The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1899-08-13

of naval officers on both sides of the
family. His father is retired Cap
tain in the navy, and his grandfather
held the rank of a Rear Admiral. Mr..
Barnes has seen much of the sea and
heard still more. Since his gradua-
ton from Princeton he has devoted
himself steadily, to writing. and has
just completed biography OF Ad-
1miral Farragut.
The forthcoming English edition OF
Mark Twain's writings, in twenty-five
volumes, is to be specially illustrated
and will seontain. it is said. matter
which has not hitherto been included
in any collection of his works. MI.
Clemens is now making a tour with
his family in Sweden and Norway.
A greater contrast could scarcely be
imagined than that between Margaret
Sutton Briscoe and her husband, Pro-
lessor Hopkins of Amherst College. She
is a round, sparkling little Southern
woman, full of life and vivacity. He
is a tall, angular New Englander, who
might have posed for his brilliant wife'a
portraits of such characters in her
charming stories. Mrs. Hopkins spends
the winter months hard at work in
her college home, and in the summer
takes an outing with her family. OF
recent years she has become one of the
best paid of American story writer's.
Miss Louise Imogen Quincy is said to
receive and act upon criticism more
readily than any other American writer.
She recently made a completely new
version Of her "Tarpeia" for an elocu.
zionist who wrote that it was too de-
scriptive for her use.
There is a certain editor in New York
with whom the power of the daily presa
is such a hobby that he raised the SAL
airy of a sub-editor who suggested a
Sunday special on Famous Graduates
of the Reporters Room. and at once
assigned his best dressed reporter. to
interview leading authors along this
lineA 1t happened that Mark Twain was
in New York, and the editor counted
on him as a striking example of the
literary value of Newspaper training. The
reporter was ordered to spare space for
the interview. Yet when the article
appeared Mr.. Clemens name was con-
spicuously absent. 1t was this way:
Mr.. Clemens received the reporter
with his customary urbanity, though he
shrugged his shoulders when he learned
what paper the young man represent
ed. AS usual, Mr.. Clemens was most
elusive man to pin down in an inter-
view, but at last the reporter gathered
his wits and asked the question which
he meant should point his article.
Mr.. TWAIN he asked, ito what one
thing most of all do you owe your mar,
velous success in literature?" He had
counted on my newspaper training as
the answer.
The famous humorist half shut his
eyes, thought a few moments in 81
lence, and then said decisively:
ITO the fact that when 1 was young
and very ambitious 1 lost my job
May 1 ask what was your job, Mr.
Twain?" exclaimed the puzzled report
er.
Certainly, sir, certainly" replied Mr.
Clemens with great suavity. II was a
reporter. Evening Post.
Persons with literary tastes very sell,
dom look it, says the New York
Press" A New York girl found that
out to her establishment not long ago.
She had an opportunity, as unexpected
as sudden of meeting many lions, little
and big, whom she had known we'll
enough in their writings to have vivid
mental picture of how the men and
women must themselves seem in real
life. Rather dfsa appointing, she was
forced to admit, were the most of them.
There was the passion poetess, who
really looked just as she should She
was aesthetic in her whole appearance
artistically neligee, the girl concluded
to term it. But in conversation, why,
she wasn't a bit soulful, and where
should one expect to find pure soulful,
ness if not with her. But she insisted
upon seeing the funny side to every,
thing, and though she was refreshing
and entertaining, still she wasn't living
up to what was expected of her And
when some one, on her duty intent,
dragged into the, conversation an al.
fusion to something of yours that made
such an impression upon me- she had
even forgotten that something. Equally
disappointing was the authoress of GER
tain dainty ballads, who proved to be
middle-aged and hopelessly rotund and
con1fortable-looking The only poet who
looked and acted his part was a very
young and very small lion who could
as yet point to nothing of his that had
created any great excitement. But to
ask one person to write poetry and to
look like a poet as well. is like asking
a man to make a joke and see the point
of it: that's two mems work, as the
unconscious humorist in a popular story
said.