It was a privilege to know her, and the highest praise one could have would be that Maria Mitchell called her—friend.
The outline facts of Maria Mitchell's life, written by her sister, Mrs. Kendall, together with selections from journals and letters appeared in 1896, and leave nothing to be desired further in that direction. But everybody who knew her at Vassar finds in that record much left out of the dear, delightful, original, human side, and it is impossible to live over the portion of time spent here with her without putting into these random recollections some hitherto unpublished fragments about her. I trust she will forgive me.
Some old lines always expressed her to me,—"A soul that scorns the vain, holding the world but at its due;" and, "Who saw life steadily and saw it whole." How one wanted to peep in that note-book of hers—usually carried in her pocket. An abstruse calculation jotted hastily down on one page, side by side with the latest anecdote or joke, a fact in regard to woman's education, an intimate personal reflection,—what a mine of riches it contained!
"If thee has any secrets, thee musn't tell them to Maria. She never could keep one," said dear old Mr. Mitchell, playfully. We understood what he meant. While she would not reveal special confidence reposed in her, or give out in advance any college matter of importance, she simply was unable to bind herself to the petty and the trivial, and as a friend stated, "thought and word with her came pretty close together."
However interested you might have been in woman suffrage and all the other subjects concerning the "cause," you felt that in comparison with this grand woman you hardly knew the alphabet. She judged everything from the standpoint, "How is this going to affect women?" I remember her indignation at being overlooked with the other two women of the Faculty by President Raymond in his demand for a list of what the members had published. "We may not have done so much as some of the men, but we all have done something." It took a good deal of apology on his part to soothe her wounded feeling and restore her natural good humor.
MARIA MITCHELL
1865
Every woman speaker of note in that day,—Julia Ward Howe, Anna Dickinson, Mary Livermore, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Ednah D. Cheney, were personal friends of Miss Mitchell, and at various times her guests at the observatory. Sometimes one would be invited to speak before the whole college, as when Mrs. Howe recited there her Battle Hymn of the Republic and Mrs. Livermore told the story of her war experiences in a hospital. But the observatory was chiefly the place of meeting, with spirited talk and free discussion. What delightful evenings were there when a favored few were asked to meet distinguished guests! What personal anecdote and reminiscence! And what good coffee at the end!
She avoided irritating discussion and heated argument. Two friends of hers had cause of dispute, and as it happened one day in her presence the pros and cons of the case were being gone over pretty vigorously. Suddenly she interfered,—"This subject is never to be alluded to again—pause—twinkle—unless I bring it up myself."
The earliest reports of departments were read in detail at Board meetings, and Miss Mitchell had a satisfaction that her labor in making out statistics had not been wasted—seeming, then, to count in significance and importance. In later years, this proceeding was no longer practicable. Entering the President's office one morning she inquired a little aggressively,—"Into the oblivion of whose hands do I consign this paper?" "Mine," came the meek reply, disarming her completely.