hy, if primitive, sentiment breathes in all his works. And his
magnanimity was equal to his courage. "I have no objection to forgive
enemies," he wrote, "particularly after I have trampled them under my
feet." This principle guided his life and his journal, and, while it
gave a superb dash of energy to his style, it put a wholesome fear into
the hearts and heads of his antagonists.

One antagonist there was who knew neither fear nor forgetfulness, and he
attacked Bennett again and again. Bennett returned his blows, and then
made most admirable "copy" of the assault. The last encounter between
the two is so plainly characteristic of Bennett's style that I quote his
description in his own words. "As I was leisurely pursuing my business
yesterday in Wall Street," wrote Bennett, "collecting the information
which is daily disseminated in 'The Herald,' James Watson Webb came up
to me, on the northern side of the street--said something which I could
not hear distinctly, then pushed me down the stone steps leading to one
of the brokers' offices, and commenced fighting with a species of
brutal and demoniac desperation characteristic of a fury. My damage is a
scratch, about three-quarters of an inch in length, on the third finger
of the left hand, which I received from the iron railing I was forced
against, and three buttons torn from my vest, which my tailor will
reinstate for six cents. His loss is a rent from top to bottom of a very
beautiful black coat, which cost the ruffian $40, and a blow in the face
which may have knocked down his throat some of his infernal teeth for
all I know. Balance in my favour $39.94. As to intimidating me, or
changing my course, the thing cannot be done. Neither Webb nor any
other man shall, or can, intimidate me.... I may be attacked, I may be
assailed, I may be killed, I may be murdered, but I will never succumb."

There speaks the true Gordon Bennett, and his voice, though it may be
the voice of a ruffian, is also the voice of a man who is certainly
courageous and is not without humour. It is not from such a tradition as
that, that the Yellow Press emerged. It does not want much pluck to hang
about and sneak secrets. It is the pure negation of humour to preach
Socialism in the name of the criminal and degenerate. To judge America
by this product would be monstrously unfair, but it corresponds perforce
to some baser quality in the cosmopolitans of the United States, and it
cannot be overlooked.