Her unexpectedness was delightful, if often a little embarrassing. One never could predict what she would do next. She would beckon a teacher in passing out of the dining-room to stop at the Faculty table, and before those assembled there, ask her some question such as,--"Have you a silk dress? And how many?" "There!" dejectedly. "I was afraid you had! It was said at this table just now that not a teacher in the college but had a silk dress. I said I didn't believe it, that there must be somebody here that couldn't afford one," adding in friendly dismissal, "Well, I'm glad you have one." Another time she called out, "I hear you are engaged to be married. I denied the report, as you had not told me first." The teacher, used to Miss Mitchell's way, showed no confusion, carried out the joke by saying, "I have hardly had a chance to tell you yet," and laughingly made her escape. A student who had just entered college met her shortly after arrival. Miss Mitchell stopped her. "You have a dimple in your chin. Well, so has George William Curtis, but still it is a deformity." Another time to an officer whose parents had visited her at the college came this:--"Such a handsome father and mother as you've got! Aren't _any_ of you children good looking?" One rarely felt aggrieved at Miss Mitchell's bluntness. It was her "way." She was a privileged person, and most of us were ready to share the laugh she raised at our expense. Her "Dome" parties for her students at the end of the year were famous, and she was busy weeks beforehand composing her "poetry" for the occasion. She had a natural gift in impromptu rhyming, and what was bestowed on her girls was treasured years after. Two of these precious relics of the past have been loaned to me to copy here. It is most fitting that the last words of this sketch should be her own, and lingeringly with them I leave her. A "Dome" rhyme to her girls:-- "Who lifting their hearts to the heavenly blue Will do woman's work for the good and true; And as sisters or daughters or mothers or wives Will take the starlight into their lives." In the train with three of her seniors after Commencement, June 30th, 1868:-- "Sarah, Mary, Louise and I Have come to the cross roads to say good-bye; Bathed in tears and covered with dust, We say good-bye, because we must; A circle of lovers, a knot of peers, They in their youth and I in my years, Willing to bear the parting and pain, Believing we all shall meet again; That if God is God and truth is truth, We shall meet again and all in youth." To live in a great period is rarely to be conscious of its magnitude and importance. It is not till you stand from afar that the wonder grows on you, with thankfulness to have been a looker-on and to have served somewhat, if ever in so humble a capacity.