Part 10

With all his love for the beautiful Birch Island just across the narrow channel of the bay, which he had begun to frequent when a college boy, he had an inclination--or what the French call a “penchant,” both a leaning and a drawing--toward the wild and odd. This had led him to carry his boat voyages around to the east side of Harpswell, amidst some very bad ledges and boisterous seas, across to Ragged Island. This has only a little boat-harbor, and is so difficult of access, so storm-lashed and grim, that it was believed to have been, if not still to be, a resort for those who had reason to avoid the customs officers and agents of the courts, and not less implacable creditors. A curious impulse to know more about such a place led Mr. Kellogg to make acquaintance with this weird fastness in the seas, and the very eccentric character who at that time made his dwelling there. It is said that he even bought a half interest in the island. Many queer stories have come down from that passage in his experience,--chiefly of his quickness at repartee when some self-sufficient wight thought to pose him with a sea-dog witticism; and of his skill in restoring strong, rude friendships so quickly broken by some fancied disregard of the extreme sensibilities of the longshoreman’s personal code. His influence upon that class of men was wonderful, owing to their absolute faith in his integrity and absence of self-seeking. As to his Ragged Island proprietorship, whether he sold out or was sold out, the result would be about the same to him. It was possibly such business ventures as this which deepened the embarrassment in balancing his accounts.

In the course of this varied struggle things came to such a pass that he made known his condition to some of his most intimate friends. His farm was heavily mortgaged,--in fact for about all it was worth,--and the mortgage note was overdue and payment rigorously demanded. His home was in danger, and he seemed quite broken up about it. In a very private way this payment was provided for, and the mortgage taken off. It was a day of deep revelations when this burden was lifted, and he returned to a home which was in the dispensations of both law and gospel his own. Nor was it any great surprise to hear it said that it was mortgaged again not long afterwards. That would be the natural outcome of habits he indulged in, of which a characteristic story may be an example. His self-forgetfulness was of so obvious a character that his neighbors saw fit to provide a fine new overcoat to cover one mark of this deficiency. Putting it on one cold day soon afterwards to drive to Brunswick, he met a poor fellow, gaunt and thin as to flesh or other covering, poking his way down the Neck to something he called home. Plain greetings were exchanged, when Mr. Kellogg exclaimed rather than questioned, “Tom, haven’t you any better clothes than that!”--”No, Parson Kellogg,” came the apology, “I hain’t got no others at all!” Off came the new overcoat, with the Kellogg outcome, “Take this, then; you need it more than I do!” throwing it over him and driving out of reach of the astonished man’s protest, left to the necessity of keeping the garment for the present, and the possibly not disagreeable reflection that it would be of no use to try to give it back at any time. The absolute verity of this story in every detail has not been vouched for; but the fact of its general acceptance among the people shows that it was true to nature,--that is to say, “Just like Elijah!” Anyway, the story goes to prove his recognized character.

All this time he was strictly keeping up his faithful ministry among his faithful Harpswell people; doing good to everybody he met, preaching stanch old-school sermons with irresistible logic, enlivened by brilliant flashes of wit and flights of poetry and heart-reaching illustration; a familiar and welcome visitor in every house, holding the confidence and love of every home, sharing joys and griefs, intrusted with innermost experiences; smiled at in some sense or other by all who saw him; respected and revered by all whom he knew, whether of his fold or of some other, or perchance without any fold, astray, and, but for him, lost.

His public ministerial work knew no limit but that of the hours of the day. After his own church service it was his practice to meet every opportunity to speak to the people on neighboring shores. Not only was his boat seen threading the channels among the eastern Harpswell Islands that made part of his far-outlying, conglomerate parish, but pushing its way across the western bays to Flying Point, Wolf’s Neck, and Freeport,--the track of this life-message more kindling to the thought than the thrilling vision of the funeral boat-train faring to these same places named in Whittier’s weird poem of “The Dead Ship of Harpswell.”

The people among whom Mr. Kellogg came to minister had marked and interesting characteristics. Natural advantages for seafaring business in all its variety had in early times brought to these shores settlers of a robust type. Among them were many who, at that period when minds and bodies were so astir in the old world and new over questions of life, religion, and the social order, sought a change of place that they might find scope for their abounding energies and unchanging purpose. These were strong characters--men and women--strong in body, mind, and heart,--and, it must be said also, in political and religious faith. This implies originality, independence, diversity,--the outcome of which is not a tame common likeness in the elements of a community, but differences which when properly harmonized give strength to the social structure. These leading spirits organized their likenesses and differences into a little republic, based upon integrity, and by mutual service tending to the common good realizing what was best in the ability of each. They prospered. Many a noble old homestead stands to-day on these island fronts and headlands, testifying to the uses they made of this prosperity. These characteristics appeared in their descendants down to the third and fourth generation.

It was the holding together of this society, the harmonizing of these elements, and bringing out their power for good, that made the inspiring and noble work for Elijah Kellogg. With a warm heart for all; the quick recognition of every worthy trait of temperament or habit; taking in the sorrows of others with sincere sympathy; tactful in dealing with weakness or defect; tolerant of differing belief or profession; fearless of adverse expression or hostile force,--he went straightforward in his work. He was appreciated. Most of those he dealt with were in one way or another seafaring men; builders and owners, masters and sailors of ships; men of wide experience, who had seen the world, who had endured hardships, who had well carried great responsibilities; the women, too, accustomed to enlarging thoughts and sympathies.

These were a people worthy of such a man as he was of them. His sound instruction and faithful exhortation impressed such minds. Strong doctrine, largely on the lines of the old Pilgrim faith, propounded, pondered, and at least respected, meets and makes such characters. The untiring effort to apply these principles in the practice of daily living, instilling these elements into the springs of action and fibre of character, inculcating the test of right and sense of honor for the rule of social intercourse and endeavor,--out of all this comes a mighty result in the course of years. For three generations in that steadfast old town he stood at the gates of life. Birth, baptism, marriage, and the passing over we call death,--none of these was held quite acceptable to God, or blessed to the full for any, unless Elijah Kellogg were the usher. To the last days of his life, he was summoned from near and far by descendants of these families to perpetuate by this token the covenant of the inherited blessing. His influence is still powerful in the sterling character of that community, of which it is not too much to say that it is typical of the best American citizenship.

One interesting custom kept up to the last was that time of all good gifts and greetings,--the annual “donation party,” or reception, for Mr. Kellogg, at that home of ample welcome, dear “Aunt Betsy” Alexander’s, his oldest and nearest neighbor. What gatherings were there! What types of strength and beauty! What harmonious contrasts and balancing of youth and age, of soberness and mirth, of brooding memories and forward-looking, untested promise! And all owing so much of their worth to this one man.

In his latter years Mr. Kellogg was more an object of interest than ever. The inroads of advancing age did not reach his mind and spirit. He stood up in his old church and gave strong sermons,--some of them quite likely the same as had been given to other generations, but equally applicable and wholesome now. People came long distances to see and hear him. Summer visitors at neighboring resorts kept the circle of admirers undiminished and filled the church on Sundays.

He was often sought for to go elsewhere for one more greeting. At the great meeting of the graduates at the centennial of the college, he was entreated to be one of the announced speakers. His modesty and real diffidence would not allow him to assent. But, as might be expected, he was sought out in some of his old haunts within the grounds, and brought in by acclamation. His was the best speech among them all, which bore hearts away to the unseen bonds of fellowship and the continuity of college life and power.

In the very closing days of his activity-- in the mingling of the twilight and the dawn--he was persuaded to address a meeting of friends from neighboring towns held in the spacious auditorium in Merrymeeting Park, by the riverside in Brunswick. Over against the solid physical force of the vast assembly he stood with the aspect of an already disembodied spirit; but in clear tones, as of a voice from heaven, he delivered his message, in that marvellous, all-entreating discourse, “The Prodigal Son.” Those of us who stood near, almost dreading lest the winged words should bear him away, saw by the gleam of his eye what joy it was to that great heart of faith, and hope, and love, that his last commission might be to point out the way by which the wilful, unworthy wanderer, with belated penitence, might find the Father’s House.

It does not seem quite natural to close these reminiscences without expressing thankfulness that the last decade of years brought the long-cherished friendship within even closer bounds. With a summer home on the site of one of the great old shipyards came the good fortune of becoming one of Mr. Kellogg’s nearest neighbors. After life’s toil and trial, its strifes and storms and perils, we sat down within hailing distance on shores sloping toward each other, looking over quiet waters. It was a time of boats again; and their message was still of glad tidings. It seemed but an easy row across the mile of bay, with him on the other shore. Thus was more than renewed the old habit of hospitalities and symposiums. The dreams of youth had been interpreted; its faiths tested; its hopes and fears overpassed; only its heart unchanged. We knew what we were talking about now; and there was much to say. On Sundays we walked together the well-worn paths to his familiar church with boyish embrace, caring not if any thought it strange. Then, too, meeting at the bankside of dear friends departed, with his words the last of earth.

Now the black spruces stand in mourning; but our hearts go on with him. His boat is still on the sloping shore, pointing seaward; so does his cherished spirit help to bear us over.

Through nearly threescore years what blessed work was his! And his reward is not wholly on high, although it will be so in the consummation. But here and now and in the years to come is a great part of it, in living power in the hearts and souls of men and women walking worthily in this world, letting their light also shine to illumine the path for others still. Who can estimate the value, the power, the reach, of a work like this? Faithful friends are earnest now to set up a monument to mark the place of his forth-giving and to keep the memory of him fresh; but the whole world is not too wide to look for the place of his power, and the memory of him belongs to the eternities.

A TRIBUTE

ABIEL HOLMES WRIGHT

[On Tuesday, March 19, 1901, funeral services for Mr. Kellogg were held at the Harpswell church. At these services Professor Henry L. Chapman officiated, and spoke to the Harpswell people of the work and character of their beloved pastor. A choir of Bowdoin College students, members of the Alpha Delta Phi fraternity, sang appropriate hymns. On the next day services were held in the Second Parish church of Portland at which Rev. Abiel H. Wright, pastor of the St. Lawrence Street church and an intimate friend of Mr. Kellogg, delivered the following tribute, and Rev. Dr. George Lewis of South Berwick offered prayer. The burial was in the Western Cemetery, Portland, where are buried Mr. Kellogg’s wife and father and mother.]

In one of the pastoral psalms God’s thought and feeling concerning the death of his consecrated servants find this expression, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His Saints.” When the aged saint comes home from the toil and trouble of his earth-time services, there is joy in the heart of the Eternal Father. Angels rejoice when one sinner repenteth and the life of faith is begun on earth, but when the sinner becomes a saint and the long weary trial-way is trodden through to its end, when, as the Lord sees, His servant’s work is done, and he is received on high into the saints’ everlasting rest, then indeed the death of His saint is precious in His sight.

Fifty-seven years ago Elijah Kellogg began his life ministry as a preacher of the Gospel in the humble village of Harpswell Centre, where a few days past it was ended. What minister of Maine has ever been more widely known and loved by its people than was this saintly and revered preacher? As a young man of thirty years but recently from Andover Theological Seminary, he began his ministry among the Harpswell people; as an aged saint of God, nearly eighty-eight years old, known and loved far and wide in our land, he closed that ministry in his death, among the people he had seen grow up from childhood to declining age. He had baptized the children of those who were his first parishioners. He had buried the parents and in many instances the grandparents of those who loved, revered, and supported him during the last years of his laborious ministry.

If we ask why he remained among them, when called to other and more inviting fields of labor; why, when this honored Second Parish invited him to its pastorate in the time of its strength and prime, he declined to leave the little country church of forty or fifty members, the answer is, because he loved the Harpswell people. They were his first love, and they were his last love. Highly privileged people! God-blessed church! To have had this holy man of God living among them, passing by them continually, speaking God’s truth to them, serving them in their homes, their fields, their boats, their sanctuary, in the Christ-spirit of devotion, and living out his rich, fruitful life of faith among them to its end, content and satisfied to have their love and gratitude, and with his dying breath speaking his last loving benediction upon them every one. It has been a beautiful life of service,--a noble ministry for God and humanity.

We have often wondered what Elijah Kellogg would have been had he chosen to take his father’s pulpit, and the position and the prominence which it would have given him in our city and throughout our state. It might possibly have made of him a grander preacher than he was--and few are the preachers that ever came to Portland pulpits who drew larger or more satisfied congregations than did he; it might have made of him a more influential clergyman in our state than he was. But who will say he could have developed a grander character or won a fairer fame than now belong to him?

Elijah Kellogg was a man of deep and fervid piety--a man of prayer. There are guest chambers in our city where his voice has been heard in prayer for hours at a time, the memory of which is a benediction. There is a chamber on Munjoy Hill, in which I have often slept, which Elijah Kellogg frequently occupied as the guest of one of his former Harpswell families. In that chamber he wrote parts of many of his surpassing juvenile stories, and there he prayed often and long.

Being a man of prayer, it was his wish and will to abide where God would have him. It was God’s will that of the fifty-eight years of his ministry, the Harpswell people should have his service nearly all of the time for forty-three years, and part of the time each of the remaining fifteen years. During the ten years he was minister of the Seaman’s Bethel in Boston, as chaplain of the Seaman’s Friend society, he spent his summer in his Harpswell home, preaching and ministering to the people. Counting out the five years of his Topsham pastorate, we may say that his connection with the church of Harpswell Centre was practically unbroken for fifty-three years, and during his pastorate in Topsham he continued to dwell in his Harpswell home.

His work in Boston brought out one prominent characteristic of his ministry: his interest in and love of young men. Elijah Kellogg was every man’s friend, but he was preëminently the friend and helper of young men. As he delighted to write books for boys, which helped them to become right-minded and true-hearted young men, so he aimed in preaching and by personal effort to reach and save young men. He did so conspicuously in Boston. At the time when Dr. Stone was pastor of Park Street Congregational church, Mr. Kellogg was preaching in the Mariners’ church of that city. At that time Dr. Charles G. Finney was at work as a revivalist with Dr. Stone. Rev. Mr. Kellogg had been, and was then and subsequently, in the habit of meeting a class of young men in Dr. Stone’s chapel. From among those young men he trained Christian workers and led them down into the slums of the North End to help him in his work of holding meetings on the wharves.

One of those young men I knew years afterward, who devoted much of his spare time aiding Elijah Kellogg in his good work among the tempted classes of the North End. Two years later that young man came to Portland to live. He became a worker, then a member, of the St. Lawrence Street church. When Mr. Kellogg was back again in Harpswell, this young man was a prominent merchant and politician, and a well-known Christian worker in this city.

At the dedication of the new St. Lawrence Congregational church in 1897, Mr. Kellogg made two memorable addresses, in one of which he alluded to the lamented Henry H. Burgess, who had died in 1893, in these words: “When I was preaching in Boston, Henry H. Burgess was the bookkeeper for a paint and oil firm in that city, and a member of the Park Street Sunday-school. I was preaching at that church, and saw that the people were sending out old men to gather the young men into the Sunday-school. I told them they would never do any good in that way, and asked them why they did not send out young men to do this work. They said they did not have any young men to do it, and I said I would get some of them for the purpose. I preached one sermon, and the first Sunday after that I walked fifteen young men into that Sunday-school, with Henry Burgess at their head, and the next Sunday in came twenty more, and so on, until finally the building was crowded to its utmost capacity, and we had young men to work for us.

“When Henry Burgess came to Portland from Boston, I gave him a letter of introduction to Dr. Carruthers. He is no longer here,” continued the aged speaker, while tears of emotion coursed down his bronzed cheeks, “but though absent in the body, he is rejoicing here with us in the spirit.”

They loved each other, this aged minister and that strong young man, and they were helpful to each other. They have changed eyes and clasped hands, now, I believe, in the eternal home of the saints.

It was during Mr. Kellogg’s life in Boston, in his home on Pinckney Street, that he wrote his marvellous books for young people. Is there here man or woman, young man or maiden, who has not read them and received from them moral tone and stamina? Perhaps it is true to say, and no discredit to Mr. Kellogg to say, that he was more widely known as author than as preacher, and that he has probably done more for the moral health of American youth by his breezy, fascinating books than by his work as preacher and pastor. Yea, he has been a mighty preacher to young Americans by the eloquence of his industrious pen.

It would, I believe, be difficult to find an author who wrote with a more definite and practical aim to Christianize young people than did Elijah Kellogg, or one who had better success in the attainment of his high and noble purpose. Mr. Kellogg possessed a genius for that kind of literary work. That he had, in early years, the latent art of an accomplished rhetorician was proved in his student days, when he wrote and declaimed “Spartacus to the Gladiators,” while in Andover Theological Seminary. It is well, doubtless, that Mr. Kellogg’s literary genius was directed to the humbler, yet more practical and serviceable, art of writing books for the moral and religious culture of the young.

As a preacher Mr. Kellogg was great, both in the art of making and in the forceful presentation of the sermon. Rhetorical finish and enlivening humor were alike natural and easy to him. I never have heard a preacher who seemed more thoroughly to enjoy the effort of preaching, and few preachers excelled him in the ability to make his audience enjoy the sermon. How quickly could he change the amused interest of the congregation in the play of his humor into serious and solemn emotion by the power and pathos of his forceful appeals, applying the teaching of his sermon to the conscience and the heart.

He was a man of quick and responsive sympathies. His whole life was characterized by the spirit of Christian benevolence. He not only gave himself to his people to be ever and always their servant in things spiritual, but as truly in things temporal. He was their counsellor and helper in all their heavenly and earthly concerns. It was the habit of his life to keep a purse for the Lord, into which went one-tenth of all moneys received by him. Thus he furnished himself, systematically, with the means to extend aid to those whose sufferings appealed to his sympathies. It is said that he gave beyond his means, and often to his own embarrassment. His services as a preacher were in constant demand, from churches far and near, and he responded when he could. Not a few churches have been blessed by his labors, at different intervals, during his Harpswell pastorate. Here in Portland he was greatly beloved. For nearly one year he was the continual supply of the St. Lawrence Street church, and in the thought of its older members he is regarded as one of its pastors. Portland claimed him as her own. He preached at Cumberland Mills, at Wellesley, Rockport, and New Bedford, Massachusetts, and in other places he has served the church of God. The Congregational church in New Bedford extended to him a call, as did this Second Parish. But he refused all such calls, being unwilling to make any final severance from his beloved Harpswell people.