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 s