serve and learn all that my mind was capable of comprehending; not only endeavouring and praying that my view might be enlighted and strengthened, to enable me to seize all the prominent points and features of his system, to see its distinctive characters, and understand its principles, and all in their true positions and relations to each other, their bearings and connexions; but becoming myself the scholar of some of those best acquainted with his plans. From Pestalozzi and one of his masters, taking lessons in German, in order to understand his plan of teaching languages. With Krusi, I went through part of his intuitive arithmetic-From another received instructions as to the manner of teaching forms. With another were passed through the first steps of geometry. And I also conversed with him and his assistants, and carefully visited his different school-rooms. My mind I confess, was prejudiced in favour of Pestalozzi's plans, from what little I had seen of them, in my friend Synge's poorschool, in the county of Wicklow, and from what had been learned of his principles from books; for I had observed defects beyond measure, in the common plans, both of domestic and school education, among the rich and the poor in these countries; and had never heard of any other, that seemed to offer even a reasonable foundation, for hoping that these defects could ever be remedied; yet this was not the prejudice of ignorance, but of knowledgethough, as yet, excessively imperfect.

Pestalozzi was all that I had conceived of him, and much more. His manner so inexpressibly kind and attractive-his address so simple, and yet so touching, even the tone of his voice so sweet, as my ears have never but once heard in my life-his very soul was in his words-his heart in bis expressions. In a moment one was at ease; feeling, that, though in the presence of a stranger, and that stranger one of the most distinguished, and truly great men of the age: there was no distance between us; that to love at all the cause, which occupied his whole thoughts, and to feel in the least like him, was all that was requisite to be intimate with him; or at least, if one could not cease to remember the immense interval, which, in the scale of intellect and of humanity, divided him from me and all ordinary men, I was able at once to feel, and speak, and act, as if, by long familiarity and co-operation, become his intimate friend, and an associate in his benevolent labours and important investigations. My heart never understood so well, if at all, until intimate with Pestalozzi, the immense inconceivable influence, which one human heart may have upon another, nor how irresistible is love. If you wish any one to love you, said he to me one day, you must first love him: there is no way of teaching love to another, or exciting its growth, except by loving him. It was in this way that God acted towards us, especially in sending his Son to die for us. It is in this way he acts still our wisdom is to imitate him. How can we lead others to act from a principle of love, except by our doing so? All labours are easy to love; and the mind exerts all its faculties more freely and strongly under its influence, than under any or all other motives combined, whether of duty or of fear.

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It is impossible, too, said he to me, for us to learn to love, except by loving: reasoning will not produce it: meditation does not necessarily augment it-the exertion of it alone causes itexercise alone increases it. Faith, said he to me, too, only grows by exercise. It is impossible to learn to believe, except by believing. The exercise of faith too, alone, enables us to grow stronger in faith. Until my intimacy with Pestalozzi, I never fully understood how the same principle, of growth and strength arising only from suitable nutriment and exercise, which is applicable to our bodily organization and mental powers, is no less applicable to all moral and spiritual considerations; and that mere reasonings and meditations, or considerations of expediencies or of fitness, or duty, or any moral suasion, or even prayer, without exercise, are in themselves unable to generate or produce, or increase the affections of the heart, either in love or faith, towards God or man, whether in ourselves or in others. The object itself, whether of love or of faith, and their exercise, and the diminution of opposing passions, are, as far as we are concerned, the sole means of their creation or growth. Thus-"Think not," said Pascal, "to increase your faith, by asking an increase of evidences, but seek rather to diminish the power of your passions, which oppose it." I now understand perfectly the mystery of Pestalozzi's immense influence over his pupils, and over all who came near him it was nothing but his imitation of God's conduct in loving us first; and that, even while we were yet enemies. It is now perfectly intelligible, why I have so often made my views clearer, as to the duty of loving others more than formerly, and yet failed to increase at all in love. The exercise of love alone is its increase. One can now comprehend why we have often prayed to the Lord for increase of faith or of love towards him, and yet not been answered. The prayer itself was not an exercise of faith or of love, but of a sense of duty, however clear. It neither increased faith or love, and of course could not be answered: for in truth the answer is here coincident with the prayer-" Believe that ye receive it, and ye shall have it." "We know that we have the petitions, that we asked"--are both explained by this view as clearly, as that muscular strength increases by labour:— and yet "Faith is the gift of God"—and, Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief;"-and, "Lord increase our faith”are as natural petitions, to the spiritual mind, as, "Give us this day our daily bread," is to both body, soul, and spirit.

""

You may remember, that it was once said by Dr. Johnson, of that eminent man, Burke, "That you could not stand three minutes in his company under a shed, in a shower of rain, without feeling that you were in the presence of one of the greatest men you had ever seen." I do not think that any individual could be for a quarter of an hour in conversation with Pestalozzi, without feeling, that he was the most simply benevolent, and unaffectedly good man he had ever beheld; or without being attached to him, so as he had never been to any other man, by a force pleasing and irresistible. Oh! Lord Jesus Christ, if the attractive power of love in the human heart of one sinner, be so great, so wonderful,

over another, how infinitely, how inconceivably strong must be the influence of thy love, could we but feel it as it is, or had we any thing corresponding in our own hearts! When shall we have nothing to oppose it?

In Pestalozzi's salutation, immediately on reading Mr. Synge's letter, in his manner of speaking of his fellow-labourers, there was a persuasive affection and gentleness, so natural, so unstudied, that it won me at once. And when afterwards I had an opportunity of witnessing his manner towards the pupils, I saw instantly how it was, that he obtained such an extent of influence over them and his associates, and such a return of affection from both. It was not the magic of a name; not the awe of a superior; not the reverence of a character, exalted in the world's estimation; not an inculcated discipline, which made his power over the affections of his children and friends so supreme, his persuasions so convincing, his encouragement so animating, his reproof so sensible ;-no, it was merely the vibration of heart to heart in unison, a natural result of feeling suitably and sympathetically excited and attracting. It was because Pestalozzi knew intuitively, and was able instinctively, in consequence of his own feelings, to touch the chords of the human lyre with human hands, guided by Christian principles, in imitation of a God of mercy and of grace, who is kind, even to the unthankful and evil, that he knew how to make them sound in symphony, not discordant, but harmonious with his own. He spoke also so feelingly of the recent unfortunate dissensions among his masters, with painful regret, but with no reproachfulness:-He said, that he had lately, in consequence, lost some of his best assistants and friends, yet mentioned no names; that he had lost much time, and that his Institution had been thrown back, and nearly ruined; that he had suffered for many months excessive anxiety, which had injured his health, and well nigh unfitted his brain for thinking, and obliged him to quit his residence for some time, and retire to perfect seclusion at Boulet, among the mountains of the Jura, from the contentious spirits that are in the world, and from the strife of tongues. He spoke with peculiar pleasure of the interest which many young persons, and especially those from Great Britain, were beginning to take in his plans;-said, that he was now near the end of his career, and must leave the accomplishments of his objects to others-he was old and feeble, and incapable of doing all, that in youth his mind had conceived, or in manhood his energy had attempted. He mentioned to me, one day, that formerly, while the war lasted, and when he heard of the enormous wealth of individuals in England, he often thought that he would be contented to have both his hands cut off, if only some rich Britons would take up his plans, and carry them into execution. Oh, that such a man should have been so long lost (as we judge) to the world, overwhelmed with misery and wretchedness, and want, and contempt, the victim of his own benevolence, the jest of all, who had not hearts to feel the nobleness of his objects, nor heads to comprehend the extent of his conceptions! "How unsearchable are the works of God, and

his ways past finding out!" This man was a treasure, which the world could not estimate, even when upon the point of losing him: his plans were not allowed to be put at all into execution, until his age was so far advanced, that he could not live to see them accomplished. His conceptions were prevented from expanding with all their native force, by distress and difficulty, until the time was nearly come, when his body was beginning to become incapable of subserving perfectly all the active powers of his mind: his projects were repeatedly blasted, when already whitening to the harvest. And at last came the loss of almost all his most important coadjutors, from disputes among themselves, when increasing age, and the pecuniary embarrassments of his Institution, rendered it impossible to remedy this loss, and supply their places. Let us wonder and adore. But, in that world to which we look, we shall know, why labour, even in the cause of humanity, is fatiguing and unsuccessful; why improvement in any plan to benefit mankind is slow, and sometimes apparently retrograde; why disappointments are needful, and even unselfish hopes fallacious; why benevolence fails of means; why old age cuts short the projects of philanthrophy; why talents lie buried; why so few can really unite heart and hand, solely to benefit mankind, and not fall out by the way; why men, who profess one common cause, cannot live together in unity; why prejudice is so strong on the side of error; why we can so seldom act with a simple heart, and a single eye, irrespective of the world's frown, or the world's applause, "looking off unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith."

What have we done? This man laboured from youth, until more than four-score years, to serve his brethren: he expended time, talents, labour, fortune, life, for what they called a phantasy, but which he foresaw a reality; disappointments only encouraged him; success did not elate him; praise made him not vain; opposition but enlivened him; contempt did not embitter him-" he sought not their's, but them." The poor were his portion, the ignorant his inheritance, the miserable his family, the evil his object, the Bible his rule, our Lord his pattern-Jesus bis sole judge. He was content to be but the precursor of the benefits, which his plans will entail on mankind, and to leave the glory unto others, who should enter into his labours, and had no anxious thought for fame or praise, either living or posthumous. But the time shall come, even before "the Lord maketh up his jewels," when the name of Pestalozzi shall shine upon the forehead of history, with a lustre as clear and bright, as the plate of pure gold, which shone upon the front of the holy crown of Aaron; and with a glory as brilliant as ever glittered in the annals of mere human benevolence. Never was there a man, who felt less solicitous about the future, provided he was assured, before he died, that he had given the impulse to human thought and human feeling in the right direction, and thus secured the benefits of his labours to the poor of his fellow-countrymen and fellow-crea

tures.

Poor Pestalozzi-I never saw the man, whom I could love so

much, or whom it was so impossible not to love increasingly. I could have given up my life to him. How much has he been mistaken and misrepresented! The man who used to spend an hour or two in the morning, after his brief rest, when he awoke long before the sun, in reading the Scriptures, while all his house were asleep, was called a Deist, because, like his Lord, he thought the sick needed a physician, and not the whole, and received all that came to him, whatever was their state, spiritually or mentally. The man, who called the Lord Jesus Christ Almighty, in his writings, and addressed prayers to him, was called a Unitarian, because some Socinians in this country happened to see the beauty of his plans, and had sense enough to understand, and benevolence enough publicly to applaud and recommend them. The man who was born and educated in an age, and a country, where Protestantism was corrupted, and Christianity attacked, and who yet throughout his life had held to the Bible, was condemned by English Christians, because, though holding all the essentials of Christianity, the Trinity, the Atonement, man's utter sinfulness and helplessness, justification by faith, and the influence of the Spirit; and though manifesting their influence in his conduct, incomparably more than we do, he did not, from want of the same religious advantages that England now possesses, speak on these subjects in the same set terms, that what is called the religious world here adopts. Well is it for us that the Lord looks upon the heart, and seeth not as man seeth, and that a man is "accepted according to what he hath, and not according to what he hath not."

(To be Continued.)

MEMOIRS OF ANDREW SALL.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER.

Having perused lately that interesting and valuable work of the Rev. Christopher Anderson, entitled, " Historical Sketches of the Native Irish and their Descendants," (a work which appears to me deserving of a review in your periodical,) I therein saw a Dr. Sall noticed, as one of those pious individuals who exerted themselves in the seventeenth century, to promote religious knowledge amongst the Irish, through the medium of their own language. And aware that this was the identical Andrew Sall, whose "conversion," according to Protestants, whose " doleful fall," as the Romanists termed it, caused such a sensation at the period of its occurrence, I have endeavoured to collect matter for a biographical notice of this now almost forgotten man; and though the result of my inquiry has been far from satisfactory, yet, were it for no other purpose, but to open the way for the admission of more interesting and ample biographical notices of Irishmen in your EXAMINER-I request the insertion of the following pages.

Romish writers and orators have often boasted, that no upright, intelligent, consistent, and permanent convert from them, has ever