Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/380

370 which are ranged in goodly order the records of the labours of our Legislature for years past.

Having ushered you into this stately room, allow me to introduce you to the gentleman in the arm-chair. His hair is thin and grey; he is slightly round-shouldered, and stoops even when not sitting; as he looks up you perceive that his face is pale, if not sallow, and his eye is contracted with reading almost illegible manuscript and roods of small type. He is the Editor. At that side-desk is an assistant who opens the voluminous correspondence as it arrives, ascertains what letters are worthless, and what are important, and writes the contents of each upon the back. In this room are received the higher class of callers who seek an interview with the “potentate in the arm-chair,”—merchants with special views and facts connected with trade and navigation; members of parliament riding their own hobbies; clergymen with pet schemes on still more petted grievances; barristers burning to amend the law or panting for recorderships, vacant judgeships, and other “small deer” sinecures; officials who think that a word from the pen of the all-powerful and widely-circulated Daily Argus and Universal Recorder would carry their point and civilise mankind—all press in succession up to this throne and pour their plaint into the ear or place their petition in the hand of this editorial Rhadamanthus. He, bland and courteous, listens with more or less gravity of attention as he deems the subject brought before him of public moment. When, however, he thinks the visitor trivial and tedious, he quietly dismisses him by a civil gesture of impatience, an allusion to the pressure of engagements, and a touch of the American bell which lies by his side on the table.

Before the hour, however, for admitting this miscellaneous throng of visitors has arrived, essential work has been despatched. The correspondence has been glanced through,—in some instances carefully read,—the morning papers have been examined, and notes made of any important intelligence they contain, or remarkable views enunciated. But the Editor does not examine these papers with a view to find out what they contain alone. Great is the glee of the Daily Argus if the Matutinal Medley or the Auroral Agitator has omitted an important item of home news or failed to enlighten with equal lucidity its portion of the reading public on the mysterious proceedings of a foreign government. On the other hand, should the A. A. or the M. M. be first in the intelligence-market, deep is the grief of the Editor. Here is food for lamentation, indeed, for the reputation of the Daily Argus is seriously menaced. Presently, however, a calm comes over the editorial nerves, and the work of the office falls back into its ordinary grooves.

The most important hour of the four-and-twenty is probably that when the council of leader-writers meets, and the topics of the day are gravely discussed, with a view to their eventual treatment. What subjects shall be selected? What pen shall comment upon them? This is matter of no slight importance. Occasionally the day teems with a plenitude of matter, and then little is the trouble of selection; but this is not always the case, and the editor and his council have to rack their brains to find the necessary complement. The American war and the Polish question are standard dishes which can be réchauffé à discrétion, the arrival of each mail furnishing fresh sauce to make repetition palatable. Mexico and Brazil, like Schleswig-Holstein, and Scandinavian unity, are delicate and cloudy topics, and can only be used at discreet intervals. Parliament ought to be a rich mine, but now-a-days it is nearly “all talk and no work,” so that it affords really little that is practical and profitable for the pen of conscientious patriotism to dilate upon. Besides, the Legislature sits but half the year. Society kindly offers a few subjects; but then they usually turn up in the wrong places—in the police courts or the higher judicial tribunals. Railway accidents, aristocratic escapades, official boards, metropolitan improvements, church extension, ill-judged clerical preferment, nepotism in exalted places, street obstructions, the weather, the crops, the harvest, the national revenue returns, garotting, or an execution, all are good in their turn, though, like pumpkins, they soon grow stale. For effect, however, commend me to a thumping grievance, or a shameless scandal. The world grows mad with excitement to hear the naughty doings of naughty people described, and a column of fierce invective against an unfortunate delinquent, be he peasant or prince, peer, commoner, merchant, clerk or artisan, is read with an avidity that would be incredible did not the ledgers of the publisher reveal the truth. All these things the editor and his council have to bear in mind whilst catering for the public appetite. To them belongs a grave responsibility, and they are not unmindful of it. They select those subjects which tend best to inform the public mind and guide the public taste, whilst the entertainment of their readers is not overlooked. When a topic has been chosen, it is not left to the caprice of the individual writer to treat it in any random way he may please. It is thoroughly discussed, viewed in all its various phases, weighed in the balance, twisted round and round, and when it is maturely considered, and not till then, the line of argument is laid down, and, in fact, the general form and scope of the article arranged. To the skill and imagination of the writer entrusted with each text, is left the task of embodying in his own language, and giving life and colour to, the principles to be enunciated, the policy to be advocated. When this has been settled, the council breaks up, and the literary athletes depart, each to his own place, to prepare “copy” for the printer.

Whilst the editor has been holding this important parliament, the sub-editor has, on his part, not been idle. The mass of papers he has to examine and arrange far exceeds that of his chief, and no small judgment is required to determine what shall be retained and what shall be destroyed. Look at that heap of papers. Surprise is often expressed that an editor should be able to fill his forty or fifty columns with such unvarying punctuality, morning after morning. “Whence can he find matter?” it is asked. Look again at that mass of flimsy. The real difficulty is what to do with it