you, the temptation will arise among them to be dissatisfied with your ministry, and, however good they are, they will feel their superiority, and others will perceive it too, and then your place in the church will become very difficult to hold." We felt the common sense of the observation, and the spur was useful. The sermons of the day were homely, very homely in style, and pre-eminently practical. We remember his reading the narrative of Naaman the Syrian, and his pithy comments thereon; but one thing above all others fixed itself upon our memory, and when we heard of the good man's departure it came before us with great vividness; he told us anecdotes of the usefulness of addressing individuals one by one about their souls, and urged the duty upon us with great earnestness, quoting again and again from the life of a certain HARLAN PAGE. From that day to this, being busy with a thousand matters, we have never looked up the biography which he so strongly recommended; but though it must be now some three and twenty years ago since we heard the sermon, our first thought, when we learned of the death of Cornelius Elven, was HARLAN PAGE. We sent at once for the little book, and it has refreshed us greatly to read it; and as we wish every reader of The Sword and the Trowel to know all about HARLAN PAGE, we take this early opportunity of advising them to get the little book from the Religious Tract Society. Perhaps many of our friends will smile and reply, "We read the book years ago," and our answer will be, "Then read it again." Our own belief is that a book which is popular with one generation is often forgotten by the next, and that it is a good thing to bring it again under notice. We do not know of a more stimulating work for the common run of Christians, or one more likely to be of lasting service to them; and therefore with more than common earnestness we press its perusal upon all who value our judgment.

Mr. Harlan Page was an American mechanic of very ordinary abilities, who laid himself out to win souls for Jesus by personal conversations and by writing letters to individuals. His success was great, and, though he was no preacher, his power for good far exceeded that of most ministers. He lived only to lead sinners to Jesus, and probably brought himself to an early but honourable grave by the zeal which burned within his soul, and quite consumed him. He was no orator, but he knew how to pray and prevail. To gather children into the Sabbath-schools, to speak to wayfarers, to importune the careless, and encourage seekers-these were his daily occupations in every instant that he could spare from his workshop. One of his first efforts was to give away little cards, upon which he had printed striking words of warning to the impenitent, and his last office was in connection with the Tract Society of New York, which was happy enough to secure his priceless services. His whole biography is full of pleasing incidents of usefulness, but we have thought it best, instead of attempting to abridge the whole, to give our readers parts of a chapter of the work, which may be regarded as a summary of the whole; and having thus introduced Harlan Page, we will let his actions speak for themselves.

"It may not be unimportant to bring together some of the characteristics of his efforts to honour Christ in the salvation of individuals

as illustrated in the preceding history. It was the burden of his heart, and the purpose of his life. When engaged in his usual business, the religious welfare of persons, with whose state he had become acquainted, was generally pressing on his mind; and it is now known, that for several years before he died, he almost always had by him a memorandum of the names and residences of a few individuals with whom he was to converse. On these he would call, as he went to and from his office, or religious meetings; and if no names were on his list, he felt that he was doing little good. He also uniformly had in his hat some awakening tracts, that he might present as he should judge them adapted to the state of those he met. Not unfrequently he would seize a few moments from his usual occupation, to go out and address some individual; and when the business of the day was closed, he hastened to some meeting or other religious engagement for the evening. It is believed that an entire month has frequently elapsed, during which he did not sit down for an hour, even in the bosom of his own family, to relax his mind, or rest. Every evidence of good accomplished gave him new joy; and every opening for usefulness added a new impulse to his efforts. He felt that, under God, the eternal joy or woe of immortal souls depended on his fidelity. Each evening and each hour brought its duties, which he felt could not be neglected or postponed. The present duty was still before him; and though "faint" he was still pursuing." His labours on the Sabbath were not less exhausting than on other days, and he doubtless thus failed of obtaining that "compensation for toil" which the animal constitution requires, and which is essential to a long life.

When urged, at the close of a day of fatigue, to spare himself and spend the evening at home, he would say, "Don't attempt to persuade me away from duty. I have motive enough within myself to tempt me to enjoy repose with my family; but that will not save souls." A little previous to his last sickness, as he returned from church, coughing, he was asked if he had not spoken too much in the Sabbath-school: "Perhaps I have," he replied, "but how could I help it, when all eyes were fixed, and the children seemed to devour every word I said?"

It was not uncommon, at different periods of his life, for him in sleep to imagine himself addressing the impenitent, and to wake in a high state of excitement and in tears, occasioned by the deep sympathy he felt for their perishing condition. It is also known, that, when he saw no manifestations of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, he would be at times in deep distress, would wrestle more abundantly in prayer, renew his efforts to arouse Christians to duty, and awaken the impenitent; and, more or less, conversions were almost always the result. In short, it was not the great object of his spiritual life himself to be happy in religion, but rather by persevering labours and holy selfdenial-like the apostle who testified that he died daily to glorify God in winning souls to him. He ardently desired to devote the whole undivided efforts of his life to this work, and nothing but the duty of providing for the support of his family prevented it.

He had the most clear view of the necessity to every man of being born again. As soon as an individual came into his presence it seemed to be the first question of his mind, "Is this a friend or an enemy of

God?" The next thing was, if impenitent, to do something for his conversion, or, if a Christian, to encourage him in duty. Whatever else he saw in an individual, he felt that it availed him nothing unless he had received Christ into his heart by a living faith. This he felt and urged to be the sinner's first, great, and only duty in which he could be acceptable to God. This was exemplified at a meeting of his Sabbath-school teachers, when he called on each to know whether he thought he had a well-grounded hope in Christ or not, and recorded their several replies. Among them was an amiable young merchant, whom he highly respected, and who seemed not far from the kingdom of God.

"Have you a hope?" he tenderly inquired.

"No, sir," was the reply.

"Then I am to put down your name as having no hope?" "Yes, sir."

"Well, I write down your name as having no hope."

The young man pondered on this decision and record of his spiritual state; was troubled, and soon came to our brother, saying, "I told you to put me down as having no hope, but I cannot say that." He is now a member of the church, and a decided supporter of all her institutions.

He brought his efforts to bear upon individuals, and followed up impressions made. All the triumphs of the gospel, he knew, consist in the conversion and sanctification of individuals; and he was not satisfied with merely praying and contributing for the salvation of the world as a whole, or having a general impression made on the minds of a congregation. His intense desire was, that individuals should be turned from sin to God. Not unfrequently he would observe in the congregation a person unknown to him, who seemed to give solemn attention to divine truth; ascertain who he was, and seek a personal interview; and, in all cases, if he left an individual to-day in an interesting state of mind, he would endeavour to see him again to-morrow, and follow up the impression at brief intervals, till there was no longer encouragement, or he had evidence of true conversion.

He had a clear sense of obligation, both in the sinner to repent, and in the Christian to devote all his powers to God. He felt, and laboured to make others feel, that if any one neglected duty, the guilt was all his own; that God was ever ready to receive the returning prodigal; and that if any withheld their hearts, or aught they possessed from him, in the day of judgment they would be speechless. This sense of obligation he urged with unabating fervour. His heart was intent that it should be felt, and immediately carried out in an entire consecration to God.

"Brother," said he to a Christian who watched with him, "when you meet impenitent sinners, do not merely say calmly, Friend, you are in danger;' but approach them with a holy violence, and labour to 'pull them out of the fire.' They are going to perdition. There is a heaven and a hell."

As a brother from Boston, to whom several of his letters were addressed, had called, and was about taking leave, he asked the dying man if he had any particular thought on his mind to express as he

bade them farewell. "Ah! I can say nothing," he replied, "but what has been repeated over and over; but could I raise my voice to reach a congregation of sinners, I would tell them, their feet shall slide in due time-they shall slide '—there is no escape but by believing in Christ."

เ

He not only endeavoured to alarm impenitent men, but to bring them to a decision that they will be the Lord's.

While in his native place, he was absent one evening till so late an hour that his wife remonstrated with him for unreasonably tasking his own health, and separating himself from home. "I have spent this time," said he, "in trying to persuade your poor impenitent brother to give his heart to Christ." That impenitent brother was soon brought to accept of mercy, pursued a course of theological study, and is now serving God in the ministry.

On another occasion, while residing in New York, he had gone to a religious meeting, and returned late in the evening, when he was reminded of the danger that his protracted efforts might be more than he could ultimately sustain. "I have been standing this hour," was his reply, "at the corner of the street, labouring with Mr. H(one of the teachers of his Sabbath-school), and trying to persuade him to submit to God." Within a few hours the young man found peace, soon resumed his studies, which he had been pursuing for other ends, and he is now a devoted minister of Christ, gathering a flourishing church in one of the principal cities of the west. A letter from this young clergyman, received as these sheets were going to press, thus confirms this brief statement :

"The name of brother Page will ever be associated in my mind with all that is worthy of imitation in the Christian character. By the persuasions of an acquaintance, I was induced to engage as teacher in his Sabbath-school; and though I was then destitute of faith, he welcomed me, and won my confidence and love. Very soon he began to address me with the utmost apparent tenderness and anxiety in reference to my own salvation. His words sunk deep into my heart. They were strange words; for though I had lived among professors of religion, he was the first who, for nine or ten years, had taken me by the hand, and kindly asked, 'Are you a Christian? Do you intend to be a Christian ?' 'Why not now?' Each succeeding Sabbath brought him to me with anxious enquiries after my soul's health. On the third or fourth Sabbath he gave me the tract, 'Way to be saved,' which deepened my impressions. At his request I also attended a teachers' prayer-meeting, conducted by him, where my soul was bowed down and groaned under the load of my guilt. At the close of the meeting, Mr. Page took my arm as we proceeded on our way to our respective homes, and urged upon me the duty and privilege of an immediate surrender of my heart to Christ. As we were about to part, he held my hand; and at the corner of the street, in a wintry night, stood pleading with me to repent of sin and submit to God. I returned to my home, and for the first time in many years bowed my knees in my chamber before God, and entered into a solemn covenant to serve him henceforth in and through the gospel of his Son. God was pleased, I trust, by his Holy Spirit, to seal my vows. If I have since had any

Christian joy, or done anything to advance the cause of Christ, it is to be attributed to the Divine blessing on the faithfulness of brother Page."

He expected success from God, through the blessing of the Holy Spirit, in answer to prayer. He felt that humble, self-denying effort, made in God's strength, he would own and bless; but that for this he would be "enquired of" by his people. He loved prayer. Besides prayers at social meetings, with the families and individuals he visited, and on special occasions, frequently recurring, he regularly not only conducted family worship, accompanied by singing, but every morning and evening prayed with his wife as they retired and rose, and also poured out his heart to God alone in the closet. For the latter duty, when in his native place, he often retired to a consecrated spot in a grove, near his father's house. If one of the household were about to take a journey, the family assembled and commended each other to God, which was frequently done on other occasions of special interest. His prayers were usually short and fervent, and confined mainly to those topics which pressed with special force upon his mind. At all times prayer seemed to be a privilege, and the throne of grace a restingplace, and a solace to his heart. There is no doubt that it was by continual and fervent prayer that he imbibed that glowing sense of eternal things, that love to souls, and that heavenly unction which were at once the spring of his fidelity, and, under God, the ground of

his success.

So anxious was he that there should be more prayer in the churches, and such were his hopes, that, if the duty were properly presented, it would be felt and practised, that he united with a brother, whose means were as limited as his own, in paying fifty dollars as a premium for a tract on prayer-himself drawing out minutely various hints to guide those who might write.

In his mind there was no jarring conflict between perfect obligation on the part of man, and perfect dependence in his relations to God. He knew both were revealed, momentous, eternal truths, and left all embarrassing questions of their consistency to be settled by God himself. It was enough to hear God speak, and to obey. He prayed as if all the efficiency and praise were God's, and laboured as if duty were all his own. His sense of dependence threw him on his knees, and his sense of duty summoned him to effort; and prayer and effort, and effort and prayer, were the business of his life. Blessed day to the church when this endless source of contention and controversy shall thus be settled in every Christian's heart!

He was uniform and unwearied. I know not who has made or heard the charge of inconsistency in his Christian character. Those who knew him best, best knew how supreme in his heart was the business of glorifying God in the salvation of men. I have well considered the assertion when I say, that, during nine years in which we were associated in labours, I do not know that I ever passed an interview with him long enough to have any interchange of thought and feeling, in which I did not receive from him an impulse heavenward-an impulse onward in duty to God and the souls of men. No assembly, even of professed Christians, from which the spirituality of religion was