I did not know what lively reading was until I saw an American newspaper.
American journalism is, above all, a sensational journalism. If the facts reported are exact, so much the better for the paper; if not, so much the worse for the facts. Beyond the date, few statements are reliable. But the papers are always lively reading. Picture to yourself a country where the papers are all Pall Mall Gazettes, with this difference, that the articles, instead of being always by "One who knows," are oftener by "One who doesn't."
To succeed as a journalist in America, it is not necessary to be a man of letters, to be able to write leading articles à la John Lemoinne; the only qualification necessary is to be able to amuse and interest the reader; this must be done at any cost; all styles are admissible except the heavy.
The accounts of trials in the police courts or at the courts of assize eclipse the novels of M. du Boisgobey. I, who never read tribunal reports in the English newspapers, was more than once surprised in America to find myself deeply interested in the account of a trial for murder, following all the details of the case and unwilling to miss a word. Alternately moved and horrified, I would read to the end, then, passing my hand across my forehead, I would say to myself: "How silly; it is mostly fiction, after all!"
The American journalist must be spicy, lively, bright. He must know how to, not report, but relate an accident, a trial, a conflagration, and, at a push, make up an article of one or two columns in length upon the most insignificant incident. He must be interesting, readable, as the English call it with reason. His eyes and ears must be always open, every sense on the alert; for, before all and above all, he must keep ahead in this race for news; if he should once let himself be outdone by a confrère, his reputation would be blasted.
But you will perhaps exclaim: "What is the poor fellow to do when there is no news?" What is he to do? And his imagination, is it given him for no purpose? If he have no imagination, he had better give up the idea of being a journalist in America, as he will soon find out.
This is how one American reporter made a reputation at a bound. The Chicago people are still proud to tell the story.
The young fellow was taking a walk one evening in a retired part of the town, on the look-out for what adventure history does not say. All at once, a human form, lying motionless on the ground, attracted the sight of our hero. He drew near to it, stooped down, and found it to be a corpse. His first impulse was to immediately seek a policeman and tell him of the discovery.
But a second idea came; it was more practical, and he adopted it. This was it: