by the church to go to Harpswell. I dare not refuse to go; at the same
time I do not see how I can go.... I have this day endeavored to cast
my burden on the Lord, feeling that as He has sent me to Harpswell,
He will provide me with a way of getting there and enable me to do
my necessary work. And I have resolved to trace and set down the
different steps by which I am led and to mark the finger of God in them
all.
[Sidenote: Sabbath, June 18, 1882.]
I have preached half a day and the people seemed to make much effort to
get to meeting, and seemed, I thought, very tender.
[Sidenote: April 2, 1884.]
In the evening went to see ---- ---- and had a most pleasant evening. I
believe I can do good in that family.
[Sidenote: April 17, 1884.]
This afternoon I went to the college. Found a new student, Morton, who
comes to meeting, and he invited me to his room. Saw B---- and gave him
a hint about his soul.
[Sidenote: June 18, 1884.]
I had my barley on the ground and by working through the afternoon
and getting to Topsham the last moment could have sowed it, but my
conscience told me that was not in the spirit of the resolutions made
the Sabbath before. Corrupt nature said, “It is duty to get your
bread.” I was enabled to say, “Corruption, go about your business, my
business is with God.” I went to my knees, made preparation for the
Friday night meeting, and was enabled by grace, on a pleasant, sunny
afternoon at four o’clock, to turn my back cheerfully on my work and go
to Topsham.
[Sidenote: June 28, 1884.]
I finished sowing barley to-day, and I knelt down on the ground and
prayed to God that as I had used my own judgment to the best advantage,
had taken the advice of others, had worked diligently, and had not
neglected my duty to Him that He would be pleased to bless this crop
sown so late and under so many disadvantages and give me from it some
good returns.
[Sidenote: Nov. 26, 1885.]
Rose early. Prayed with my wife, provided for her comforts, and started
for Topsham. About four or five inches of snow, the first of the
season, all blown in heaps, the ground frozen, wind northeast by north.
A cold ride. Got to the Baptist house in time.... I thank God I have
done my duty. I have since coming home prayed for Harpswell and have
been to the old willows and to the rock in the field and thanked God.
Oh, my God, I thank Thee that I have for the first time since my mother
died eaten a Thanksgiving dinner in this house, and the first time
since I was married, all the intervening winters being spent in Boston
and Thanksgiving observed in a hired house. I ate Thanksgiving in this
room with my blessed mother for whom I built this house, to provide a
happy home for her in her old age, in November, 1849, thirty-six years
ago, and have never eaten a Thanksgiving dinner here with my wife till
to-day, though we have been married thirty-one years; and never with
my children who were born in Boston where we have resided since our
marriage with the exception of the summers spent here. But I have never
formed any attachment to Boston. Here is my home. I cut the greater
part of the timber of this house with my own hands, had a hard struggle
to build it, and a harder to keep it. I thank God this night I am in it
once more. God give me a grateful heart.
[Sidenote: Nov. 27, 1885.]
I have been wont to kneel at the threshold when I went out in the
morning for the first time. It seems natural, loving, and right in
every way to ask God’s blessing the first thing before touching
the world’s work, and when I do it, the day’s efforts always seem
successful.
[Sidenote: Nov. 29, 1885.]
God in great mercy has relieved me of my cold and given me an exchange
at Harpswell, so that I preached to my old people. I have had a fire in
my study, read my mother’s Bible, visited the old willows, the rock,
the old maple, the Skolfield barn, the burnt tree, all my old praying
spots, and read over the “record of the years of the right hand of the
Most High.”
[Sidenote: May 19, 1886.]
Went to the old pine, read the Word at the foot of it, and prayed for
wisdom. It did me good. My heart warmed to the spot. Went to Knowlton;
he was very kind, left his recitations, and got me the book I wanted.
[Sidenote: July 4, 1886.]
Rose at six-thirty. Prayed and gave thanks. I strove to put myself
into the hand of God. Mr. Little came for me in a chaise. We went to
my father’s old church where I prayed and pronounced the benediction.
At two-thirty we went to the city hall. About two thousand people were
there. I spoke twenty-one minutes to the apparent satisfaction of
those who listened and those who brought me here, and the friends and
benefactors who have stood by me in my trouble. I call upon my soul
and all that is within me to bless the holy name of God who has turned
this thing I so dreaded into an ovation, and has given me strength,
patience, and perseverance to prepare for it under the pressure of work
and still not neglect anything.... I thank God that in this city where
I was born, where my father preached so many years, I have received
from the city authorities so much respect, they sending a carriage for
my wife and me, honoring me as his son, and fulfilling the promise of a
covenant-keeping God, who declares that He will show mercy unto those
that love Him even unto the third and fourth generations. I cannot
express my feelings of gratitude that I who so tried him and my mother
have been made by God the means of honoring their memory.
[Sidenote: July 6, 1886.]
Rose early. Prayed and gave thanks. A carriage was sent to take my
wife and me to the city hall to listen to the oration by Hon. Thomas
B. Reed. I was given a seat beside him. From there we went to a clam
bake on Long Island, and there I met and had much talk with Phillips
Brooks. In the evening we went to the last meeting, which consisted
in a general talk on reminiscences. Thus has closed this Portland
centennial. I have here received the most kindly attention, not only
from religious people, but from the civil authorities; have been
introduced to a great many people who have read my books and who have
spoken “Spartacus,” Phillips Brooks among the rest. I now humbly thank
God and ask Him to keep me.... Went to see Mr. Ezra Carter; he is
confined to his bed. He was very glad to see me. There was not time to
see him and go to my parents’ graves where I wanted to thank God for
the manner in which my father’s name had been honored in me. But Ezra
Carter has been my friend for years. He helped me put my father in his
coffin, and was for years his friend, and therefore, as I could not
do both, I thought it would be more acceptable to God to comfort the
living than to pray at the grave of the dead.
[Sidenote: Oct. 19, 1886.]
Oh, how great is the goodness of God to me! I have been to-day keeping
thanksgiving in my closet and in the sanctuary; though having extra
duties, I have found much time to pour out my soul in thanksgiving to
God. I have been looking back upon the sea of providential mercies and
noting the most prominent ones, but oh, it is all mercies. The trials
have brought forth mercies. I should never have known what God is if He
had not known my soul in adversities. He has been around my path in the
daytime, my couch at night.
[Sidenote: Nov. 7, 1886.]
This has been to me a most interesting, peaceful, and solemn Sabbath.
It is with us a day of Sacrament. At the conference yesterday I chose
this subject for my remarks: “Open thou thy mouth and I will fill it.”
It touched every chord of my soul. Indeed, I have of all persons to
open my mouth wide, for my necessities are very great. The purport of
the whole text and context is that of a Being so magnificent in all His
attributes, so infinite in His fulness, that we may, and are encouraged
to, ask great favors. And on the strength of it, after looking over the
record of God’s mercies in my journal for the past six years, I went
to the altar where I have administered the communion and threw myself
upon the mercy of God and opened my mouth wide and asked Him for His
name’s sake through Christ to put me in a way of paying my debts that
are such a dishonor to His cause, as I have consecrated my labor to Him
and work only for daily bread and to pay my debts.... I also asked Him
to grant me His Holy Spirit to interpret aright the indications of His
providence, for I surely do not wish to be a revelation to myself. I
cannot judge of their bearing on the present or the future. His written
revelations would be a sealed book to me without His spirit, and so
will the unwritten of His providence. I can see that preparation for
another year may have very important bearing on my stay here and on my
attempting to write a book: two things which have sadly perplexed me,
and which I am waiting and praying for the providence of God to solve,
as He has by His providence solved so many other things and brought me
out of so many difficulties which in prospect seemed insurmountable.
I feel now glad that Mr. Kendall did not come for me to preach at
Bowdoinham, though I sadly needed the money; for I feel that I have
seen my Father’s face, and I mean to mark the way by which He leads
me and take every step with prayer. God, in mercy withhold me from
attempting or even desiring to work any deliverance of my own. I now
prepare for the evening service.... I have just returned. The meeting
was full of young people. I certainly have no reason to complain of my
audience, though they may have of me. God bless them. I do not dread
this week so much as I did. God grant my first thought may be directed
to Him. Glory to God for this pleasant Sabbath.
[Sidenote: Sept. 29, 1887.]
Rose early, prayed, and gave thanks. Hauled in the forenoon all the
rocks required. Mr. Getchell finished at noon. In the afternoon I
took him to Brunswick, paid him, got my lime and sand, and got home by
dark. I have knelt down beside the wall that is now finished and humbly
thanked God for doing this kindness to me, for He has done it. Blessed
be God for the mercies of this day.
[Sidenote: Oct. 25, 1887.]
Rose early. Prayed at the hearthstone and the threshold. John came. We
sawed, split, and hauled the wood. The old house windows surprised him.
We then prepared the horses, and at noon John went home. Though pressed
with work, I felt prompted to go to the burnt tree and went to that
and to the old maple and thanked God and prayed for little Frank. Made
my fires and the company began to come. They poured in with full hands
and warm hearts to the number of eighty or more. Surely God’s dealing
with me in most unthought-of ways. Glory to God for the mercies of the
twenty-fifth of October.
[Sidenote: April 25, 1889.]
This has been the day of the National Fast, but has been more of a
thanksgiving than a fast to me, although I have abstained from food and
striven to humble myself before God.
[Sidenote: Nov. 25, 1889.]
Went to the Skolfield barn, prayed, and then with a tackle and much
contrivance put my ox cart on the scaffold. I then took the wheels
from the axle, and stowed them and the axletree away below. It took me
a long time, and was hard work. William and his boy and myself would
have done it in ten minutes, but as they thought and said I could
not do it, I did. If it had been twenty years ago, I should have got
help; but a person situated as I am--in debt, and having to begin life
anew--must not show any sign of failure of strength or energy. I did
it not for vanity but on calculation, as a duty. Especially is the sin
of old age fatal to a minister.... I am now going to treat myself to a
little agricultural reading.
[Sidenote: Letter to Dr. George P. Jefferds of Bangor, Oct. 24, 1890.]
... I am well and can preach and work and do all that I ever could, but
I have become deaf so that I cannot do anything in a social meeting....
My people have retained their affection for me as strong as ever.
It was a love match at the beginning, and so it has continued; the
children and grandchildren have followed suit. I never have regretted
going to Harpswell, and I do not regret that I wrote the books; for if
I have reaped nothing, I have abundant testimony that I have scattered
good seed in virgin soil.... I am more than glad that I learned to farm
in my youth, and that I have all these years kept up my habits of
labor, that I can do any kind of farm labor and take care of cattle,
for otherwise I should not at this time have a place to put my head.
I am writing you to-night before an old-time open fire, and I cut in
the woods the fuel which feeds it. I am thankful that deafness is no
bar to labor nor to writing. If it were not for the illness of my wife,
I believe I should write a book this winter.... I send you with this
letter a copy of the Commencement number of the _Orient_, by which you
will see that Bowdoin boys feel their oats and have aspired to govern
themselves. May God bless old Jeff, and may his shadow never grow less.
[Sidenote: Letter to son, June 1, 1893.]
You may be assured it is from no lack of affection or sympathy with
you in your mishap that I have not written before, but a complication
of circumstances, some of them of a very sad nature, has rendered it
impossible. In the first place, I strained my heel cord either by
jumping out of the wagon or by wearing a very tight congress boot, and
had to limp around for about ten days, but am all right now. Don’t you
think, the second night it was done, just as I was going to bed, two
men came from Bailey Island for me to attend a funeral the next day at
two o’clock. I told them it was impossible as I could with greatest
difficulty hobble to the barn. They said there was no minister in town
but me, and if I did not go, the person would have to be buried without
any service. Upon that I told them to go to John Randall’s and tell him
to come over in the morning, and take me to the intervale point where
they must meet me with a boat. John came; we rode to the point. John
took me in his arms and put me into the boat. When we were across, two
men, one on each side, led me to the house; when we got to the doorstep
one of them said, “Mr. Kellogg, do you think you will be able to
preach?” I replied, “Put me before the people, and the Lord will tell
me what to say.” The next morning my foot and leg were swollen to the
knee, and I could not get on a rubber boot, but had to wear arctics....
I am all right now, however, and carried a bushel of apples on my back
to-day.
I put the harness on the colt this week for the first time since the
10th of last August, the week before I was hurt, and he behaved so
well that I had to give him some sugar. I have cleaned him all up,
combed his hair and washed his face, and he goes to school every day.
He is a strapping great fellow and full of grit.
[Sidenote: Letter to son, Dec. 1, 1893.]
It is a rainy evening and I take it to write to you. Yesterday was a
most lovely day. I went to George Dunning’s to dinner. Frank’s wife
gave us a splendid dinner,--turkey, pudding, pies, and fruit, grapes
and oranges. Betsy was quite disappointed; she meant to have me, but
Frank got the start of her and invited me about the middle of the
month. I let Delia go home right after breakfast, and told her I would
get my supper. I came home from George Dunning’s about three o’clock,
took care of the cattle and got an early supper, and had a long evening
alone; that was just what I wanted and was planning for. I never can
feel that Thanksgiving Day should be all taken up with eating and
merriment. I never spent a happier evening than I did last evening in
looking over the year, and in praising God for what He has done for me.
I have food, fuel, and clothing, and food for my cattle that have come
to the barn in excellent order. Let us be grateful. Gladness is not
always gratitude.
I have been to Brunswick and preached to the students in Memorial Hall.
I will send you and Mary both a notice of it. There are two magazines
and you can exchange them. I feel quite happy that I have got through
with the students. They checkmated me. I did not want to go and did
not mean to, but Dr. Mason, the minister at Brunswick, and President
Hyde wrote me and backed them up, and also the Brunswick people who
gave me a good deal at the donation and have for several years followed
suit; I had to give in. I was afraid I should not be able to see in the
evening, as the hall is very large and I have been preaching in a small
house for two years; but there was no trouble. It was a splendid light
and I had the service all in my own hands; no responsive readings. The
students did the singing and gave me two anthems. After it was all
over, I had to shake hands with twenty-five or thirty, and President
Hyde said he could hear every word.
The town has made a road to the Lookout. They are going to build a
wharf in the spring, and the Mere Point boat will run there. It will
be of no benefit. It will bring a Sunday boat, rum, and tramps of all
kinds.
[Sidenote: Letter to son, March 29, 1894.]
I am glad you are having such good weather, and that you are enjoying
yourself setting out fruit trees. You can see now why it is that I am
so much attached to this spot. I have been through just what you are
going through now. I am eating the fruit of the trees I have planted
and grafted, and am sheltered by them in the winter and sit under their
shadow in the summer. Such labors attach us in a most singular manner
to the spot we have improved. The trees seem almost like children.
[Sidenote: Letter to son, Jan. 22, 1895.]
You ought to have been here to take supper with us last night. I got a
peck of large clams. Fannie baked the most of them and we set to work
tooth and nail. I never ate so many before in my life at one time. I
was almost afraid to go to bed, but I had a good night’s sleep and
experienced no trouble. We have had very cold weather till the last
week when it has been moderate. Until last Thursday I have not been to
Brunswick since the week before Christmas. The Sundays have been so
stormy that we could not have meetings, and I never preached my New
Year’s sermon till last Sunday which was a very pleasant day.
I have before me two letters both from different places in New York
State and from men who have made their mark in the world, who attribute
their success in life to the influence of my books. I had almost made
up my mind to send them to you. Such letters do me good. I at one time
used to fear that I had done wrong in devoting so much time to writing
that might have been given to preaching the Gospel, but I have of late
had so many letters of this kind that I feel differently, especially
when I consider how many more persons a book reaches than a sermon.
I have never been so pleasantly situated since my great loss in parting
with your mother as I am now. I have food, fuel, raiment, and health.
There has not been a Sabbath since I was hurt that I have not been able
to preach, nor a single day in the week that I have not been able to
take care of my cattle and do all my work. I am sure this is something
to thank God for. It is wealth without riches. Is it not something to
thank God for to have so many friends, so many to love you and wish you
well, and feel that you have been able to benefit them? When I looked
over that assembly of a hundred and twenty-five persons last fall at
the donation, many of them the grandchildren of old friends, and when I
look at Fannie sitting here ready to anticipate all my wants, and doing
all in her power to make me happy, and think here is the grandchild of
Pennell Alexander, one of my earliest and best friends, I feel that
life is worth living, at least for me.
[Sidenote: Letter to son, Dec. 3, 1895.]
Thirty years ago, Alcott Merriman died and left four young children
fatherless and motherless. He was a great friend of mine, and I kept
run of the children. Fourteen years ago Irving, the youngest, was
taking me down to Potts’s, and I entered into conversation with him
and urged him to give his heart to God. He received it so kindly that
I began to pray for him and the other three boys, Alcott, John, and
Paul Sprague, and have prayed for them ever since some time every day.
Alcott was converted and is a member of my church; Irving was taken
very sick a few months ago. I went to see him and found that he had not
forgotten the conversation fourteen years ago, and was then praying
for himself. I became intensely interested in him. I wanted him to get
well. I asked my church and many others to pray for him, that God would
forgive his sins and raise him up. I went to see him every week. He
lived almost down to Potts’s and the going has been bad. God did not
see fit to raise him up, but He gave him a new and wonderful peace of
mind. I wish you a happy New Year....
[Sidenote: Letter to son, Jan. 1, 1896.]
Perhaps you recollect Mr. McKeen, the president of the alumni of
Bowdoin College, who introduced me at the centennial. He sent _The
Outlook_ for a year and five dollars as a Christmas present. He is the
man who owns Jewel’s Island. It seems to me as if God had been with
every step I have taken all this month. Everything I have put my hand
to has prospered. I have my whole winter stock of wood under cover.
Since I was injured I have always ridden to the afternoon meeting, but
all this month and part of last I have walked. My fodder corn held
out till the tenth of November. I have plenty of hay and my people
seem to love me better than ever. I hated to part with the old year;
it has been a pleasant year to me.... The missionary society got so
poor in the hard times that they gave notice that they must cut down
twenty-five per cent the churches which they helped, but they did not
cut me down; was not that remarkable? Thus you see I have a Shepherd
who watches over me.
[Sidenote: Letter to daughter Mary, Jan. 25, 1899.]
Though I have not written to you for a long time, you have seldom
been out of my thoughts. I never had so many engagements as of
late,--funerals, weddings, and letters that must be written. There
were two persons, a brother and sister by the name of Chaplin from
Georgetown, Massachusetts, who have visited here several years and have
always been very constant at meeting. They were here the first Sunday
in August when I preached in the old church where I preached my first
sermon to the Harpswell people fifty-five years ago. At Christmas they
sent me a most kind letter and a present of handkerchiefs and neckties.
I think I will send you the letter that you may know what friends I
have among the summer visitors....
George Dunning is dead. I shall miss him very much; we have been
near neighbors and friends for more than half a century. There were
seventy-five persons that got together, hewed out and raised the frame
of my house when I came here to live, and George Barnes and Stover
Pennell are all that are left of them....
Deafness is a great deprivation; it cuts me off from exchanging and
going from home to preach. I go up to the college, but President Hyde
sits beside me and keeps me from making blunders. I wanted to give up
preaching three years ago, but our folks said they had rather hear me
pronounce the benediction than any one else preach a whole sermon. I
thank God for the love of my people even to the third generation.... I
went to Betsy’s Thanksgiving to dinner, spent the rest of the day in
praising God for the great measure of strength He has given me this
winter and courage to face the weather and do a good deal of work; also
for the help He has given me in hard places.... Thus I had a most happy
day with my Maker and Benefactor who has held the tangled thread of
my life all these years, who has by His providence preserved me from
perishing in some of those harebrained, presumptuous freaks into which
my reckless nature led me. I look back upon it all with astonishment
and with gratitude. I can hardly realize that I once tied up one-fourth
of a pound of powder and the same quantity of saltpeter and sulphur,
and because the fuse I had fastened to it would not ignite, held it
in my fingers and put a fire coal to it with the other hand. I was
fearfully burnt; all the skin came off from my face, hands, and throat.
But God had some better use for me when that courage was needed in His
service. God bless you, my child!
[Sidenote: To daughter Mary, April 26, 1899.]
I am glad that you have named the little one Hugh. I trust that he will
grow up to inherit not only the name, but the virtues and qualities
of the old stock.... I am alone and have been for a month. It was a
great trial to me losing Esther; she was like a daughter to me and
anticipated all my wants. I trust the good Father who has thus far
provided for me will continue His paternal care.... I have outlived a
multitude of good friends and helpers, but the great Friend, He of whom
other friends are the instruments, is everlasting.
[Sidenote: Letter to son, June 25, 1900.]