The May mansion in West Nineteenth street was a sealed book to reporters yesterday, and the door was promptly shut in the face of those who were recognized as newspaper inquirers by the negro in charge. Dr. May has made no secret of his anger at the reports, too accurately drawn, of his appearance of anxiety and alarm when expecting bad news from his son, and will have nothing to say to representatives of the press.

Here, it will be observed, is a claim to something professional in the very aspect of the "newspaper inquirer" whereby the sable guardian of the portal may know him well enough to take the responsibility of slamming the door in his face. Again, we observe here a tribute to the interviewer's skill; for, prior to the duel, Dr. May, though politely presenting himself, could give no news; but his lynx-eyed visitors had gathered from the very attitude, tone, and look of their host the material for an item as picturesque as any tidings. So the besieged householder, as we have seen, took refuge in total eclipse, leaving only a "negro in charge" to determine the status of his callers.

Yet the most discerning negro in charge sometimes proves a weak barrier against invasion. The trained interviewer can take a protean shape, and introduce himself under disguise of the most sympathetic friendship or the most urgent business. Sometimes he is the picture of respectful woe, or anon it is he who has a favor to confer by bringing news of pressing importance. Close and private indeed must be that conference whose secrets he cannot worm out. He gave to the public the "family scene of astonishment at the opening of the Vanderbilt will" the very morning after the affair occurred. Should moral borings fail, he can resort to material ones, as when, a few months since, he cut a hole in a hotel floor, to apply his ear to, over the room where a Congressional committee sat in secret session, being detected only by the unlucky plaster falling among the astonished statesmen below. He is the animal of the fable, who, having once "got in," cannot be got out until ready to go. In our war times some commanders looked upon him, coming to camp in never so fair a guise, with the misgivings of the hapless Trojan regarding the wooden horse; and it is said of Baron Von Werther that he "treats as an enemy all newspaper correspondents, even though they have the best personal introductions to him." Such fears of warriors and diplomats, who quail before no ordinary foes, are tributes to the interviewer's prowess.

It must go hard but he gets something from the sullenest and most refractory customer. We have seen his harvests at the May mansion, when baffled by real ignorance on the part of his victim; hence we may guess whether he is to be checked by a mere wilful purpose to conceal, or the whim to keep a matter private. At very worst, his own description of his rebuff will be humorous and piquant. Often do we have an entertaining half column beginning, "Our reporter waited upon," etc., and, after descriptions of household ornaments, personal dress, and so on, ending in this way:

Ques.—You say, then, that you can give me no information whatever?

Ans. (snappishly)—As I have already told you a dozen times, no information whatever.

Ques.—And that is positive and final?

Ans. (savagely)—Positive and final.

Here our reporter took his leave, wishing the gentleman a very good morning, to which politeness of our reporter the uncommunicative gentleman only distantly bowed.

But these defeats form a rare experience of the interviewer, who even then continues to pluck victory (that is to say, an item) out of their jaws. His ordinary career is a round of triumph which has made him a leading figure in the portrait gallery of modern society. I wonder that Mr. Daly does not introduce it at length into some of his comedies of American life. Drawn faithfully, and personated by Mr. James Lewis, the dramatized interviewer would be a wealth of pleasure.