le sense the ten or twelve small
pages of the Parisian _Temps_. Not but that there is a great deal of
good matter in the Sunday papers. _Wer vieles bringt wird manchem
etwas bringen_; and he who knows where to look for it will generally
find some edible morsel in the hog-trough. It has been claimed that
the Sunday papers of America correspond with the cheaper English
magazines; and doubtless there is some truth in the assertion. The
pretty little tale, the interesting note of popular science, or the
able sketch of some contemporary political condition is, however, so
hidden away amid a mass of feebly illustrated and vulgarly written
notes on sport, society, criminal reports, and personal interviews
with the most evanescent of celebrities that one cannot but stand
aghast at this terrible misuse of the powerful engine of the press. It
is idle to contend that the newspaper, as a business undertaking, must
supply this sort of thing to meet the demand for it. It is (or ought
to be) the proud boast of the press that it leads and moulds public
opinion, and undoubtedly journalism (like the theatre) is at least as
much the cause as the effect of the depravity of public taste.
Enterprising stage-managers have before now proved that Shakespeare
does _not_ spell ruin, and there are admirable journals in the United
States which have shown themselves to be valuable properties without
undue pandering to the frivolous or vicious side of the public
instinct.[17]

A straw shows how the wind blows; let one item show the unfathomable
gulf in questions of tone and taste that can subsist between a great
American daily and its English counterparts. In the summer of 1895 an
issue of one of the richest and most influential of American
journals--a paper that such men as Mr. Cleveland and Mr. McKinley have
to take account of--published under the heading "A Fortunate Find" a
picture of two girls in bathing dress, talking by the edge of the sea.
One says to the other: "How did you manage your father? I thought he
wouldn't let you come?" The answer is: "I caught him kissing the
typewriter." It is, of course, perfectly inconceivable that any
reputable British daily could descend to this depth of purposeless and
odious vulgarity. If this be the style of humour desiderated, the
Thunderer may take as a well-earned compliment the American sneer that
"no joke appears in the London _Times_, save by accident." If another
instance be wanted, take this: Majo