334

After the meet

with very close attention.
ing was closed one and another of the
older members of the bar came to thank
me for what I had said, and one leading
citizen, not of our profession (there were
many citizens present outside of the bar),
asked me to give him my speech, taking
it for granted that I had it written. I
told him that it was wholly extempora-
neous and that I had not a line of it in
writing. He then asked me if I could not
write it out. I told him that I thought I
could without difficulty while it was fresh
in my mind. He then begged me to do
so, and to put in every word that I said
with regard to Governor Hubbard's atti-
tude toward religion and the future life.
When I got home I at once wrote out my
remarks, and found no difficulty in follow-
ing both my line of thought and the
language I had used. My remarks (not
including the introductory part of my
address) were as follows:

"I now come to a subject which I
approach with much hesitation, and which
I think I should not have ventured to
touch but for the way having been opened
for me by an allusion made by our Brother
Sill a few minutes ago, in the closing part
of his address. He spoke of the "halting
faith" of our friend. I have long and
sadly known of Mr. Hubbard's want of
religious faith, and have endeavored to
lift him up into a clearer perception of
spiritual truths. The spiritual part of
his nature he had never cultivated.
had a reverential spirit, but it was towards
objects worthy of his admiration and
reverence that presented themselves to
his sight or vividly to his imagination.
Always an anxious questioner of the in-
finite, he seemed to get no response that
he could interpret. He was pre-eminently
a truth-loving man; he hated shams and
pretenses; and if he could speak to us
to-day he would say, "Tell the truth about

He

me if you say anything." I am sure he
would wish me to say just what I am say-
ing.

"To him.the future life was all uncer-
tainty. With all his imagination he could
not see beyond the veil and fill the seem-
ing void with realities. And so he came
to dread that life. He loved this life-
this green and beautiful earth-its intellec-
tual enjoyments, its social delights, not a
little its mere animal life, and did not
want to leave it for another world of which
he knew and could conceive nothing. He
has often told me this. A few summers
ago he spent some time at Newport, taking
with him his family and his equipage.
On his return he said to me: 'Hooker, I
have had one of the pleasantest summers
of my life, but over it all there hung a
shadow. The question kept coming into
my mind, How long will this last? and
what then?' In commenting a few months
ago upon a poem of mine which appeared
in the papers, in which I had expressed
a longing for the other life, he said: 'How
can anybody, with this green earth around
To me that world does
him, be wanting to go over into the un-
known world?'
live in
not seem like an unknown one.
it, it seems to me, more than I do in this.
It is as real to me as this.

"Now with that world so near and so real to me, my mind has been filled, ever since I heard of Mr. Hubbard's death, with the thought of his experiences over there. I could not dwell on his eloquence, or his legal ability, or any of the things which his eulogists are so eloquently saying of him. I have been able to think only of where he is in that spirit world that was so uninviting to him. What has he found there? What is his condition there? I have wished, with inexpressible desire, to be there with him. It seems to me that I could hold his hand and steady and guide and comfort him there; that