Then, in softened accent, as though he feared he had wronged those deacons in thought and spirit, he said practically this: “Ah, but those same deacons were good and true men. They were sympathetic, they were liberal to a fault, and I never went to one of them for aid in my work to return empty-handed. Then there was my old friend, Alpheus Hardy, of the Mount Vernon Church. I verily believe he would have turned all he had in the world over to me had I solicited it.”
The conversation ran on and on in changing moods. I feared that Brother Holden and our lady travelling companion would begin to think themselves in for a half-day of steady waiting, and so I began to break away. This was the hard part of it all. He clung to me and put his arms about me, urged me to dismiss the driver and sleep under his roof, and finally exacted a promise that I would come again next year, if in that vicinity, and tarry longer. Our adieus were then spoken, and he stood upon the porch and waved his hand in parting.
All that I have here written is, as I view it, a eulogy on the character and career of Father Kellogg, and yet I may be pardoned, considering my long acquaintance, tender attachment and admiration for the man, if, as attorneys put it, I sum up:—
He was one of nature’s noblemen; he was incapable of deceit; he lived a life above reproach. His one great purpose was to make himself useful to the human family. To this end he sought out boys who were liable to go astray, and it may be said in all seriousness, and with impressive emphasis, that he succeeded in the mission to which he was consecrated. The seed he sowed ripened in the lives of those in whom it was planted, and, granting that each in turn confers the same blessing upon his children, Father Kellogg’s influence must continue on and on to future generations, making the world wiser and better because he has lived in it. His gentle chidings, his forgiveness of seeming neglect, his patience when troubles were upon him, his sympathy for those who were in sickness, sorrow, need, or any other adversity, his hopefulness when in financial stress, his devotion to his invalid wife, his anxiety for his children, his unselfishness, his never failing cheerfulness and steadfast faith in God, his submission by which he ever discovered the silver lining in the dark cloud, his determination to preach the Gospel to the end of his days,—all, all, have lodgment in my heart; and so, when I think of him, it is not as of one dead, but one who lives, lives in the affections of kindred and friends, in beneficent influence still abroad in the world, in deeds: not dead, not dead:—
“There is no death,
The stars go down to rise upon a brighter shore.”
Elijah Kellogg’s Home at Harpswell, Maine.