The Reminiscences of an Astronomer

by Simon Newcomb

More definite was an observation made on his movements one afternoon by a looker-out from a window of the Nautical Almanac Office. Across the way the road was bounded by no fence, simply passing along the side of an open field. As Oliver got near the office, his chin on his breast, deep in thought, he was seen gradually to deviate from the sidewalk, and direct his steps along the field. He continued on this erratic course until he ran almost against the fence at the other end. This awoke him from his reverie, and he started up, looked around, and made his way back to the road.

I have spoken only of the men who were employed at the office at the time I entered. Previous to my time were several who left to accept professorships in various parts of the country. Among them were Professors Van Vleck, of Middletown, and Hedrick and Kerr, of North Carolina. Not desiring to leave upon the mind of the reader the impression that all of whom I have not spoken remained in obscurity, I will remark that Mr. Isaac Bradford rose to the position of mayor of the city of Cambridge, and that fugitive pieces in prose and poetry by Mr. E. J. Loomis were collected in a volume. [2]

The discipline of the public service was less rigid in the office at that time than at any government institution I ever heard of. In theory there was an understanding that each assistant was "expected" to be in the office five hours a day. The hours might be selected by himself, and they generally extended from nine until two, the latter being at that time the college and family dinner hour. As a matter of fact, however, the work was done pretty much where and when the assistant chose, all that was really necessary being to have it done on time.

It will be seen that the excellent opportunities offered by this system were well improved by those who enjoyed them—improved in a way that I fear would not be possible in any other surroundings. I took advantage of them by enrolling myself as a student of mathematics in the Lawrence Scientific School. On this occasion I well remember my pleasant reception by Charles W. Eliot, tutor in mathematics, and E. N. Horsford, professor of chemistry, and, I believe, dean of the school. As a newcomer into the world of light, it was pleasant to feel the spirit with which they welcomed me. The departments of chemistry and engineering were about the only ones which, at that time, had any distinct organization. As a student of mathematics it could hardly be said that anything was required of me either in the way of attendance on lectures or examinations until I came up for the degree of Bachelor of Science. I was supposed, however, to pursue my studies under the direction of Professor Peirce.

So slight a connection with the university does not warrant me in assuming an authoritative position as an observer of its men or its workings. Yet there are many features associated with it which I have not seen in print, which have probably disappeared with the progress of the age, and to which, therefore, allusion may be made. One, as it presents itself to my memory, is the great variety and picturesqueness of character which the university then presented. I would like to know whether the changes in men which one fancies he sees during his passage from youth to age are real, or only relative to his point of view. If my impressions are correct, our educational planing mill cuts down all the knots of genius, and reduces the best of the men who go through it to much the same standard. Does not the Harvard professor of to-day always dine in a dress coat? Is he not free from every eccentricity? Do the students ever call him "Benny" or "Tobie"? Is any "Old Soph" [3] now ambulant on the college green? Is not the administration of the library a combination of liberality and correctness? Is such a librarian as John Langdon Sibley possible?

Mr. Sibley, under a rough exterior, was one of the best-hearted and most admirable of men, with whom I ultimately formed an intimate friendship. But our first acquaintance was of a very unfavorable kind. It came about in this way: not many days after being taken into the Nautical Almanac Office I wanted a book from the university library, and asked a not over-bright old gentleman in the office what formalities were necessary in order to borrow it.

"Just go over and tell them you want it for the Nautical Almanac."

"But they don't know me at the library, and surely will not give a book to any stray caller because he says he wants it for the Nautical Almanac."

"You have only to say 'Nautical Almanac' and you will get the book."

I argued the matter as stoutly as courtesy admitted, but at length, concluding that I was new to the rules and regulations of the place, accepted the supposedly superior knowledge of my informer and went over to the library with a due measure of assurance. The first attendant whom I addressed referred me to the assistant librarian, and he again to the librarian. After these formalities, conducted with impressive gravity, my assurance wilted when I was ushered into the august presence of the chief librarian.