Stubbs, Carrie 1866-1895

STUBBS, HUNTER, BUCHANNAN

Posted By: Volunteer Transcriber
Date: 1/17/2012 at 15:47:42

From Nature to Eternity

The Community Saddened by the Death of Mrs. Carrie Hunter Stubbs Beautiful Character of the Deceased.

“Death borders upon our birth and our cradle stands in the grave.”

Death is at all times and in all places an unwelcome visitor – it’s coming brings sorrow and sadness and fills hearts with grief, causes questionings of the infinite plan, and makes homes desolate where all was joy and peace. But the saddest death is that of the young mother. It is then the great well-springs of grief in the most stoical are opened and a while community mourns. Then the cry ascends, “Why?”

Truly--
“Thou Has all seasons for Thine own, O Death.”

Mrs. Carrie Hunter Stubbs died at her home in Englewood, Chicago, Sunday afternoon, September 8, a few minutes before five o’clock.

Mrs. Stubbs was the only daughter of Dr. and Mrs. H. E. Hunter of this city. She was born here in Newton, February 19, illegible, and here she grew to womanhood, enlisting as her true friends every acquaintance, young or old, rich or poor, shedding a wealth of sunshine and happiness and love all around her by her sweet girlish graces and later by her true womanliness. Beautiful in form and feature and lovable in mind, she was idolized in the home and loved and respected by the community. She was married to Chas. E. Stubbs, February 12, 1890, and at the same time and placer her brother was married to Miss Stella Buchannan, Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs resided at St. Joseph for a short time, removing from there to Fairfield, Iowa, where they lived until last spring when they moved to Englewood. On Sunday afternoon about four o’clock she gave birth to a baby daughter. The physician thinking all was well had gone from the house. But her lungs and throat, still weak from a severe illness last winter, filled up , and in a short three-quarters of an hour her spirit had left its earthly abode. She died with words of comfort and love on her lips, with thoughts of the mother and father hurrying to her as fast as steam could bring them.

The body was brought to Newton for burial. Funeral services were held at the home of Dr. Hunter Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock, and was attended by a vast throng of sympathizing friends. The services were conducted by Rev. Rice; the singing was by a male quartette consisting of Hal Wilson, Fred Meredith, Earnest Earley and Frank Long.

The body was interred in our beautiful home of the dead. The pall bearers were H. M. Vaughan, L. A. Gates, M. A. Carrier, J.P. Newell, Frank Wilson, and Hal Wilson. The honorary pall bearers, intimate personal friends of the deceased, were Mesdames Mae Campbell, J. P. Newell, M. A. Carrier, L. A. Gates, H. M. Vaughan and Misses Jessie Winslow, Gertie Stover and Ida Bailey.

The local chapter of the P.E.O. society, which was organized by Mrs. Stubbs, lined the grave with white and yellow, the colors of the society. Beautiful flowers in designs and masses were sent to the house.

“To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die.”

The brother of the deceased, Mrs. George Hunter, of Omaha, read the following lines at the beginning of the funeral services.

“I do not know which is the better-life or death. And it may be that death is the greatest gift that ever came from nature’s open hands; we do not know. There is one thing of which I am certain, and that is if we could live forever here we would care nothing for each other. The fact that we must die, the fact that the feast must end, brings out hearts together and treads out the weeds between the paths. And so it may be after all that love is a little flower that grows on the crumbling edge of the grave. So it may be that were it not for death there would be no love, and without love all life would be a curse.”

Remarks by Hon. D. P. Stubbs.

There is not a flower that blooms but that may be touched by the finger of death.

There is no garden walk we can tread and know that death is not lurking in our presence.

At this great harvest home the tender budding flower is cut down and garnered in, as well as the matured and golden grain. This reaper in the field of life spares not that falls in his way, and here appears the great mysteries which we are unable to solve or comprehend.

The voyage of life just begun lays before us a joyous and pleasing scene, which is suddenly overcast by the lowering of the death cloud that terminates and obscures all. Change and decay is the great law that pervades all things. Mutibility is written everywhere, on all objects terrestrial. Our friends and loved ones flee while we are rapturously gazing upon them, and sink beneath that wave that obscures them forever. When we turn and look upon ourselves we see that we are as fleeting as the; and when we have looked upon all objects to which we can turn, our anxious and inspiring eyes, they all tell us they can give us no hope or support, because they too are mortal and so feeble in themselves.

We see that the monuments of art crumble away and that the works of nature are changing and that there is no fadeless bloom amid these changing scenes.

This young and brilliant life, so well begun and of such promise is suddenly cut off; indeed the flower has been cut down; but its redolence will, for a long time be wafted on the breeze of our memories.

This unexpected shock comes like a shaft aimed at our hearts, and with us the fountains of affection are broken up as we put forth a libation in tears. We feel and welcome that tender sympathy which these and those who consol us have tendered to and shed around us. Nothing we can do or say will change the condition of our lost loved one. Lessons to the living may be drawn from this sad and sorrowful scene. It should teach us that we too, are mortal and may soon pass through the valley whose shades are called death, and that our spirits should not be proud or over assured.

“O Why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud, A flash of the lightening, a break of the wave. Man passes from life to his rest in the grave.

“Tis the wink of an eye, it’s the draught of a breath.
From the blossom of health to the pales of death,
From the gilded saloon, to the bier and the shroud.
O’ why should the spirit of mortal be proud.

As we transfer this from the midst of the living to her narrow abode in the city of the dead, we again thank you who have commingled you sorrows with ours, and extended your sympathies in this great bereavement and now as we are about to commit to her final resting place the one we so dearly loved, we say farewell, farewell, lost star of our night.

The following beautiful and touching tribute to the life and character of Mrs. Stubbs was written by a friend.

No telegram ever came to Newton that caused a more universal feeling of sincere sorrow and regret than the one which came last Monday morning announcing the sudden death of Mrs. Carrie Hunter Stubbs at her home in Chicago. Mrs. Stubbs was born in Newton and here she grew into that beautiful womanhood that won the respect and admiration of all who knew her. There were few of our people who were not familiar with her bright sunny face and the many womanly charms that graced her person. An only and idolized daughter, a loved and loving wife, a true womanly woman; beautiful in form and face; a universal favorite wherever she chanced to go; popular in social circles, possessed with all that makes life pleasant and worth living, it is inexpressibly sad that she should fall asleep in the dewy morning of her life, at the crowning time of a new womanhood and pass away in to the shadow of the great beyond, from whence only listening love can hear the faintest echo of a son, and waiting hope catch the glimmer of a star.

In the social circles where she was so universally loved and respected for her many excellent qualities of heart and mind, she will be greatly missed. It is in the home circle however that her loss will be most sadly felt and more deeply mourned for it was there she gave most lavishly of those heart qualities that endeared her to all. The bright smile, the cheery words of comfort, the many loving deeds of week day kindnesses, and the ever present disposition to cheer and bless those about her, how sadly they will be missed; no wonder the home circle is heartbroken at her untimely death.

There is not a heart among us, be it friend or foe in other affairs, that does not beat in loving sympathy with the afflicted ones, and how many would that they might help them bear the burden of their sorrow.

While we realize that their loss is irreparable and no word or deed of ours can bring back the loving presence of the dead; yet it must be comforting to them to know that her life was appreciated, and she still lives in the memory of many hearts like the sweet strain of some well remembered song. ~ The Newton Record, Fri 13, Sept 1895.

Transcriber note: The following is from Newton Union Cemetery Records; Stubbs Carrie Winslow Tuesday, September 10, 1895 daughter of H.E. & Sarah (Wilson) Hunter, wife of Charles E.
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Death’s Victim

Rarely has Newton been so stirred as when the word came Monday morning that Mrs. Carrie Hunter-Stubbs was dead. It did not seem possible, somehow, for Carrie was about the last person one would think that death would choose as his victim, always having been the perfect and beautiful picture of health and strength. But so it was. In the lovely home in Englewood, surrounded with every comfort, every elegance that heart could wish, where she and her husband had lived since last spring, she was taken sick last Saturday evening. About four o’clock Sabbath afternoon, she gave birth to a baby daughter. The trial of motherhood was passed successfully and there was rejoicing at the coming of the daughter into the home, a dear little dark-haired, dark-eyed girl, the image of her mother. Thinking all was well, the physician took his leave, but shortly after his departure, unfavorable symptoms developed from the weakness in her throat and lungs that had trouble her since a severe illness last winter, and , in spite of all that could be done, in a short half-hour, the home was stricken, for both wife and mother lay dead.

Her parents were summoned by telegraph as soon as danger was apprehended, but could not reach her until Monday morning, too late to see her alive. Dr. Hunter and her husband, Mr. Bert Stubbs, came with the body to Newton, arriving yesterday morning while Mrs. Hunter stayed with the baby.

Carrie Hunter was a girl whom everyone loved who knew her. She was born in Newton, February 19, 1866, in the old house which stood on the same place where the present one is, it really being a part of the new one.

There she grew to womanhood, and in the same house was married on the 12th of February, 1890, to Mr. Stubbs, her brother George being married at the same time and place to Miss Stella Buchanan.

The secret of her popularity was her amiable, sunny, wholesome nature. Physically, she was very beautiful in face and form, and had a strong, sound constitution, which never knew an ache or pain until a short time ago. Her open-hearted, generous, frank spirit, coupled with a practical and sensible view of things and an ability to accomplish whatever she undertook, won friends for her wherever she went. Utterly free from affectation of any sort, without vanity, speaking kindly of everyone and always cordial and pleasant to all she met, whether rich or poor, white or black, cultured or ignorant, is it any wonder that she was a favorite?

Before her marriage, she was her father’s helpmate, confidante and companion, a rarely beautiful devotion existing between the two. She was the veritable sunshine of the home where everything was done for her that could contribute to her happiness. Her married life has been a very happy one. She went with her husband to St. Joe after the wedding, where they stayed for a short time, when they removed to Fairfield, which has been their home until last spring, since which time they have lived in Englewood.

Many went to see her before the funeral. As she lay in her casket she looked as if she simply slept, so natural, so beautiful was she.

“Death lay on her, like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of the all (illegible) field.”

On her breast was placed the P. E. O. pin, of which society she had been such an active and enthusiastic member. She organized the Newton chapter and most of her intimate Newton lady friends are members of it.

The funeral took place at four o’clock in the afternoon at the home. Rev. Rice led a short service, assisted by four young men as singers, viz: Hal Wilson, Earnest Early, Frank Long and Fred Meredith. Hon. D. P. Stubbs and George Hunter paid tributes to her memory.

The pall-bearers were J. P. Newell, M. A. Carrier, C. H. Wilder, Hal Wilson, H. M. Vaughan and Frank Wilson. The honorary pall-bearers were: Mrs. Mae Campbell, Mrs. H. M. Vaughan, Mrs. L. A. gates, Mrs. M. A. Carrier, Mrs. J. P. Newell, and the Misses Jet Winslow, Ida Bailey and Gertie Stover.

The members of the P. E. O. society with loving hands lined the grave with beautiful flowers of yellow and white, the colors of the order. A great profusion of rare flowers in designs and loose masses were sent to the house to be placed around the bier of her who was loved so well.

Nearly all the members of both the Hunter and Stubbs families were present at the funeral, beside a large company of friends.

It is always hard to part with dear ones at death’s portal, but his seems especially pathetic, specially hard to bear, and the stricken husband, father, mother, brother and kindred have the deepest sympathy of the whole community. ~ The Newton Journal 11 Sept 1895.