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 ent.i.tled "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 G.o.d 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 m.u.f.fled 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 pa.s.sed on, and with their pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sumed 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 fict.i.tious. 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, G.o.d be thanked," the old nurse cried, "That the child is born at Christmas-tide;
"For the blessed sake of Mary"s Son G.o.d"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 s.p.a.ce 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 sc.r.a.p-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 a.n.a.lysis, 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 navete 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 a.s.sociated 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 s.e.x whom they came to know better or to hold in higher esteem. Her work a.s.sumed 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.