ournal
better or worse than others. He it is, as a rule, who establishes the
chivalry of the press toward the public. It is he who decides the line
of attack or defense when the vast interests which he represents are
assailed.

The peculiar kind of mind required for such a post is probably not
developed in any other known business. The longer a man has served the
art, the more confidently he trusts to intuition and distrusts a
decision based wholly upon experience. Several of the worst blunders
ever made in American journalism have been committed after a careful
study of the historical precedents. Throughout all his troubles,
however, all his anxieties by day and by night--because his
responsibilities never end--the managing editor's thoughts are
constantly dwelling upon the public service that may be rendered to the
reading constituency behind him.

The executive head of a newspaper, great or small, lives in a glass
house, with all the world for critics. Every act, no matter how suddenly
forced upon him, no matter how careful his judgment, is open to the
criticism of every person who reads his paper. The columns of printed
matter are the windows of his soul.

These thoughts are all in the line of duty, somewhat selfish in their
character, perhaps (because fidelity to the public is the only secret of
success); but the sense of chivalry is there,--should be there and seen
of all men, on every page of the printed sheet.

This idea of the newspaper's duty to the public is a comparatively new
phase of the journalistic art. It has arisen since the brilliant Round
Table days of Bennett, Greeley, Webb, Prentice, and Raymond. Their
standards were high. Their energy was tremendous. And when they came to
blows the combat was terrific. But Greeley, the last survivor, found his
Camlan in 1872. He was ambushed and came to his end much as King Arthur
from a race that he had trusted and defended. In Greeley's defeat for
the Presidency all theorists who had dwelt upon the so-called "Power of
the Press" received a shuddering blow. The men who had affected to
believe that the press could make and unmake destinies began to count on
their fingers the few newspapers that had opposed Horace Greeley. To
their amazement they found that, excepting one journal in the
metropolis, every daily paper in the land whose editor or chief
stockholder did not hold a public office was marshalled in his support.
The echoes of their enthusiasm can be he