The Newsletter was originally known in England as the vehicle of a vein of humour peculiar even in America, and mainly dependent upon a contempt for all religious formalities and observances, an affectation of atheism, and an evident desire to render all those things ridiculous that believers hold most sacred. Through all this ran a vein of ability which even those who objected most to the degradation of it were bound to admit, and the smart utterances of the chief writer on the staff were not only quoted widely throughout America, but now and again found supporters among advanced journalists in England. How different now is the Newsletter! Its flippancy is as rampant as ever, but its attempts to make fun out of the doctrines of faith in general and Christianity in particular are of the dreariest, while in place of the cleverness which once made its columns readable there is a scurrility worthy of the typical Stabber or Rowdy Journal. And the more its ability becomes deteriorated, the more do its abuse, its blasphemy, and its blackmailing qualities exhibit themselves. It is evident that the old leader has departed, and left in his place one whose servile imitation must have been his best credential for the office of successor.[47] But it was in reference to the Newsletter’s advertisements that we commenced; though they are in truth so mixed up with its other matter that the distinction is subtle indeed. The construction of the paper is unique. Each page is complete in itself, and in the “backs” and “gutters”—the inside margins, in fact—there are numerous advertisements. The chief peculiarity, however, of the paper is that of spreading its puffs and notices about among the ordinary matter. The following extract will give some idea of the prevailing plan:—
“Tell me, O, thou ancient warrior,
How it is you look so strong.
Full well I know, for four-score years
You’ve wandered round—say, am I wrong?”
“I have lived for four-score years, sir,
Drinking naught but Cutter’s best.
If you want to live as long, sir,
I advise you to invest.”
Shortening a Telegram.—A gentleman took the following telegram to a telegraph office:—“Mrs Brown, Liverpool street.—I announce with grief the death of uncle James. Come quickly to read will. I believe we are his heirs.—John Black.” The clerk, having counted the words, said, “There are two words too many, sir.” “All right, cut out ‘with grief,’” was the reply.
The other afternoon I strayed,
About the hour of four,
To see if in the town I’d find
A first-class carpet store.
I wandered round for a long time,
Until a friend did tell
Where was the only place in town—
The store of Plum & Bell.
As an early morning train stopped at the station, an old gentleman with a cheerful countenance stepped out on the platform, and inhaling the fresh air enthusiastically exclaimed, “Isn’t this invigorating?” “No, sir, it’s Auchterarder,” replied the conscientious porter. The cheerful old gentleman went back to his seat in the carriage.