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....
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.
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!
To daughter Mary, April 26, 1899.