No finer tribute was ever paid by man to woman than that which John Stuart Mill has recorded in the moving Preface to his volume entitled "Liberty," in which he writes: "To the beloved and deplored memory of her who was the inspirer, and in part the author, of all that is best in my writings-the friend and wife whose exalted sense of truth and right was my strongest incitement, and whose approbation was my chief reward-I dedicate this volume. Like all that I have written for many years, it belongs as much to her as to me; but the work as it stands, has had, in a very insufficient degree, the inestimable advantage of her revision. Were I but capable of interpreting to the world one-half the great thoughts and noble feelings which are buried in her grave, I should be the medium of a greater benefit to it than is ever likely to arise from anything that I can write, unprompted and unassisted by her all but unrivalled wisdom." The man who could truthfully write such words as these is the man against whom the tongue of scandal never plays, — upon whose character no taint falls, whose life is always pure and sweet and noble, and upon whose memory there is no stain. - In closing the pages of this volume which bear directly upon the history of Mr. Raymond, a final tribute must be paid to the charming trait of filial devotion which was so strongly marked in his character. His love for his parents was simple and tender as that of a child, and it suffered no change to the latest hour of his life. His mother's words, uttered lovingly while she sorrowed for his loss, form the best epitaph that could be written over the grave of Henry Jarvis Raymond: "HE WAS ALWAYS A GOOD SON." CHAPTER XXIII. ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS. " 66 HOW BENNETT WAS BEATEN AT HIS OWN GAME THE LOSS OF THE COLLINS 66 PRECISION IN RETURNING to the consideration of Journalism, aside from the personal career of Mr. Raymond, it is proper to allude to some of the incidents and anecdotes of newspaper life, a part of which are connected with the history of the Times. Although the profession of Journalism is exigeant, it has its humors; and many of these arise from the incidents of keen rivalry. One story of the enterprise of the Times has never been told, and this is a fitting place in which to tell it : HOW BENNETT WAS BEATEN AT HIS OWN GAME. In September, 1854, the Collins steamer Arctic was lost at sea. Among her passengers were many prominent citizens of New York; and the news of the dreadful shipwreck carried poignant sorrow to hundreds of households. Early in October, when the steamer had been long overdue at the port of New York, on her return voyage from Liverpool, vague apprehensions of disaster began to prevail; and, as day after day passed, without tidings of the missing vessel, wild rumors filled the air. From day to day, the feeling of dread became intensified, and the excitement hourly increased. Finally, late in the night of the 10th of October, a rumor suddenly spread through the city, to the effect that the Arctic had actually been lost; that there had been a fearful loss of human lives; that a solitary survivor had returned, and that this survivor had brought authentic intelligence of the disaster. This report reached the ear of the assistant who was then in charge of the City Department of the Times; but it reached him at an advanced hour of the night, when all but himself had finished their labors, and had returned to their homes. Sending reporters out in all directions, with strict charge to spare no pains in sifting the rumors of the night, he strove to gather authentic intelligence; but the effort was futile. The reporters returned with news that no trace of the survivor's movements could be found. A paragraph was accordingly written, announcing, in guarded phrase, that rumors of the total loss of the Arctic had been current during the night, but that nothing of a definite character was known. This announcement, placed in a prominent part of the Times, under a displayed heading, was all that it was possible to say. Discomfited, discouraged, and apprehensive, the head of the City Department then departed for his home. But the adventures and the excitements of the night were not destined to be so speedily finished. The perturbed editor, instinctively feeling that there was something yet unrevealed, mused while dozing in a horse-car, at the hour of three o'clock in the morning; and his strung nerves made him sensitive. Scarcely had the car gone a half-mile from its starting-point, when a stranger, hurriedly coming down a side street, jumped upon the rear platform, evidently in an excited state, and began a conversation with the conductor, in the hurried and incoherent manner of a man who had simultaneously heard startling news, and had indulged in conviviality. The disjointed sentences which fell from the lips of this man furnished a clue to the watchful editor in the furthest corner of the car, whose hearing was as painfully acute as his professional pride was seriously wounded, for defeat in the pursuit of news sits heavily upon the soul of the newspaper man. The words, "Arctic " "only man who had got in "—" Burns"—"St. Nicholas Hotel"—" Herald Office"-"all night" "tired "bottle of wine"- conveyed distinct ideas. The words - out " formed themselves into this shape in the mind of the weary watcher in the corner: "A man by the name of Burns has escaped from the wreck of the Arctic; he is at the St. Nicholas Hotel; he has pushed on towards New York as fast as possible after landing; he has gravitated to the Herald Office, knowing that the Herald pays well for exclusive news; the Herald has got his story; and there is a trick to keep it away from all the other papers!" Out of the car dashed the Times man; down Broadway he tore; across the Park, and up to the printing-room of the Times he rushed. There he found the foreman placidly putting on his coat, in preparation for departure. "Stop the Press!" was the first order uttered. "Why?" inquired the foreman. "Because the Herald has got hold of a survivor of the Arctic, and is trying one of its old games; but we'll beat yet!" A bell tinkled; a message went down the speaking-tube which led from composing-room to cellar; the great press stopped. A workman in the press-room was called up, and these words passed: * South, you know the Herald office; they've got hold of a story about the Arctic, which belongs to all the Press, and they mean to keep it, and cheat us out of it. I want a copy of it. I want you to get it in any way you can; will you do it?" "How do you know they've got it?" The circumstances were recited. "All right!" said "South;" "I'll get it, provided you don't ask me any questions." The promise was given. "South" departed, to return a few minutes afterwards, with the information that the Herald office was all alight (the hour was four o'clock in the morning); that the press-room was fast-locked, and that all the carriers and newsboys had been excluded. "What shall I do?" asked "South." "Get the first copy of the Herald that comes off the press," was the order instantly given. "Buy it, beg it, steal it! any * A curious character, named John Long, -now dead. thing, so long as you get it; and to-morrow you shall have fifty dollars for your trouble." "Enough said," observed "South." Twenty minutes later, he appeared in the office of the Times (then at the corner of Beekman and Nassau Streets) with a copy of the Herald, containing Mr. George H. Burns's narrative of the loss of the "Arctic," entire, printed in doubleleaded type. Meanwhile, the whole force of Times' compositors had been routed out of their beds, by messengers sent in urgent haste; each man stood at his case," "stick" in hand, and when "South" returned, waving the next morning's Herald triumphantly over his head, a mighty "Hurrah!" went up, which might have been heard for several blocks. The Herald "copy" was cut up into four-line "takes;" in an hour the whole story was in type; and the people of the Herald, blissfully unconscious that a copy of that journal had been adroitly abstracted, withheld all their city circulation until nine A. M., sending off only the mail copies containing the long-expected relation of the dreadful disaster. By eight o'clock in the morning, the Times was procurable at all the news-stands in the city, and its subscribers had received the news an hour before. Edition after edition of the Times was called for; and its Hoe press ran without intermission from seven o'clock in the morning until two o'clock in the afternoon, to supply the continual demand. Nor was this all, for on the following day the Times gave twelve columns of statements of passengers who had escaped by boats from the sinking steamer, and one column of editorial comment upon the disaster. Mr. Raymond, entering fully into the spirit of the occasion, volunteered his services as a reporter, and for one day actually put himself under the orders of the City Editor who had the matter in charge. It is needless to add that Mr. Raymond's report was the best of all. On the following pay-day "South" received his gift from the proprietors of the Times, and the City Editor's salary was increased at the rate of five dollars a week, as a reward for the energy he had displayed.* * Mr. Fletcher Harper, Jr., was then the publisher of the Times. |