An unknown friend writes me, "To dare and die so divinely and leave
such a record is to be transfigured on a mountain top, a master
symbol to all men of cloud-robed human victory, angel-attended by
reverence and peace...a gospel of nobleness and faith." And
another, "How truly 'God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to
perform.' Mr. Hubbard went to find Lake Michikamau; he failed,
but God spelled 'Success' of 'Failure,' and you brought back a
message which should be an inspiration to every soul to whom it
comes. The life given up in the wilds of Labrador was not in
vain." Space will not permit me to quote further from the many
letters of this kind that have come to me from all over the United
States and Canada, but they tell me that others have learned to
know Hubbard as be was and as his friends knew him, and that our
book has not failed of its purpose.

The storms of two winters have held in their icy grasp the bleak
land in which he yielded up his life for a principle, and the
flowers of two summers have blossomed upon his grave, overlooking
the Hudson. But it was only his body that we buried there. His
spirit still lives, for his was a spirit too big and noble to be
bound by the narrow confines of a grave. His life is an example of
religious faith, strong principle, and daring bravery that will not
be forgotten by the young men of our land.

New York, June 1, 1906. D. W.