ern 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