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J. Ewing Ritchie
About London
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066238339
Table of Contents
CHAPTER V. TOM TIDDLER’S GROUND.
CHAPTER VI. WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
CHAPTER VII. LONDON CHARITIES.
CHAPTER IX. OVER LONDON BRIDGE.
CHAPTER X. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS AND THE EARLY-CLOSING MOVEMENT.
CHAPTER XI. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.
CHAPTER XII. LONDON MATRIMONIAL.
CHAPTER XIII. BREACH OF PROMISE CASES.
CHAPTER XIV. COMMERCIAL LONDON.
CHAPTER XVI. THE LONDON VOLUNTEERS.
CHAPTER XVII. CRIMINAL LONDON.
CHARTER XVIII. CONCERNING CABS.
CHAPTER XIX. FREE DRINKING FOUNTAINS.
Mr. WILLIAM TINSLEY’S LIST OF NEW WORKS.
CHAPTER I.
NEWSPAPER PEOPLE.
What would the Englishman do without his newspaper I cannot imagine. The sun might just as well refuse to shine, as the press refuse to turn out its myriads of newspapers. Conversation would cease at once. Brown, with his morning paper in his hand, has very decided opinions indeed—can tell you what the French Emperor is about—what the Pope will be compelled to do—what is the aim of Sardinia—and what is Austria’s little game. I dined at Jenkins’s yesterday, and for three hours over the wine I was compelled to listen to what I had read in that morning’s Times. The worst of it was, that when I joined the ladies I was no better off, as the dear creatures were full of the particulars of the grand Rifle Ball. When I travel by the rail, I am gratified with details of divorce cases—of terrible accidents—of dreadful shipwrecks—of atrocious murders—of ingenious swindling, all brought to light by means of the press. What people could have found to talk about before the invention of newspapers, is beyond my limited comprehension. They must have been a dull set in those dark days; I suppose the farmers and country gentlemen talked of bullocks, and tradespeople about trade; the ladies about fashions, and cookery, and the plague of bad servants. We are wonderfully smarter now, and shine, though it be with a borrowed light.
A daily newspaper is, to a man of my way of thinking, one of the most wonderful phenomena of these latter days. It is a crown of glory to our land. It is true, in some quarters, a contrary opinion is held. “The press,” Mr. David Urquhart very seriously tells us, “is an invention for the development of original sin.” In the opinion of that amiable cynic, the late Mr. Henry Drummond, a newspaper is but a medium for the circulation of gossip; but, in spite of individuals, the general fact remains that the press is not merely a wonderful organization, but an enormous power in any land—in ours most of all, where public opinion rules more or less directly. Our army in the Crimea was saved by the Times. When the Times turned, free-trade was carried. The Times not long since made a panic, and securities became in some cases utterly unsaleable, and some seventy stockbrokers were ruined. The Times says we don’t want a Reform Bill, and Lord John can scarce drag his measure through the Commons. But it is not of the power, but of the organization of the press I would speak. According to geologists, ages passed away before this earth of ours became fit for human habitation; volcanic agencies were previously to be in action—plants and animals, that exist not now, were to be born, and live, and die—tropical climates were to become temperate, and oceans, solid land. In a similar way, the newspaper is the result of agencies and antecedents almost equally wondrous and remote. For ages have science, and nature, and man been preparing its way. Society had to become intellectual—letters had to be invented—types had to be formed—paper had to be substituted for papyrus—the printing-press had to become wedded to steam—the electric-telegraph had to be discovered, and the problem of liberty had to be solved, in a manner more or less satisfactory, before a newspaper, as we understand the word, could be; and that we have the fruit of all this laid on our breakfast-table every morning, for at the most five-pence, and at the least one-penny, is wonderful indeed. But, instead of dwelling on manifest truisms, let us think awhile of a newspaper-office, and those who do business there. Externally, there is nothing remarkable in a newspaper-office. You pass by at night, and see many windows lighted with gas, that is all. By daylight there is nothing to attract curiosity, indeed, in the early part of the day, there is little going on at a newspaper-office. When you and I are hard at work, newspaper people are enjoying their night; when you and I are asleep, they are hard at work for us. They have a hot-house appearance, and are rarely octogenarians.