“And it is you that govern the country?”
“It’s the press, sir, and nothing but the press, which governs a free people.”
“But is not the press liable to error?”
“All human institutions are; but we have such abundant means of correcting and preventing it, that it is almost impossible for us to be in the wrong. In the first place, our press has the money by which (drawing himself up to his full height) it can secure the best talents; and, secondly, our people are too ‘cool’ to be easily wrought into a passion. We are a ‘calculating’ people.”
“But your papers are full of personal abuse. Do you think that an advantage?”
“Not exactly; but it is unquestionably a great help—a seasoning of dull editorials. Our people have so much ordinary conversation in the course of the day, that, if it were not for the slander contained in our newspapers, they would not be amused at all. Papers, sir, are ‘the eating, drink, and fuel’ of the Americans; and on that account they can never be too hot for them.”
“But very high seasoning marks a bad taste; I should think the best papers on what is called ‘the aristocratic side’ would scorn personal abuse.”
“Quite the reverse, sir, I assure you. It’s the only means of attracting notoriety, and of pleasing our first people. Besides, it would be useless to play the part of a gentleman in that respect, when all the rest are blackguards. We want strength, sir! strength! and nothing but strength!—none of your ‘milk and molasses’ productions, of which a man can make neither head nor tail. If we give a man a beating, we do not want him to get up again; ‘we go the whole hog.’ When we attack a man, we assail at once his moral, political, religious, and domestic relations. Every little helps, you know. ‘Give a dog a bad name, and hang him!’ says the proverb, and it is just so with our politicians.”
By this time I began to be afraid of the man, lest, if he should not “steal my purse,” he might publish me in the papers. He looked, indeed, like a desperate fellow; though his self-sufficiency was quite amusing, and the smacking of his lips and the stroking of his chin, with which he accompanied every one of his sayings, were sufficiently ludicrous to destroy the effect of the ferocious manner in which he paced the room. I therefore made no farther reply, but began to dress for supper. This untimely cessation of conversation seemed to annoy him, as it probably prevented him from showing off, and impressing me with a proper respect for his station. He therefore drew a parcel of papers from his pocket, and throwing them violently on the table—
“Here,” exclaimed he, “is the last news. I dare say you know it already. We have triumphed in every part of the country. Our State is carried ‘high and dry.’”