INTERVIEW WITH DANIEL PRATT.

Our reporter yesterday morning took breakfast at the Vendome with his friend, Mr. O. Wilde, and in the conversation which followed between the young men the poet said that on the previous evening he had met the most perfect ideal of aestheticism that he had yet seen in America. "This chawming creature," said he, "in both spirit and dress is the very daisy of idyllity." The reporter expressed a great yearning to know the name of this fortunate being. He was told that it is Dan'l Pratt - "Not Daniel," said Oscar, "but simplistically beautiful Dan'l." Immediately our reporter excused himself, and after examining the guest-book, the chief of police and several other Boston dignitaries, he found that Mr. Pratt was actually staying at the Vendome - his room was up pretty high, to be sure, but for all that he was at the Vendome. After two or three timid knocks the door was partly opened, and Dan'l's classic head appeared, with the question if he'd come to buy a photograph. The reporter said that such was not his purpose, but he would like to get Mr. Pratt's opinions on the topics of the day for the HARVARD HERALD. Dan'l, after some hesitation, admitted him, saying that he did not wish to be disturbed, as he was just writing his regrets to the mayor, because of not being able to keep a dinner engagement. He said that "those Beacon-street gals were botherin' him so, comin' after his new photographs, that he had to keep his door locked."

"Well, Dan." said the reporter, "you haven't been in Cambridge lately; we miss you; you used to make us forget the lunch we'd eaten, as we came from Memorial."

"Yes indeed," replied Dan, "I've been keepin' seclusive this winter. One reason is that I put my linen duster some place last summer, and forgot where I put it, and the weather's been so cold I didn't want to go out without an overcoat - lungs weak, you know. My friend Jared Sparks used to say that's my weak point - my lungs. I'm busy writin' a thing to speak to the boys in spring - when walkin's good - a lecture on languages, mighty fine - my chief douver - that's French."

"Dan., what do you think of your friend Oscar Wil -"

"Oh, he's a gosh darn fool; he got mad last night 'cuz I took out my clay pipe, the cussed fool. He said it wasn't emetic, or somethin' like that. I'd like to see'm take a good whiff at it. He'd think is was mighty emetic, I guess. How are you fellers gettin' along out there, any way? I tell you, the college aint what it used to be when my friend Edward Everett was there. I sent in my application for professor of chonology - keep the clock in order, you know - and they never noticed it. When they tried to get Max Miller, and couldn't, I sent 'em word I'd take his place, and they wouldn't have me. Oh, I tell you, the place's run down. Why, I used to pass around my hat among the boys after I'd got through lecturin', and get two or three dollars, and now! well, I'm glad if I get my hat back."

"What do you think of co-education, Dan?"

"Oh, he's the new fellow on the crew, is he? Well, I don't know him, but I knew his father - '42, I think - one of the smartest, high-tonedest fellows I ever saw. He gave me a white vest once, and a spur."

"How long you been boarding here, Dan'l? The last time I saw you wasn't stopping at any place in particular."

"Oh, I've been here some time. I got mighty tired livin' a la cart, you know, hangin' on wherever I got a chance, so I thought I'd try this for awhile."

"Did you go to the Greek play, Dan'l?"

"Oh no, I know Shakspeare by heart. I'd ruther hear him in the original, like my friend Salviny; but you've got to excuse me now; I'm goin' to lecture before the Woman Suffrage Society with my friend Ker'nel Higginson - I'm goin' to carry the pitcher of water on the stage" - and, rubbing his ancient beaver on his shiny coat-sleeve, Dan'l bowed the reporter out.