the money, to send two commissioners to investigate the state of affairs; they reported that the land purchased was incapable of cultivation; upon this, the firm withdrew, at a small loss, from the affair, and left Pestalozzi to carry it out alone. This came upon him like a thunder-stroke. "The beautiful dream of my life," he lamented; "the hope of having around me a circle, rich in blessing and effectual for good, was now completely at an end. My distressing circumstances continued to increase. My wife suffered deeply under them."

But Pestalozzi did not lose courage; he determined not only to continue his undertaking, but to unite it with still higher aims. He looked forward to a time -the advent of which he longed to hasten-when society should not regard outcast and neglected children as an inevitable evil, but should see in every child, a child of God, whose moral and spiritual powers, both love and duty demanded, should be developed so far as possible.

He set to work himself to further this object. He received twenty orphans into his house to educate and instruct. They were children of the poorest classes. "I have," he wrote to the peasantry, "seen your degradation, and had pity on you. Dear people, I will help you. I have no art, I know no science, and am nothing in the world, nothing at all, but I know you, and give myself up to you."

To rescue these poor children from beggary, idleness, and the effects of bad example, they were to be occu

L

pied during summer in agriculture, and during winter in learning some industrious trade. They were thus to be fitted for various profitable occupations, and love of work was to be aroused within them. By careful religious instruction, their hearts too, were to be influenced for good.

Most people ridiculed this visionary idea, but some benevolent friends, especially Isaac Iselin of Basel, supported Pestalozzi, and collected funds for him, so that in 1775 he was able to extend his institution, and afford in it an asylum to fifty poor children, many of whom he had himself picked up in the streets in the most abject misery.

Neuhof was soon as busy as a bee-hive. Whilst the pupils were employed at their bodily labours, their benefactor instructed them. He was indefatigable in everything. Earliest dawn found him hard at work, and when all others were sleeping in the house, he wrote down his experiences and desires in his diary, and would then often sit for a long time with clasped hands, imploring God for light and strength to carry on this holy work of educating youth.

His wife's health was so bad that she frequently was obliged to go and stay with her parents in Zurich. Then Pestalozzi was left much alone, and the economical arrangements of the large household for which he was so entirely unfitted, fell entirely upon him. A wellexperienced organiser could have found this no easy task; but, besides this, Pestalozzi had to superintend the agricultural labours in the fields, the various works

of industry indoors, and the teaching of the children too. Many of the pupils accustomed to idleness were wild and rebellious, refusing to work and to submit to the discipline of the house. "I lived with the poor children," he said afterwards, "as a beggar, in order to make them men." In times of want, which came soon enough, it often happened that Pestalozzi ate bad potatoes himself, that his pupils might have the good ones. He was cheated in numerous ways. On Sundays a crowd of mothers and relatives would besiege Neuhof with complaints and accusations against Pestalozzi as to the condition of their children. Some would send their little ones with the only object of getting them well washed and newly clad, and would then carry them secretly away from the institution, favoured by night or mist. Unfortunately, too, Pestalozzi committed several mistakes. He wanted to do too much at first himself, and to make his pupils do more than they were really able to accomplish. He was not content with coarse spinning; they must weave the finest muslins.

Thus it happened that every year he fell deeper and deeper into debt, and soon the whole of his wife's fortune was lost in his enterprise. With his money too, he lost the confidence of many of his friends.

After the lapse of five years, Pestalozzi was so deeply in debt that the institution at Neuhof had to be broken up, and he was himself a beggar. The fate of his noble-hearted wife caused him the acutest sorrow, for she in her generosity had sacrificed nearly all her

property.

Most deplorable was his condition.

Fre

quently, he possessed neither bread, wood, nor even a few coppers, to purchase any. Only the kind-heartedness of his principal creditor, and the generous support of a few friends, saved him from despair and utter ruin.

Thus he passed eighteen sad years in solitary Neuhof. He was a poor man among the poor; he suffered what the people suffered. His friends avoided meeting him; in their opinion he was one whom it was impossible to help. Many thought he would end his days either in the hospital or the lunatic asylum, He often heard people say, " He wants to help others, and cannot help himself. Let him show himself capable in small matters, and we will then believe that he can do something great. Let him save himself out of his own misery, and then we may trust him to do something to relieve the misery of the poor peasantry."

Still he did not give up all hope; he never despaired. His wife's affection contributed to keep up his spirits. Füssli the bookseller in Zurich, and Iselin in Basel, still honoured and trusted him. In his deepest affliction, Pestalozzi set out on foot for Basel to seek comfort from the latter. When near the town an unhappy beggar besought him for alms. "He is more

wretched than you are," thought Pestalozzi to himself, "give him what you have." But his pockets were empty; he was in fact a beggar himself. Then his eye fell upon the silver buckles of his shoes, the only

valuable articles he had saved from the ruins of his fortune. He gave them to the poor man, tied up his shoes with straw, and thus appeared before Iselin, the man who, above all others, understood him, and whom he afterwards called his father, his teacher, his support, his consoler. He went home comforted, and now devoted himself to literary labours. The first of his writings was "The Evening Hours of a Hermit." It was the beautiful fruit of the sad past, and at the same time the seed-corn for his future life. About this time, his faithful wife, who with such constant love had shared his poverty and distress, fell sick. After her recovery, better days dawned upon him. On the invitation of his sister in Leipzig, he undertook, in 1792, a journey to Germany, where he visited several training colleges for schoolmasters, and learned to know such men as Klopstock, Goethe, Wieland, Herder, and Jacobi.

His second book carried his name throughout Europe, and had the most beneficial effect in the widest circles. This was "Lienhard and Gertrude: a Book for the People." It was published under the following circumstances. His friend, the bookseller Füssli, was one day visiting his brother, a celebrated artist. While they were chatting together, the painter was glancing over a pamphlet which Pestalozzi had written a humorous squib making fun of the ridiculous fancy of the Zurich citizens to dress their night watchmen like soldiers. The artist read the sketch with increasing interest, and when he was told