towards the gates of Soleure, at evening. Taking him to be a beggar, and suspicious of the character of such a ragged and unkempt person, the policeman took him to the magistrate's house. Here he had to wait a long time, for the magistrate was out. To the amazement of the policeman the magistrate recognised Pestalozzi, cordially greeted him and invited him to supper.

When he went with the deputation from Yverdon to petition the allied sovereigns not to use the town's buildings as hospital, he used the occasion for advocating his system. Finding himself in the presence of the Czar and so many high officials, he at once began to address them on the education of the poor, and the liberation of the serfs. So absorbed was he in this task that he pressed upon the Emperor until the latter was driven into a corner of the room, and Pestalozzi was on the point of actually button-holing him, when he suddenly remembered himself. Confusedly muttering an apology he attempted to kiss the Emperor's hand, but Alexander graciously embraced him.

On one occasion he determined, though very ill at the time, to call on the King of Prussia (who was visiting Neuchâtel), to thank him for sending so many teacherstudents to Yverdon. Ramsauer went with him, and relates that: "During the journey Pestalozzi had several fainting fits, so that I was obliged to take him from the carriage and carry him into a neighbouring house. I constantly urged him to return home. 'Hold your tongue,' he said; 'I must see the king even though it should cost me my life. If I can bring about a better

education for a single Prussian child, I shall be fully rewarded.'"

Once when he was ill in bed with a sharp attack of rheumatism, the French Ambassador, Reinhardt, called to see the institute at Burgdorf. Neither doctor nor friends could persuade Pestalozzi to stay in bed. With great difficulty, and much pain to himself, he was dressed and almost carried from his room. No sooner did he see the ambassador than he freed himself from his supporters, and began earnestly to expound his educational views to his visitor. The longer he talked, the more vigorous and active he became; so much so that when he made an end of speaking, he had also made an end of his rheumatism.

Dr. Mayo tells how, just before completing his seventyfifth year: "A girl belonging to his poor school [Clindy] having died a few days ago, he attended her funeral, leading the procession bare-headed, though the snow was on the ground".

So much as to the goodness of his heart and will; and now we will give some evidence about his intellectual powers and general character. Baron de Guimps says of Pestalozzi (at Yverdon): "He accosted everybody with gentle kindliness. His conversation was animated and clever, full of imagination and originality, but difficult to follow on account of his pronunciation. But he was never long the same, passing in a moment from frank, open-hearted gaiety to profound and even melancholy meditation. Always absent-minded and preoccupied, he was a prey to a feverish restlessness, and could never sit down for long together; he used to walk up and down the corridors of the castle, one hand behind his back, or in the breast of his coat. . . . He

continued to work with indefatigable zeal at improving his method,' and making new applications of it. Every morning, as early as two o'clock, he called an under-master to his bedside to write from his dictation. But he was rarely satisfied with his own work, and made continual corrections, often starting afresh.”

Ramsauer speaks thus of him: "On those occasions [when members of the staff took coffee with him in Mrs. Pestalozzi's room] he was generally very gay and full of wit; and his wit was often brilliant, for whatever he did, he did thoroughly, giving himself up entirely to the feelings of the moment. In the same half-hour he would be extremely happy and extremely miserable, gentle and caressing or serious and severe; he did nothing without enthusiasm."

This violent instability is shown in an incident related by De Guimps. "Pestalozzi was strangely impressionable, and when once possessed by his favourite idea of elevating the lower classes, he forgot everything else. Some short time after the death of his wife [which caused him the most profound grief and distress], one of his old pupils, deeply moved by his loss, came to see him. After a few words on the painful subject of the visit, the old man began to speak of his new plans and new hopes for the success of his method, and before long, carried away by his illusions and enthusiasm, he cried excitedly: 'I am swimming in a sea of joy !'"

Professor Vulliemin writes: "He is quick in grasping, principles, but is helpless in matters of detail; he possesses the faculty, however, of putting his views with such force and clearness that he has no difficulty in getting them carried out. . . . He has no gift for guiding this great undertaking [Yverdon], and yet it con

tinues. . . . Even his speech, which is neither German nor French, is scarcely intelligible, and yet in everything he is the soul of this vast establishment. All his words, and more especially his religious utterances, sink deep into the hearts of his pupils, who love and venerate him as a father."

Of his manner of expounding his theories De Guimps says: "A hundred times have I heard the master himself explain his doctrine, and each time with a different illustration. This profound philosopher had no love for philosophical language, with which he had never been familiar. Nor would he trust himself to use formulas, of which indeed he had almost a dread. His thought, which had been shaped in solitude and with no help from books, was simply the outcome of observation and reflection, and so he preferred to explain his views as he had formed them, and attached much more weight to concrete facts, particular examples, and comparisons, than to abstractions and general ideas."

Dr. Biber's description is: "Pestalozzi was naturally endowed with extraordinary powers of body and mind. ... His eye beaming with benevolence and honest confidence, soon dispelled any unpleasant impressions which the ruggedness of his appearance was calculated to produce; while his wrinkled countenance, which attested in every feature the existence of a soul, to whom life had been more than a thoughtless game, commanded, with irresistible power, that reverence which his figure could never have imposed. . . . His temper was cheerful; his wit ready and pointed, but without sting. His conversation was at all times animated, but most so when he entered into explanations of his views; his lively gesticulation was then called in to assist his utter