Mark Twain's Encounter With An Interviewer.

MARK TWAIN'S ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER .

Q . —How old are you ? A . —Nineteen , in June . Q . —Indeed , I would have taken you to be thirty-five or six . Where were you born ? A . —In Missouri . Q . —When did you begin to write ?

A . —In 183 G . Q . —AVhy , how can that be , if you are only nineteen now ? A . —I don't know . It does seem cm-ions , ' somehow . Q . —It does , indeed . Who do you

consider the most remarkable man you ever met ? A . —Aaron Burr . Q . —But you could not have met Aaron Burr , if you are only 19 years—A . —Nowif you know more about me

, than I do , what do you ask me for 1 Q . —It was ouly a suggestion , nothing more . How did you happen to meet Burr ? A . —WelL-I happened to be at his funeral one day , and he asked me to make less noise ,

and—Q . —But if you were at his funeral , he must have been dead ; and if he were dead , how could he care whether you made a noise or not ? A . —I don't know . He was always a particular kind of man that way . Q . —Still I don't understand it at all .

You say he spoke to you , and that he was dead . A . —I didn ' t say he was dead . Q . —But wasn ' t he dead ? A . —Well , some said he was , some said he wasn't .

Q . —What do you think ? A . —Oh , it was none of my business ? It wasn't any of my funeral . Q . —Did you— . However , we can never get this matter straight . Let me ask about something else . What was the date of

your birth ? A . —Monday , October 31 , 1693 . Q . —What ! Impossible ! That would make you 180 years old . How do you account for that ? A . — T don ' t account for it at all .

Q . —But you said at first you were only 19 , and now you make yourself out to be 1 SO . It is an awful discrepancy . A . —Why , have you noticed that ?

Mark Twain's Encounter With An Interviewer.

( Shaking hands . ) Many a time it has seemed to me like a discrepancy , but somehow I couldn ' t make up my mind . How quick you notice a thing ! This was but the beginning . Before that interview was over there must have been one , at least , of the race of inquirers who had his curiosity satisfied . —From the Lotus Leaves .

Losses.

LOSSES .

Upon the white sea sand There sat a pilgrim band , Telling the losses that their lives had known ; AVhile evening waned away From breezy cliff and bay 7 , And the strong tide went out with weary moan .

One spake with quivering lip Of a fair freig hted ship With all his household to the deep gone clown ; But one had a wilder woe , For a fair face long ago , Lost in the darker depths of a great town .

There were who mourned their youth AVith a most loving ruth , For its brave hopes and memories ever green ; And one upon the west Turned an eye that would not rest , For far-off hills whereon its joy had been .

Some talked of vanished gold—Some of proud honours told—Some spake of friends that were their trust no more , And one of a green grave Beside a foreign wave , That made him sit so lonely on the shore .

But when their tale was done , There spake among them one , A stranger , seeming from all sorrows free ; " Sad losses have ye met , But mine is heavier yet , For a believing heart hath gone from me . " " Alas ! " these pilgrims

said" For the living and the dead , For fortune ' s cruelty , for love ' s sure cross , For wrecks of laud and sea ; But howe'er it came to thee—Thine , stranger , is life ' s last and heaviest loss . "