Memories of Jane Cunningham Croly, Jenny June | Page 2

low Among dead embers break in quickening
flame; Flowers of the soul, grain of the heart shall grow, And
burgeoned promises shall bravely blow Beneath the sunny influence of
Her fame.
ETHEL MORSE.

A Brother's Memories
_By John Cunningham, D.D._
The most interesting and potent fact within the range of human
knowledge is personality, and in the person of Jane Cunningham Croly
(Jenny June) a potency was apparent which has affected the social life
of more women, perhaps, than any other single controlling factor of the
same period.
Jane Cunningham was born in Market Harborough, Leicestershire,
England, December 19, 1829. She was the fourth child of Joseph H.
and Jane Cunningham, and though small in stature and delicate in
organism, was full of vivacity, and abounding in natural intelligence.
Her rich brown hair, blue eyes and clear complexion proclaimed her of
Anglo-Saxon origin. She was the idol of her parents and the admiration
of her school teachers. Her comradeship with her father began early in
life and was continued to the time of his death. The family came to the
United States in 1841, making their home at first in Poughkeepsie, and
afterwards in or near Wappinger's Falls, where the father bought a large
building-lot and erected a neat and commodious house, which remained
in the possession of the family until sold by Mrs. Cunningham after the
death of her husband. The lot was soon converted into a garden by its

owner who tilled it with the spade and allowed no plough to be used in
his little Eden. It was characteristic of his generous spirit, too, that none
of the surplus product was ever sold, but was freely given to less
favored neighbors. Happy years were spent by Mr. Cunningham in his
shop, in his garden, with his books, and in visiting his daughter Jennie
in New York after her marriage when she became established there. It
was as nearly an ideal life as a modest man could desire. He lived
respected by the best people in the community, and died in peace, with
his children around him.
As I remember my sister in early life, the sunniness of her nature is the
first and prevailing characteristic that I call to mind; occasional moods
of reverie bordering on melancholy only made brighter the habitual
radiance and buoyancy of a nature that diffused happiness all around
her. She was a perfectly healthy girl in mind and body. A sound mind
in a sound body was her noble heritage. She was always extremely
temperate in food and drink, fastidious in all her tastes and personal
habits, indulgent never beyond the dictates of perfect simplicity and
sobriety. Proficient in all branches of housekeeping, her apparel was
mostly of her own making. Good literature was a passion with her, and
while never an omnivorous reader, she had a natural instinct for the
best in language. A spirit of indomitable independence, courage and
persistence in purpose characterized her from childhood. She must
think her own thoughts, and mark out and follow her own path.
Suffering from a degree of physical timidity that at times caused her
much pain, she possessed a spirit that sometimes seemed to border on
audacity in the assertion and maintenance of her own convictions.
From childhood she developed a personality which charmed all with
whom she came in contact. Persons of both sexes, young and old, the
sober and the gay, alike fell under the influence of her magnetic power.
Living for a time in the family of her brother, to whom she proffered
her services as housekeeper when he was pastor of a Union church in
Worcester County, Mass., she drew to her all sorts of people by the
brightness and charm of her personality. Self-forgetful and genuine,
interested in all about her, she lived only to serve others, valuing lightly
all that she did. Here it was that her remarkable capacity for journalism
first developed itself. One of the means by which she interested the
community was the public reading of a semi-monthly paper, every line

of which was written by herself and a fellow worker. The reading of
that paper every fortnight, to an audience that crowded the church, was
an event in her history.
Jennie was no dreamer. She was no speculative theorist spinning
impossible things out of the cobwebs of her brain. She was no Hypatia
striving to restore the gods of the past, revelling in a brilliant cloudland
of symbolisms and affinities. If she was caught in the mist at any time,
she soon came out of it and found her footing in the practical realities
of daily life. Never over-reverential, she never called in question the
deeper realities of soul-life. She was no ascetic: she would have made a
poor nun. But she was