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