Memories of Jane Cunningham Croly, "Jenny June"
by
Various
Part 3 out of 3
years. So many things seem to culminate toward the close of the
century--good fortune for some, evil fortune for others; hopes dashed
at the seeming moment of realization, as if all the forces in nature
were aiding to make an end of the century's efforts in any way that
would bring finality.
For my part I feel as if I had been forcibly brought to a standstill.
In a few days (the 19th) I shall have reached the milestone: I shall
be seventy. Sorosis would have made an occasion of it if I had been in
New York. As it is, I feel a little tinge of regret that my
annihilation last June was not more complete; that I did not leave,
along with my dear friend, Mrs. Demorest. Not that I am wholly
unhappy; I only feel somehow brought to an unfinished close; left in a
state of animated suspension. I seem to see everything from a
distance; separated by my inability to participate in the goings and
comings, the doings and pleasures of others. I feel the wall that
stands between those who still live and those who have passed from
this world; but alas, I still retain consciousness, and desire for
sympathy, and can see and hear and feel, though my feet are chained.
It is just three months since I arrived. A part of the time we had
beautiful weather, and I could walk on the road a little on sunshiny
days, leaning upon my two sticks. But during the past five weeks, my
out-door exercise has been nil: the roads were too wet and rough. It
has been almost constant fog, rain, wind; and the drip, drip, drip, of
a mist that was wetter than rain. This, I think, has added a little
rheumatism to give name to the pain and stiffness of joints and newly
forming muscles. The change we are about to make will be a new
departure for me--I shall have to try stairs... But I shall have the
dear companionship of Marjorie,[1] who has lived an ideal out-of-door
life here. She will there begin to have regular lessons at home, or go
to kindergarten. I have been reading to her Mary Proctor's "Starland,"
which by your thoughtful prompting she caused to be sent to me through
her London publishers. I am so much obliged to you and to her for
remembering the promise that I should have a copy. It is charming, and
ought to have a wide sale...
[Footnote 1: Her grandchild.]
I must stop; Vida has come for my mail, and is going to the
post-office on her bicycle. She and Mr. Sidney are never so happy as
when taking long bicycle rides on these fine English country roads.
With warmest greetings to Colonel Morse and Ethel, and ever loving
remembrance to you, dear friend, I am, as always,
Ever yours,
J.C.C.
11 BARTON STREET, WEST KENSINGTON,
LONDON, January 29, 1899.
My dear friend:
I have been wondering these many days where you are and how it is with
you. How I have wished that you were near by, and that we could have
taken some of my lonely, painful "duty" walks upon crutches together.
I miss your sympathy and ever ready kindness... I suffer terribly now
with sore and swollen feet--the result of pain, stiffness, strain in
movement, and lack of exercise. But I am stronger. I can now lift my
arms and brush my own hair...
We are having beautiful weather just now. We have had sunshine for a
week, and people go about announcing the fact with joy and surprise,
as if a new Saviour had arisen; all but the Americans, newly come, who
complain about everything, rain or shine...
J.C.C.
LONDON, Jan. 16, 1901.
Dear friend:
This letter is for the family. Poor as it will be, it will have to
tell of all I would like to say to you, and for the thousand and one
things I would like to tell of London and of the many kindnesses I
have received. I had not expected to be here this winter, as you know,
and ought not to be. The cold and the damp have developed rheumatism
of a very severe type in my lame leg, and I suffer from pain and
difficulty in walking... I could, of course, obtain some mitigation of
these conditions, but the same reason that compelled my return to
London, Mr. P.'s actual failure, has so encroached upon my
income--without a prospect of even partial recovery for a long time to
come--as to make it almost equally difficult to live either in
Switzerland, where, at Schinznach-les-Bains, I could receive so much
benefit; or in London, or New York. I wish, as I wished two years ago,
that my accident had ended it, and saved all the pain and difficulty
of solving a perpetual and insoluble problem... It seems sometimes as
if there were only two kinds of people in the world--those who ride
over others roughshod, and those who are ridden over. The cruel
accident that shattered me on that June day shattered my world. Life
since then seems in the nature of a resurrection; every day a special
gift, and every pleasant thing an act of Divine Providence. Love to
you all. This is about myself. Write soon and tell me all about
yourselves.
Lovingly,
J.C.C.
From a Letter to Mrs. Christina J. Higley
LONDON, July--, 1899.
My dear friend:
... It seems as if everything had been taken from me but the
friendship, the affection of women; and that manifests itself here as
well as at home. God bless them! They have made all the brightness of
my life.
Affectionately,
J.C.C.
From a Letter to Mrs. Catherine Young
LONDON, Sept. 3, 1895.
Dearest Mrs. Young:
Your letter has been before my eyes many times...
Keep up your courage and your faith in women and in the _old flag_. I
came across it the first time after I arrived, in a moment of extreme
despondency. It did me a world of good... In three weeks, if all goes
well, I shall see you. We sail for New York on the 12th of this month.
Affectionately,
J.C.C.
From a Letter to Mrs. Harriet Nourse
... Oh, yes, I have made my will many times; but some man always
spoils it and I am obliged to make it over, I am not at all
superstitious about making a will. My only trouble is having nothing
to leave. I am fond of superstitions--the little ones. They give
interest to life, if you have to spend it in one place. A little
unreason is less monotonous than the eternally reasonable, and if it
makes you happy for a minute to see the moon over your right shoulder,
why not see it, and be unreasonably happy?
From a Letter to Mrs. Margaret W. Lemon
222 WEST 23RD STREET,
NEW YORK, Feb. 20, 1900.
My dear Mrs. Lemon:
I am very glad you are to formulate the resolution of thanks and
appreciation of the work of the Reception Committees. Of course it
goes without saying that it will be spread upon the minutes.
The work was altogether so fine and painstaking, and showed such
thought, care, taste and judgment, that, apart from my personal
pleasure in it, I felt exceedingly proud, and happy at the complete
and beautiful result... I am sorry you do not like "Current Events."
To me "Current Topics" means the fag end of everything we know and
have been obliged to read about in the papers. "Current Events" has a
broader significance, and leaves out the trivial and vulgar.
Sincerely yours,
J. C. CROLY.
From a Letter to Mrs. E. S. Willard
BELLA-VISTA, BOSTON HARBOR, MASS.,
August 28, 1901.
... As yet I think I am still in London; or at least still in England.
Crossing the Atlantic is not so much of an undertaking; less than
taking a "trip" with "crossing" changes. Packing and unpacking, and
the harassing "customs" are the worst features. There were only
fifty-six passengers on the _Minneapolis_, but it took us from 8 A.M.
to 1 P.M., in a pouring rain, to pass the argus-eyes of one hundred
and eight inspectors, about two to each passenger.
In my case it seemed a bit ironical,--one of Thomas Hardy's "Little
Ironies," for a _rapid_ American trustee had lost my whole capital
during my absence... The necessity for tying up the ragged ends and
applying a test brought me home. But it is a trial, though I seem to
have lost the power to be unhappy. Do you know what that means? Is
that unarmed neutrality the serenity of Heaven?
I am as yet living in England. My thoughts are there, and my desire. I
see you and a few others whom I love come and go, and I exchange the
loving word, the kindly smile, the sympathetic look.
I am waiting for an indication of where I am to end my days. If my
steps turn towards the isles of the sea, you will be a magnet to draw
me, you with your spiritual beauty, and your constant, unfailing
goodness. God bless you, and grant that I may see you again, and that
we may gain the love, as well as the peace, that passeth all
understanding.
Yours always,
J.C. CROLY.
Resolutions of Protest Offered by Mrs. Croly Through the Woman's Press
Club
(From the Recording Secretary's Report)
At a special meeting of the Governing Board, held in the club rooms,
126 East 23rd street, Dec. 26, 1892, the following resolution
proposed by the president was adopted.
_Resolved_: That the Woman's Press Club has learned with deep regret
of the backward action of the Columbian University of Washington, in
deciding to exclude women from its Medical Department, after ten years
of co-education.
_Resolved_: That we unite with Pro-Re-Nata of Washington, D. C., in
expressing an emphatic protest against this retrograde movement; that
we earnestly hope that better counsels will prevail; that, at a time
when so conservative an institution as the British Medical Association
has voted to open its doors to women, the stigma of retrogression will
not be allowed to rest upon the foremost school in the Capitol of the
Nation.
Tributes of Friends
Jane Cunningham Croly
An Appreciation from Miriam Mason Greeley
In the joyful Christmas-tide of 1829, into the sweet influence of an
English country home there came to life a blue-eyed, brown-haired
maiden, whose sunny nature was destined to laugh with gladness of
heart, or smile through falling tears, for more than seventy eventful
years. "Jenny June" while yet a child came with her family to New York
State, entering here an atmosphere well adapted to foster her
activities and her power to work for the good of others. Her breadth
of vision and her genial sympathy would have been evinced in any land
or clime, but in the stimulating freedom of American thought her
abilities developed to their best.
She found opportunity to plant the seeds of earnest thought, of which
later she was to gather such a rich harvest in the confidence of her
fellow-women. Her eager mind was a rich soil for the growth of ideas
springing from her fertile brain; which led her to be both
conservative and impetuous, grave or vivacious, ever fearless and
versatile, all pervaded with the wholesome balance of quick
penetration.
To her is due the tribute of praise for having borne the heat and
burden of the day in the early development of women's clubs. Friends
tried to persuade her to abandon her plans for organizing woman's
varied abilities, ridicule assailed her most cherished hope, and the
sarcasm of opponents barred the way. She lived to triumph in seeing
her aims successful, and after thirty-five years of club life to be
honored by one of the highest gifts in the power of the General
Federation to offer--the honorary vice-presidency.
Mrs. Croly formulated in 1890 her well-matured plan for a general
federation of women's clubs, and with the cordial assistance of the
"Mother Club, Sorosis," issued the first call for representatives of
women's clubs of all the States to meet.
Stimulated by the success of the General Federation, Mrs. Croly urged
the formation of the New York State Federation, and assisted by
Sorosis as the hostess, an invitation was issued to all the State
clubs to be the guests of Sorosis at Sherry's, November, 1894.
[Illustration: MRS. CROLY at the age of 18.]
Mrs. Croly's life-work as a writer had gone forward hand in hand with
her club interests, and, having finished the foundation work of the
two federations, she devoted her time to the preparation of her
massive volume on the "Growth of the Woman's Club Movement," which is
a monument to her patient industry, and the only permanent record of
the development of women's clubs in America.
She sleeps--but each woman who to-day shares the benefit and the
responsive pleasure of club life, should place a leaf in the garland
for "Jenny June."
From Marie Etienne Burns
"Work is a true savior, and the not knowing how is more the
cause of idleness than the love of it."--MRS. CROLY.
The idea of a State Industrial School for Girls originated with Mrs.
Croly, and at a spring meeting of the Executive Committee of the New
York State Federation of Women's Clubs, held in 1898, she suggested
that the first work of the Philanthropic Committee for the year be an
endeavor to establish a State Industrial School for wayward, not
criminal, young girls of tenement-house neighborhoods. Soon after this
Mrs. Croly met with a serious accident and was obliged to give up all
active work. She decided to go to Europe, hoping to be benefited by a
stay abroad. Just before her departure Mrs. Croly wrote asking me to
present the proposed industrial-school plan to the Convention for its
endorsement. The next day I called upon her to discuss matters. I
found her confined to her sofa with, a crutch beside her, and
evidently suffering much pain; but she seemed to be thinking less
about herself than about the work that was so close to her heart. She
urged me to take up the work which, she was regretfully obliged to
abandon, and was most enthusiastic over it.
Mrs. Croly said: "Those who have worked among the poor in large cities
are aware of the value of orderly and systematic industrial training
for girls of irresponsible parentage, between the years of twelve and
eighteen. These girls are often bright and attractive, but they are
usually self-willed, lacking in judgment, and ignorant of every useful
art, as well as of all social and domestic standards that lend
themselves to the development of a true womanhood. Their homes are
usually unworthy of the name, often scenes of disorder, not
infrequently of violence, from which their only escape is the street.
Their vanity and unbridled desire for low forms of pleasure expose
them to all kinds of evil influences, and the first steps in a
downward career are taken without at all knowing whither they lead.
The most dangerous element in the lives of such girls is their
ignorance. It bars all avenues to respectable employment and deprives
them of self-respect, which grows with ability to maintain oneself and
one's integrity in the face of adverse circumstances. In putting the
knowledge of the simplest art or industry in possession of the
untrained, unformed girl you supply an almost certain defence against
that which lurks to destroy."
I fully agreed with Mrs. Croly. My many years of experience as a
worker among the poor of New York City had taught me the importance,
and indeed the necessity of just such a school, and I gladly promised
to carry forward the good work.
Mrs. Croly said in parting: "I can truly say that during the whole of
my working life in New York, a period of more than forty years, my
heart has bled for these poor neglected, untrained girls, who yet have
the elements of a divine womanhood and motherhood within them, though
undeveloped and hidden by the rankest weeds and growth."
At the Convention in New York City, held in 1901, I presented the
Industrial School project, and the plan received the unanimous
endorsement of all those present. It was, however, deemed wiser to
omit the word "wayward," as the school was to be preventive and in no
sense reformatory. A Committee was formed, of which Mrs. Croly was
made Honorary Chairman; and the work upon a State Industrial School
for Girls was begun.
It was my desire as Acting Chairman of the Committee that the movement
should carry at all times the banner bearing the name of its inceptor,
a name that would always suggest not failure but success. While
seemingly insurmountable obstacles at once arose, they were more or
less overcome as the preparations and work of the Committee
progressed. And at the time of Mrs. Croly's death the project had
reached a point more hopeful than assured, resulting in the
establishment of at least one school which should stimulate the State
Legislature into a realization of the needs of the young girls of the
tenement-house neighborhoods, so that some time in the future there
might be provided through State legislation, on a broad plan, the
State Industrial or Trade School for Girls, the idea of which was
conceived by Jenny June.
From Mrs. Croly's Letter to Mrs. Burns, Relative to the Proposed
Industrial School for Girls
222 WEST 23RD STREET,
Feb. 28, 1900.
My dear Mrs. Burns:
There is only one point that I would have emphasized, and that I do
not find included in your otherwise excellent statement. It is the
moral influence of a training for self-support. Ignorance and idleness
lead to vice and crime; and a Technical Training School would do more
to remedy the Social Evil and raise the standard of morals than all
other influences combined. The fact that work is the great purifier is
what I wish could have been embodied in the plan presented.
Yours with real regard.
J.C.C.
From Izora Chandler
How can one picture all that this one woman was to the hundreds of
other women who loved her: the gentle demeanor, the thoughtful
conversation, the high thinking evidenced not less in her choice of
subject than in the fitness of word and phrase which gave a
distinctive charm to all her utterances, whether public or private?
When first meeting Mrs. Croly one could hardly believe that so
gentle-voiced, slight a creature could have accomplished the
pioneering accredited to her in the enlargement of the mental life of
women. Drawn to her at the first greeting one was soon convinced of
the hidden forcefulness of her nature which could be likened to the
resistless, unyielding under-current, rather than to the wave which
visibly and noisily assails the shore.
Present or absent, the thought of her was magnetic. While charming the
heart she convinced the mind with argument. Her power did not absorb
and minify; it enlarged, enlivened, and became a source of
inspiration. After talking with her, impossibilities became possible
to the timid, the diffident were encouraged to dare, and those who
were strong at coming went away valorous. Her dignity and ready
decision when presiding over a public assembly were noteworthy. She
became a stateswoman in whatever concerned her sex; an earnest soul
pleading for love among co-workers, and for more and yet more of love,
for only in that atmosphere can the heart of woman come into its
rightful sovereignty, urging that slights be forgotten, aggressions
overlooked, and that the fair mantle of love be spread tenderly over
all.
An earnest devotee of the best and highest in art, she seemed to have
an insatiable desire after the beautiful; and was never more serene
and lucid of mind than when considering this scheme, and encouraging
with rich appreciation those who were in the field.
Her store of knowledge was phenomenal. She was a constant learner, an
unwearied seeker after wisdom. When those who had given special study
to any subject addressed the house over which she presided, they
received her most flattering attention, and in the brief afterword of
the chairman she indicated intimate knowledge of the matter in hand,
often giving comprehensive data and suggesting fresh lines for
consideration. No wonder that the finest minds were attracted to her;
that thinkers desired her acceptance of their thoughts; that active
workers sought her cooeperation and leadership. Quiet and forceful;
competent as a critic, but ready with encouragement; simple in manner,
easily approached; patient with those who appealed to her, seeking
rather than waiting to be sought; abundantly appreciative of others,
her memory becomes an abiding impulse towards high and generous
thought, towards simple, worthy living.
From Janie C.P. Jones
Before my friend's last trip to England I went to bid her good-bye,
and among her parting words were the following which I never can
forget:
"I dislike going so far from my friends. To me they are the most
precious things on earth, the greatest gift the world can bestow; to
me they have been like flowers all along my path, and their sweet odor
of influence has made me better every day. I cannot prize them too
highly, for all I am I owe to them."
To have known one who so highly appreciated the value of friendship,
who knew the true meaning of the word "friend," and who possessed the
rare gift of knowing how to retain friends, was an inspiration, and an
influence which added to the value of life. I think of her now as
having "gone into her garden to gather lilies for her Beloved."
From Catherine Weed Barnes Ward
My task is at once sad and pleasant: sad, because I speak of a dearly
loved and lost friend; pleasant, because I am asked to bear my
testimony as to her worth.
Mrs. Croly's friendship and unselfish kindness began with my entrance
over twenty years ago into club life, and from then onward she was
continually urging and helping me towards increased intellectual
effort. Through her active inspiration I joined Sorosis, the Woman's
Press Club of New York, and other American organizations, as well as
the Society of American Women in London, the Women Journalists of
London, and various English organizations, besides taking part in the
International Congress of Women held in London three or four years
ago.
Mrs. Croly lived constantly in two generations, her own and the next
one; her wonderful mental vitality setting the paces of many pulses,
besides those which stirred her own brain. I know much of the actual
labor she accomplished for her sex, both here and in England, but even
nobler than that was the high ideal she set them in her own life and
the inspiration of her personality to younger women.
To those she called special friends her loyalty was unswerving, true
as the needle to the pole, and as one blest with such friendship I
feel the influence of her beautiful, unselfish living will be ever
with me, though something has gone out of my life, never to be
replaced. Her daughter, Mrs. Vida Croly Sidney, worthily carries on
the traditions and work of her noble mother, and her friends feel that
in her there is a living tie between the untiring spirit laboring now,
we may well believe, in another existence and the work so loved by
that spirit while on earth.
A true heart, a generous nature, a broad mind, and keen mental acumen
are qualities that do not die with their possessor; they bless the
world to which she has gone and that she left behind.
We can best honor her memory by carrying on her work and by leaving
the world better and happier for our having lived in it.
From a Letter to the Memorial Committee from Sara J. Lippincott (Grace
Greenwood)
I feel Mrs. Croly's death very deeply. The sacred holiday season,
dedicated from time immemorial to household joy and mirth, and calling
for Christian gratitude and hope, was already saddened by
bereavements, and her death--absolutely unlooked for by me--made it
melancholy and mournful.
"She should have died hereafter." I did not dream when I saw her last
that she was to solve the great mystery before me. Though feeble,
there seemed so much of the old energetic, enthusiastic self about
her; and I parted from her hoping to see her soon in renewed health
and strength.
She always had a peculiar fascination for me: her soft, sweet voice;
her strong though quiet will; her unfailing faith in all things good;
her loyalty to her sex. I think her pass-word to the realm of rest and
reward must have been, "I loved my fellow-woman."
35 Lockwood Avenue, New Rochelle,
January 6, 1902.
From a Letter to the Memorial Committee from Jennie de la M. Lozier
Mrs. Croly was a woman of uncommon intuition and sympathy. She took
wide and far-reaching views of woman's possible development and
usefulness. She believed in organization as a factor in this
development, and spared no effort to form and maintain, even at
personal sacrifice, the woman's club or federation. She was always
generous and warm-hearted, of boundless hospitality, never more
genially herself than when her friends gathered about her in her
attractive home and she could make them happy. I shall always recall
with pleasure the rare moments when she talked with me of her real
life, her hopes and her plans. I believe that she constantly exerted a
noble influence, and that she stood for all that makes for woman's
unselfish helpfulness, courage and independence.
New York, February 10, 1902.
From Genie H. Rosenfeld
In the early days of the Woman's Press Club, when it was divided upon
the question of a suitable meeting place, and undisciplined members
were resigning in appreciable numbers, Mrs. Croly surprised me one day
by declaring that the club had never been stronger than it was at that
hour.
"Why, Mrs. Croly!" I exclaimed, "we have only a handful of women
left."
"My dear," she said, "we have lopped off all our dead wood. The
branches that remain may be few, but they are vigorous, and from them
will spring up a tree that will be a glory to us."
This little saying of Mrs. Croly's has come back to me and been of use
many times, and it has often enabled me to understand the benefit of
lopping off dead wood and starting anew.
Contributed to the New York _Tribune_ by S. A. Lattimore
The sad announcement of the death of Mrs. Jane Cunningham Croly
recalls a delightful incident of several summers ago when I had the
pleasure of meeting her at Long Branch.
In the course of a most interesting conversation I ventured to ask her
to give me the origin of her well-known _nom-de-plume_ of "Jenny
June." In her bright, sympathetic way, which all who knew her can
describe, she said:
"Yes, I will tell you. In my early girlhood I knew a young clergyman
who was in the habit of occasionally visiting our house. One day he
came to bid us good-bye, saying that he was going to a Western city to
reside. As he bid me goodbye he gave me a little book. It was a volume
of B. F. Taylor's poems, called 'January and June.' The little book
opened of itself at a page containing verses entitled 'The Beautiful
River.' An introductory paragraph read thus: 'On such a night, in such
a June, who has not sat side by side with somebody for all the world
like Jenny June? Maybe it was years ago, but it was some time. Maybe
you had quite forgotten it, but you will be the better for
remembering. Maybe she has gone on before where it is June all the
year, and never January at all,--that God forbid. There it was, and
then it was, and thus it was.' This stanza was marked in pencil:
'Jenny June,' then I said, 'let us linger no more
On the banks of the beautiful river;
Let the boat be unmoored, and muffled the oar,
And we'll steal into heaven together.
If the angel on duty our coming descries
You have nothing to do but throw off the disguise
That you wore when you wandered with me;
And the sentry will say: "Welcome back to the skies,
We long have been waiting for thee!"'
On the margin was written, 'You are the Juniest Jenny I know.'
"The years of my girlhood passed on, and with their passing faded away
all memory of the young minister. Later there came to me, as I suppose
there comes to every young girl, the impulse to write, and when some
early efforts of mine were judged worthy to be published, I was
confronted for the first time with the question of a signature.
Shrinking from seeing my own name in print, by some witchery of memory
the words 'Jenny June' suddenly occurred to me, and that, as you know,
has been my name ever since."
After a little pause Mrs. Croly said: "Now that I have answered your
question I must tell you something else. Thirty years after I had
assumed my _nom-de-plume_ a gray-haired stranger called at my house
one day and asked to see me. The name he gave recalled no one I had
ever known, and in meeting there was no recognition on either side.
But he proceeded in a straightforward way to explain the object of his
visit: 'For the last thirty years,' he said, 'since my removal from
this city, I have lived in the West; naturally, I have been a constant
reader of Eastern papers, and particularly have I read every article I
have ever seen bearing the signature of "Jenny June." I have made many
efforts, but always without success, to ascertain who she was, and
whether the name was real or fictitious. Somehow I have never
forgotten the little girl I knew before I went West, and to whom I
gave a little volume of poems with something written on a page that
contained a stanza that I greatly admired about "Jenny June." I have
wondered if she had become the famous writer, and upon my return to my
native city, after so long an absence, I have sought you simply to ask
if you are that little girl.'"
The Fairies' Gifts
_By Ellen M. Staples_
To an English home one bright Yuletide
While Christmas bells rang loud and wide
Came a babe with the gentle eyes of a dove
And a face as fair as a thought of love.
"Now, God be thanked," the old nurse cried,
"That the child is born at Christmas-tide;
"For the blessed sake of Mary's Son
God's benison falls on lives begun
"When Christmas music fills the air
And men are joyful everywhere.
"And as to Him came Wise Men three
Offering gifts on bended knee
"So to one born at the Holy Time
On land or sea, in every clime,
"Come three Good Fairies, and each one bears
A gift to brighten the coming years."
The pallid mother gently smiled
And looked upon her tender child.
"Good nurse, the legend is full sweet;
And I lay my babe at His dear feet
"Whose human Sonhood is aware
Of the painful bliss that mothers bear.
"I can well believe that heaven may
Send gifts to the child of Christmas Day."
Tired by her flight from Paradise
The baby shut her wondering eyes,
Nor knew that 'round the cradle stood,
To bless the babe, three Fairies good.
The First bent over the cradle head;
"These are my gifts to her," she said:
"A sunny nature, a voice of song,
And may faithful friends uncounted throng!"
The Second murmured in accents low:
"The path will be steep and rough, I know,
"So I give her a heart that is brave and strong,
That will patiently work, though the way be long;
"And though life may fill them with toil and care
Her hands shall weaker ones' burdens share."
Then stood the Third for a moment's space
To thoughtfully gaze on the baby face,
And over her own a radiance came
As she softly said: "My gift is a name.
"Though born while the earth lies spread with
snow
The babe is a summer-child, and so
"The sunny nature, the voice of song,
The helpful hands, true heart and strong
"With Nature's self should be in tune,
Sweet child, I name thee Jenny June."
From Margaret Ravenhill
Jane Cunningham Croly left upon the last century an ineffaceable
record. For industrious and successful work in journalism she probably
had no peer. In a speech before the Woman's Press Club not long since,
she said: "When a woman has written enough to fill a room, she feels
like burning it instead of preserving it in scrap-books." Probably no
woman of her day and generation has done more or better work than our
"Jenny June." No woman had more diversity of gifts; she was equally at
home in the editorial chair, or the reportorial office; as a speaker
she excelled. In the old days we who knew her best would sometimes
notice a hesitancy of speech that would occasionally cloud a brilliant
idea; but if she hesitated she was never lost, and the idea was worth
waiting for. She was always clear, logical, forceful in expression,
and exhaustive in argument. Thoroughness seems the word to express the
character of Mrs. Croly. She was quick to catch the meaning of the
uttered thoughts of others, keen in analysis, and executive in all
work. Witness the many organizations which she helped originate. Her
long years of rule as president of Sorosis were of inestimable value
to that "mother of women's clubs." Her great "History of the Club
Movement" should be in the hands of every woman in the land.
Of Mrs. Croly's personality it is a pleasure to speak. Every woman who
enjoyed the privilege of her friendship felt the magnetism and charm
of a rare nature; while, with all her force and power, there was a
childishness about her that impressed one with the idea that the
naivete and innocence of childhood had never been wholly lost in the
woman. I think it was in some measure owing to the fact that she was
so near-sighted that there was a kind of appealing hesitancy about her
movements that impelled you to her aid.
Mrs. Croly's home was one of refinement and good taste in every
detail, and there she was at her best. Always a charming hostess, she
made every guest feel that he or she was the one most eagerly
expected; there were the hearty greeting, the few low words of
welcome, the sunny smile that transformed her face into positive
beauty. Her Sunday evenings at home came nearer in character to the
French salon than any others in New York. There were the most
delightful people to be met: the gifted minds of our own land and
Europe were among her guests. But Mrs. Croly's proudest boast was that
she was a woman's woman.
From T. C. Evans, in the New York _Times_
When I joined the _World_ staff of writers, in 1860, a few weeks after
the foundation of that journal, I found Jenny June already there. She
did not often appear in the office in person, the lady auxiliary in
journalism not being so familiar a figure as it now is, and she had
not yet adopted her pretty _nom-de-plume,_ but her husband, David G.
Croly, held an official post on the staff as city editor, and her
contributions, which were invariably well written and interesting,
appeared from the first in the _World_ columns, and as the years went
on while she and Mr. Croly remained associated with it, with
increasing frequency. They were written by a woman mainly for women,
and the maids and matrons of her country over all its area from ocean
to ocean and from "lands of sun to lands of snow" have never been
addressed by one of their sex whom they came to know better or to hold
in higher esteem. Her work assumed no pretentious or high importance,
but was sweet and wholesome, sensible, and a mirror of the nature out
of which it proceeded. The name Jenny June, which she adopted a few
years later, became a beloved household word throughout the land,
perhaps more widely known than that of any lady journalist who has
ever wrought in it.
Mrs. Croly's social dispositions and her aptitude for gathering
interesting people around her were gracious endowments of nature's
bestowal, as strongly marked in her youth as in her maturer years,
when she gradually came to have a wider stage on which to display
them. Her pretty little drawing-rooms, somewhere on the west side near
Grove Street, are well remembered by me, and first and last I met in
them a goodly number of people well worthy to be remembered, some with
their trophies of success yet to win, but their merit divined by their
clever hostess, perhaps before it had obtained any full recognition
elsewhere. Many also came who had won their spurs and epaulets and
shone bravely in the bright glitter of both. In her little
unpretending salon of that day might be met the brilliant young Edmund
Clarence Stedman, in the morning glow of his poetic fame; Bayard
Taylor, risen into the mid-forenoon of his fame, with his Orient
lyrics published and his translation of "Faust" well begun; perhaps
Phoebe and Alice Cary, though on this point I cannot be certain, and
many another of note and distinction in that time, her hospitality
taking in all arts, and all the presentable workers in them, so that
poets, painters, sculptors, singers, actors were equally welcome, as
were those who brought to her only their bright young countenances
and winning smiles. Her later drawing-rooms, when she had removed up
town, nearer to the Mayfair of society, became widely celebrated, and
she founded something perhaps as near to a salon modeled after the
traditional Parisian standards as any that America has known.
Mrs. Croly is recognized as the chief among the founders of Sorosis,
the most celebrated woman's club in the world, and parent of the
innumerable organizations of like sect which have sprung up since
their renowned progenitor became with fewer vicissitudes and trials
than might have been anticipated firmly planted on its feet and
attested its self-supporting and self-reliant character. No social
development of the modern period is more striking than the swift
multiplication of women's clubs, not in this country alone, but in
others, and they have shown a power of beneficent work most
advantageous to the community at large, which even the most sanguine
among their promoters could not have anticipated. They have also shown
that women can legislate and administrate and rise to the point of
order and lay things on the table in a manner as parliamentary and
self-restrained as men. For such testimony the world should be
thankful, as it never got anything of the kind before. Among the
founders of this now most impressive group of social organizations no
name stands out more brightly and conspicuously than that of Jane
Cunningham Croly.
Her recent death, though a surprise and shock to her innumerable
friends, came when she had passed her seventy-second birthday, and it
cannot therefore be said that she passed away with her work
uncompleted. It was fully and most worthily performed, and was the
fruit of a systematic diligence never remitted, and in which few of
her sex in any period could have exceeded her. Her memory is fragrant
as the month from which she took her _nom-de-plume_, and will at least
be cherished by those whom her gentle discourse, continued for more
than a generation, has entertained and instructed.
From St. Clair McKelway, in the Brooklyn _Eagle_
The death of Jane Cunningham Croly, noticed in Tuesday's _Eagle_,
involves the loss of a woman of leadership who put a good deal of help
into others' lives. Born in 1829, she began at seventeen to write for
newspapers. Her topics were, for a wonder, practical, the young too
generally beginning with abstract, academical or recondite subjects.
Hers were "fashions" in dress, fads in food, fancies and foibles in
decoration etc. From them she advanced to more philosophical or
general fields, but on all she wrote was the stamp of applicability to
contemporaneous life.
In the middle, later, and more genial period of her life she did more
talking than writing. And her talking was always earnest, direct,
sincere, with a gleam of hope and a note of wisdom in it--the union of
experience and reflection. Had it been reported it would have made for
her a literary name: but she was content, or constrained, to limit her
work to the platform, or to the circle of existence affected by it.
As a clubwoman Mrs. Croly achieved the eminence almost of a pioneer.
It can be shown that a club or two of women had a titular beginning
before "Sorosis," but that was the original society started by her on
the theory that there were opportunities and conditions in club life,
on an educational or literary basis, of which women could well avail
themselves. Mrs. Croly sympathized with the more earnest purposes
entering into her idea, and was in little related to any sensational,
spectacular, or faddish features that may here or there become
attached to it. She was a believer in seriousness, an exemplar of
industry, a devotee to system, and a very remarkably punctual,
effective and straightforward writer. Her flight was never very high,
but it was always progressive, and her regulation of her pen by the
precise rules that govern presswork was entitled to distinct praise.
She could always be trusted to keep within her topic and herself
behind it, and she understood the art of putting things to her public
in a way to discover to them their own thoughts as well as to denote
her own.
To David G. Croly, her husband, long a newspaper man of admitted power
and executive force, Mrs. Croly was a constant help, as he too was to
her. From him she learned not a little of her topical discernment and
technical knack. He was never afraid of ability in whomever found, and
he rejoiced that the sex of his wife, and the novel fact that she was
the first woman in America to write daily for publication, gave to her
and her subjects a vogue he and his could not command in a world of
more and mainly personal work. She survived him twelve years. Their
union was not made any less congenial by marked dissimilarity of
convictions on cardinal subjects.
Mrs. Croly was the recipient of many evidences of the honor and
affection in which her own sex held her, and beyond doubt the
organizations of which she was the inspiring force will pay to her
memory the tributes her disinterestedness and abilities deserved,
exercised as she always was for so long with projects nearly related
to the better equipment of effective womanhood for the conditions and
conduct of life. Her death at seventy-two, after not a little
suffering and not a few sorrows, was not unexpected, though it will be
sincerely and widely regretted. In her last years she was happily made
aware of the love and tenderness towards her which she had richly
earned by service, counsel, and example to the lives of others.
From Laura Sedgwick Collins
Dear Friend, dear Helper, passed from earth
To heaven, in earthly grace, I here
Would give to thee homage sincere
And memory sweet. Thy ever kindly word
Has oft the sad heart warmed,
The drooped head raised, and thy sustaining hand
A fainting purpose thrilled
To better courage, firmer aim.
In that far realm where spirits meet
And greet with message mystic, there
Thou must, in sweet commune
Receive reward for earthly deeds.
Thy heart ne'er knew the unkind throb,
Was ever gentle, firm and true;
Whate'er the cause, if once espoused
Thou to thy watchword held thyself.
Throughout our land, in city, town,
Thy name beloved remains alive;
Alive in hearts, alive in minds,--
For thou hadst heart and brain as well
To touch the soul and win the thought.
Thy work for woman stands unspoiled;
Untouched by vanity or marred by pride,
Unsullied by a thought of self,
A generous impulse toward thy sex--
A woman's word for woman's need.
And so thy name in fragrance fine
Bespeaks again returning June,--
The spring of promise, budding hope!
The cypress changes to the rose,--
The rose of dawn, the rose of heaven;
And both are thine and thine the crown
All jewelled o'er with thy good deeds--
Deeds of mercy, deeds of love,
Are with us still though thou art gone!
From Mary Coffin Johnson
Many years before I personally knew Mrs. Croly she was at the height
of her useful public life; the imprint of her hand and mind in
contemporary literature was an evident fact, and she had become a
conspicuous figure in the ranks of well-known women. It is therefore
my privilege to speak of her last few years, when the golden light of
achievement gilded the eventide of her eventful life.
Having had the peculiar advantage of sitting beside her for six years
as an officer of the Woman's Press Club I am thoroughly aware of her
sincerity, and of the singleness of heart which, actuated her motives
in behalf of women. She believed that every united effort that raises
the personal standard of thought and purpose is of the utmost
importance. It was her earnest desire that women should live lofty and
useful lives. She frequently laid stress upon this manner of life, and
at such times her temperament seemed charged with sympathetic interest
in young women journalists. "Unity in Diversity," the motto adopted by
the General Federation of Women's Clubs, is a fitting expression of
the broad conceptions she brought into club life; indeed, her success
in bringing women of unequal social position and essentially different
callings, into harmonious relationship and unity of purpose was
markedly characteristic.
During her last years women's clubs became more than ever of absorbing
interest to her, claiming the complete devotion of her broad mind. The
untiring devotion she had already given to this part of her life's
activities had established her fame, and this fame will ever be
exceptionable, for her work can never be duplicated.
The growing spirit of helpfulness and friendliness which inspires
women's organizations, the manifold opportunities of various kinds
which they afford, and the excellent results which follow could, she
thought, scarcely be estimated. "Club life for women," she would say,
"requires no justification. When we enter our club rooms we leave
behind us much of the rubbish of the world. The richest, fullest
development of life flows through the better social relations, and
from times of old has been uplifting." "It is not merely that we need
one another," she would declare, "but that the sense of kinship is
healthful; it inspires the larger love, and creates a stronger
relationship. It seems to be God's method of helping humankind to the
higher and more perfect life."
On various occasions, when only members of the dub were present, she
would lay aside the formality of the presiding member, and, assuming
the familiar manner of addressing us, pour forth her lofty ideals for
women, unconsciously testifying that the secret spring of her actions
was her love for her own sex. Though the words were always spoken with
gentle calmness, and in a tone of womanly softness, something in her
passionate sincerity would, like the effect of a magnet, attract every
listener, and a spell of silence would fall upon us. In all that she
said we discerned the Divine Principle.
There were those who, from their own viewpoints, carped at what they
heard and saw, but a person even of Mrs. Croly's temperament and
courage, placed amid the recurring action and reaction of a life of
much publicity, cannot, of course, please every one. It would be
surprising if in her long career she had not manifested human
imperfections, and had not sometimes made mistakes; she would have
been more than human had she not.
It was no easy task for her to stem the tide of difficulties and
oppositions from without, for from first to last of her diligent life
she had many trials to endure. Both sunbeam and shadow crossed her
pathway; but her errors were not uncommon to humankind; moreover, she
was very patient under misconception. "It is always fair," said Henry
Ward Beecher, "to credit a man at his best,--let his enemies tell of
his worst." Another writer remarks: "To get a true idea of any
character we most seize upon its higher forming element, that to which
it naturally tends."
Hers was far from an impulsive nature, yet there were times when Mrs.
Croly suddenly revealed in a marked way her true, deep instincts.
While on a visit to this country on one occasion, Madame Antoinette
Sterling, a concert singer in England, was a guest of the Woman's
Press Club. She was asked to sing for us, and responded with "The Lost
Chord." In answer to an encore she sang a ballad of her own
composition, called "The Sheepfold." Mrs. Croly was visibly affected
by the words; seldom had she ever manifested more feeling. When the
song was ended she quickly rose, and in a tremulous voice exclaimed:
"Does not this say to us that if even _one_ were outside, the whole
strength of the universe would be brought to bear upon it, to bring it
into the fold!"
In 1897 Mrs. Croly was honored by the General Federation of Women's
Clubs by the appointment to write the "History of the Woman's Club
Movement in America," an undertaking that required exceptionable
ability. The vast amount of mental energy and wearing labor she put
into this work, added to the past years of constant application to
literary and other interests, told seriously upon her health. Her
nervous system had become exceedingly susceptible, and it was evident
that her good constitution was beginning to break down.
However, the indomitable energy she possessed, and her trained
capacity for work enabled her to continue until the large volume was
finished and given to the public.
Early in June, 1898, Mrs. Croly had a serious fall in which she
fractured her hip, and she was confined to her room for many weeks.
Though she possessed unusual power of endurance, her lessening
strength could no longer bear the strain upon the delicate frame, and
her rallying power was perceptibly diminished. As the fracture slowly
healed she but feebly met the physical exertion necessary to go about
on crutches. Even then it was impossible for her to take life
serenely; she was restlessly eager to be up and doing. When she could
be removed with safety, which was not until the third of September,
she went abroad with her daughter, Mrs. Vida Croly Sidney, who had
come over from England for her, and she spent a year in London and the
vicinity. In August, 1899, they were in Switzerland, and Mrs. Croly
took the baths at Schinznach-les-Bains. She returned to America the
following September, and remained in New York through the winter of
1899-1900. The change agreed with, her, but her health cannot be said
to have improved, and she was still very infirm. Her natural affection
and interest in the Woman's Press Club led her to attend its meetings,
whenever she was able, going there in the carriage sent for her. On
the 12th of May she was present at a club meeting, and gave us an
informal talk, which proved to be her parting address, though at the
time we knew it not. That day her words were full of significance. She
expressed herself with fervor, chiefly on the importance of clubwomen
bearing a large measure of love and good-will towards one another, and
of the cultivation of the tie of divine charity. With earnestness she
urged again that we should stand "hand to hand to exercise patience in
judgment, and to be slow in criticism." "It is God-like," she said,
"to forgive. Remember," she continued, "that all that is good in this
life emanates from love; that it is the very best thing that this life
affords, and that there is nothing on earth that can take the place of
its ministry. Love has no limitations, and if you give the best talent
you possess to your club it will give it back to you. Club life is
often misunderstood, it is true,--but," she slowly added, "there is
nothing in this world _entirely_ perfect." She spoke touchingly of the
personal sense of loneliness she felt; that although she was a woman
among many women she lived many a lonely hour; and she wished it well
understood that the love and friendship of clubwomen was to her the
most precious thing in her life. In closing she emphasized the counsel
she had given, to be "United and conciliatory in our relations with
each other; to be just; to suspend judgment; and to wait long and
trust God who knows all. He," she declared, "will not misunderstand
you."
At the end of May she returned to England. Though nature had not
become victorious over her feebleness, and she was still almost
helpless from the effect of the accident of 1898, she heroically
overcame these physical conditions as far as she was able. Something
continually impelled her onward. She attended the International
Congress of Women held during the Paris Exposition of that year, and
then went on to Ober-Ammergau to the Passion Play, accompanied by Mrs.
Sidney; and then returned to England, where she stayed until the 27th
of July, 1901, when she again sailed for New York, business matters
requiring her presence in this country.
On her arrival in August from the second visit abroad, the grave facts
that her health was not established, and that her time here was not to
be long, were soon evident to her friends. The struggle of nature not
only had begun, the shadow was even now sweeping near. She appeared at
the November business meeting of the Woman's Press Club, accompanied
by an attendant, and took the chair, but she was so much exhausted by
the effort that her nurse easily persuaded her to come away. During
the following four weeks her prostration and decline were steady.
As the final day of her human infirmity approached, she expressed to
the close friend who sat beside her a timid shrinking, common to all
human nature, from the passage out of this life. It may be counted a
special mercy that, as it afterwards proved, she need not have had any
disquietude concerning the inevitable moment, for a few hours before
the closing scene she fell into a state of coma, and passed beyond so
quietly and tranquilly that she did not herself know when the moment
came. She entered the world of infinite repose in the forenoon of
December 23, 1901.
The funeral service was held in the Church of the Transfiguration,
Mrs. Croly's friends gathering from far and near to pay their last
tributes of love and regard. The women's clubs and societies of
Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the suburbs, were represented in large
numbers, and every seat in the church was filled.
Mrs. Croly lies at rest beside her husband, David G. Croly, in the
beautiful cemetery near Lakewood, New Jersey.
"Yon's her step ... an' she's carryin' a licht in her hand; a see it
through the door."
From Caroline M. Morse
As Chairman of the Memorial Committee it is my privilege to add my
memories of Mrs. Croly to those which have preceded. Mine are not of
her club interests, nor of her identification with the woman's club
movement. So much has been written, and so well, regarding these
public phases of her life that it would seem almost officious for me
to add a stone to the already piled up cairn; I write rather of my
friend as my family knew her in her home, surrounded by husband and
children.
It was in 1880 that we first knew Mr. and Mrs. Croly, and the
acquaintance soon became an intimacy that lasted for twenty-three
years. They were living in their own house in Seventy-first street, an
artistically furnished house, an ideal home full of a sweet
domesticity.
Intimate as we were it was frequently our privilege to gather with the
family at their Sunday evening supper, when Mrs. Croly was as
completely the "house-mother" fulfilling the homely duties of the
table, as, an hour later, she was the gracious, though more formal
hostess receiving in her drawing-room the usual Sunday night throng of
old friends and the strangers of distinction who, chancing to be in
town, were fortunate enough to have letters of introduction to her. I
see her slight figure moving from group to group, and the low English
voice and sweet smile with which she encouraged her visitors to speak
of themselves, and, if they were foreigners, of their missions to this
country. A characteristic act of hers was to carry around a little
silver tray on which there might be several glasses of a dainty punch,
the base of which was a light, non-alcoholic wine. This she offered to
friends whom she desired particularly to honor, and the act had all
the significance of the Russian custom of breaking bread and eating
salt with the host. These Sunday evenings at home, which were a
feature of the society in which she moved, were continued until a
short time before her death, or until she was incapacitated by
illness.
My friend had none of the usual failings of the traditionary
"emancipated woman"; she would sit down to her basket on an afternoon
and take up a bit of household sewing with the same spirit and
aptitude that had guided her in the forenoon in the writing of an
editorial article or the preparation of a paper to be read before a
club.
I recall with especial joy the long walks we used to take together.
After a day of wearisome work, it was one of her great delights to
leave the piled-up desk and find herself in the street, her arm linked
in mine. At such times much of her talk was ravishing speculation upon
things seen and unseen. It was as if, released for the moment from
the pressure of work, her mind sprang into a world removed from the
practical and immediate, to revel in contemplation of the divine. Yet
she was no visionary, and the world of sight held her cheerful
allegiance. Hers was never "the dyer's hand subdued to what it works
in," and this is the more remarkable since she never relinquished
work, even for our beloved walks, without a mild protest at laying
aside her pen. One afternoon I called, intending to take her out for
one of our "play-hours," but I failed to find her in her apartment.
Next morning the post brought me this note:
"MY DEAR FRIEND:
"I was so glad to get your card, and so sorry to miss you.
It was just that hour out-of-doors with you that I was
longing for. I have been so long away, and since my return
have been so busy with much detail of correspondence that in
quantity is always more or less depressing, that I needed a
sight of you to tone me up and restore my standard. I have
also taken advantage of enforced quiet to brace up for an
heroic two weeks of dentistry, and have therefore been in
absolute retirement and upon baby diet of the most innocuous
description...
"I am afraid this recapitulation will take away all desire
to repeat your effort in my direction. But I trust that
this may find you in a missionary humor, and that you will
see that I need 'looking after'--a far stronger motive with
most women than friendship, isn't it? Anyway, come again
soon, won't you? Afternoon is our gadding time, you know.
"Really and lovingly your friend.
"P.S.--This note will show that I truly have not command of
all my faculties and need a human tonic."
All out-of-doors was dear to her. Trees were to her as men--rooted,
and she often naively talked to them as if to friends while we
strolled in the twilight. Her love of nature even seemed to affect her
choice of diet, for she preferred simply prepared dishes and the
natural foods. This was doubtless due in part to her unmixed Old World
nationality and to her early surroundings in rural England: as she was
in girlhood, so, in spite of the complex life of this distracting New
World, she remained to the last.
My friend dwelt lovingly upon anniversaries; the true spirit of
Christmas entered her heart at every Yuletide season, and her gifts
showed generous care in selection and in the dainty wrappings in which
they were sent to us. She delighted in the Christmas and Thanksgiving
dinners, but St. Valentine's was the dearest, as it was the
anniversary of her marriage. This the Woman's Press Club of New York
has always observed as the date of its annual dinner.
She had a keen sense of humor, yet never did she forget herself either
in posing or pranks, for hers was the unerring sense of the fitness of
things. An instance of her ready wit comes to me: Soon after her
return from her last visit to England she came to us to stay for a few
days. It was in September, three months before her death. On Sunday
evening several friends dropped in, and from general conversation we
drifted into singing some of the old songs. Now and then she would add
her own low tones to our untrained vocalizing, crooning or
cantillating the tune as if she were musing aloud. We had been singing
for a full hour, she, with crutch near at hand, sitting apart from us
at the open window. We had just sung one of her favorites, the old
ballad "Far Away," and were beginning another with all the energy of
amateurs when it occurred to me that Mrs. Croly might be tired and
ready to go to her room for the night. Bending over I whispered,
"Come, dear, you must be weary of all this." She turned slowly in her
chair, and looking up into my face, smiling whimsically, said: "Oh,
no, not yet! I am enjoying the music just as if it were good!"
I have already intimated that the home life of the family was happy.
There existed between husband and wife a genuine congeniality in
tastes and pursuits; yet between any two minds when both are strong
and original there will generally be a divergence; and it has always
seemed to me that the origin of Sorosis might be traced by the
psychological analyst to some such divergence between Mrs. Croly's
lines of intellectual development and those of her equally gifted
husband, David G. Croly. The power of initiative was strong in each of
these two, and in each it produced excellent though differing results.
It is cause for regret that Mrs. Croly did not write more in her
latter years, when her native wisdom had ripened in the soil of a rich
experience.
Her philosophy was the fruit of a rightly-lived, useful life, and even
after the distressing accident which lamed her, her enthusiasm never
waned, but rather seemed intensified and glorified. Seldom do the
heart and brain work together as did hers. She will ever stand to
those who knew her as a fine specimen of a rare type. She had
convictions, and she had the courage to uphold them. She hated shams
and hypocrisy with the vigor of Carlyle. The bravery of her public
life was matched by the beauty of her private life. Good and Truth
were her watchwords. "Good has faculty," says Swedenborg, "but not
determinate except by truth. Determinate faculty is actual power." In
the dear friend whom we here commemorate, faculty was determinate.
Brave and honest pleader for woman; true, tender, sincere friend, you
fought the good fight well; the world is better for your work, and
among your saddest survivors are those whom you smote with a deserved
pen-stroke, or with spoken words, who have long since given you
grateful thanks.
C.M.M.
L'Envoi
She cut a path through tangled underwood
Of old traditions out to broader ways.
She lived to hear her work called brave and good,
But oh! the thorns, before the crown of bays.
The world gives lashes to its pioneers
Until the goal is reached--then deafening cheers.
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
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