Here was a new field and another opportunity for testing
his fitness. He threw himself into the work with characteristic
energy and enthusiasm, and his influence on the magazine was marked
from the first. He soon succeeded in projecting into it something
of his own passionately human personality. In the fall of that
year a noted angler commented to him on the change in it and his
responsibility.
"When a big salmon comes to the top, there is a great swirl on the
water. You don't see the salmon, but you know he is there," he
said.
Office work left little time for writing; but in the early autumn
of that year a vacation trip to the north shore of Lake Superior
gave him two articles, "Where Romance Lingers," and "Off Days on
Superior's North Shore."
In January 1903 the trip to Labrador was decided on, and his
preparation for it begun. Before the winter was over his plans
were made. On May 13th it was arranged with the magazine that it
should go as an Outing expedition. The preparation held for him
the many difficulties and trials common to such undertakings, but
also, perhaps, more than the usual pleasures.
The big map of Labrador looked back from the wall of the little
study in Congers. We stood before it a long time discussing plans
and possibilities. Then an eager, happy face was turned to me as
he told how he would write the story and how he would have grown
when he came home again.
On June 20th he sailed from New York with his little party.
In January following came that short message, "Mr. Hubbard died
October 18th in the interior of Labrador."
In March were received the letters containing that final record of
his life, which took from the hearts of those who loved him best
the intolerable bitterness, because it told that he had not only
dreamed his dream - _he had attained his Vision._
It was a short, full life journey, and a joyous, undaunted heart
that traversed it. Almost the most beautiful of its attributes was
the joyousness.
He was "glad of Life because it gave him a chance to love and to
work and to play."
He never failed to "look up at the stars."
He thought "every day of Christ."
Sometimes towards evening in dreary November, when the clouds hang
heavy and low, covering all the sky, and the hills are solemn and
sombre, and the wind is cold, and the lake black and sullen, a
break in the dark veil lets through a splash of glorious sunshine.
It is so very beautiful as it falls into the gloom that your breath
draws in quick and you watch it with a thrill.
