A great many others have treasured and loved these consoling stanzas without knowing who wrote them, When they were originally published in October, 1876, it was the custom of magazines to print the names of the authors of contributions in the table of contents only. For this reason, no doubt, the verses were widely copied by the newspapers of the time with noname signed to them. Moreover, they have been many times credited to Walt Whitman, because of the incident narrated in the head-note in connection with that well-known poet. Of course, that incident did suggest the form and phrasing of the lines. But Walt Whitman himself and his literary executors have repeatedly corrected the mistake which ascribed it to him, and have made it clear that Mrs. Dodge, and not he, had written this inspired and lofty poem.
In her personality, Mrs. Dodge was one of the most lovely and lovable of women. There was in her face a higher quality than what the world calls beauty. As her pictures show, she had a fair and noble countenance, but the first and the most lasting impression which she made was that of a singular radiance and cheer.
Mr. Frank R. Stockton used to relate quietly, but with a twinkle of the eye, a story of his first meeting with Mrs. Dodge. From the fact that she was “a writer and editor for little folks,” he had conceived an ideal of her as “a tall, spare, angular woman, very old-maidish in appearance, with a Maria Edgeworth type of face, spectacles at her eyes, and little round curls dangling in front of her ears.” When, therefore, on entering her sanctum in the office of “Hearth and Home,” he was greeted warmly, as he has often said, by “one of the most attractive and brilliant women he had ever seen,” aglow with enthusiasm and wit, he was surprised almost to the point of embarrassment. It is needless to say that it was a fortunate meeting for both, and the beginning of a long association in which they were the happiest and heartiest of co-workers. Mr. Stockton soon joined the editorial staff of “Hearth and Home”; when Mrs. Dodge took charge of the new magazine, St. Nicholas, he accepted at her request the position of assistant editor, which he retained for several years; and until the close of his life each of these two favorite writers for children had no better friend than the other.
At the varied social gatherings which she enjoyed in those days—whether in homes of affluence or in the studios of artistic and literary workers—Mrs. Dodge was eagerly sought and welcomed for her infectious gaiety, the felicitous surprises of her conversation, her sincerity, kindliness, and good will. During her later years repeated illnesses lessened her activities, both social and literary, but they could not chill her joyous spirit nor her warmth of nature. Even when far from well, she could rarely forego the pleasure of welcoming her friends to her home, in one of the large apartment-buildings overlooking Central Park. Within the spacious rooms, her artistic tastes, rare sense of color, and love of elegance and refinement were reflected in the rugs and the antique furniture, the soft lights, and the family portraits on the walls. On one evening of each week, she was “at home” to a little coterie of special friends and cronies whose affection was very dear to her. She always counted upon these “little evenings,” as she called them, which will be ever memorable to those who had the privilege of sharing in them, She was an ideal hostess, whose face shone with the happiness of seeing others happy. The hospitality was of the simplest. There was no formality in these friendly gatherings, but only the most homelike feeling and camaraderie. She was always their central figure, and the charm of her personality was their dominant joy. Without her, they could not have been.
A memorable chapter in Mrs. Dodge’s life began with her purchase, in 1888, of a cottage in the summer colony at Onteora Park, in the Catskill Mountains. In the beginning it was a simple little square frame-house, and Mrs. Dodge took great delight in adding, year by year, a room or a veranda, a bay-window or an extension, until she erected, at last, a quaint, many-gabled home, to which, each season, she joyfully returned. Nestling upon the slope of Onteora Mountain, it faced two lofty summits toward the east; while to the right stretched the beautiful blue gaps and summits of the South Range. Her cottage she named “Yarrow,” from the