Never let your paper go to press without a sensation. If you have none, make one. Seize upon the prominent events of the day, and clamor about them with a maniacal fury that shall compel attention. Vilify everything that is unpopular—harry it, hunt it, abuse it, without rhyme or reason, so that you get a sensation out of it. Laud that which is popular—unless you feel sure that you can make it unpopular by attacking it. Hit every man that is down—never fail in this, for it is safe. Libel every man that can be ruined by it. Libel every prominent man who dare not soil his hands with touching you in return. But glorify all moneyed scum and give columns of worship unto the monuments they erect in honor of themselves, for moneyed men will not put up with abuse from small newspapers. If an uncalled-for onslaught upon a neighboring editor who has made you play second fiddle in journalism can take the bread out of his mouth and send him in disgrace from his post, let him have it! Do not mind a little lying, a liberal garbling of his telegrams, a mean prying into his private affairs and a pitiful and treacherous exposure of his private letters. It takes a very small nature to get down to this, but I managed it, and you can—and it makes a princely sensation. If two prominent preachers solemnize a questionable deathbed marriage when custom does not require them to cipher at the rights of the case until it is too late and one of the parties dies, go for them! Make fiends of them! Howl, and gnash your teeth, and rave with virtuous indignation till you convince yourself that in spite of your native rottenness you have some of the raw material of a saint in you, after all. But if those preachers refuse to solemnize the marriage, and go driveling around after information till the bridegroom dies and the bride goes crazy, then you can howl with forty-fold power about the soulless inhumanity of those divines. Simply a little change of base and you can make it appear that nothing is so damnable as the spectacle of a preacher refusing a deathbed request of any kind for any reason whatsoever.”

 

[Enter a Reporter.]

 

“Mr. D., there is a report that Gen. Grant was drunk yesterday.”

“Is there any truth in it?”

“No, sir.”

“Then publish it by all means—say it is true—make a sensation of it—invent affidavits.”

 

[Exit Reporter.]

 

“Yes, my son, in journalism, the idea is to deal in injurious personalities as much as you can, but you must make it a point to pitch into the helpless—it is the safest course. Make yourself a sort of Ishmael; have no friendships that are worthy; praise nothing that is worthy of praise; hate everything that other men love; cackle your opinions upon all subjects and upon all occasions with a swaggering pretense that the people attach weight to them; delve among forbidden subjects and revel among their filth, for it is the life of a two-cent paper; uncover all rapes and seductions, and expose them to the public gaze. In a word, be shameless—have this virtue and you need no other to make a two-cent paper succeed. And as soon as success is achieved, the illustrated papers will print your picture and publish your startlingly eventless biography, written by yourself.”

 

[Enter a Reporter.]

 

“Mr. D., Gen. W. is dead.”

“Ah, that is fortunate. A dangerous man—a very dangerous man. But now we can settle with him. Write an abusive obituary, and traduce the character of his mother.”

“And Mr. Greeley has fallen on the ice and hurt himself seriously.”

“Ah, that is fortunate also. State that he was under the influence of liquor. I wish we could do something to make the Tribune notice us.”

 

[Exit Reporter.]

 

“Another feature, my son, is the interviewing business. We used to do a good thing in that line, but latterly Sun reporters find it difficult to get access to respectable people. However, it matters little.