M. de
Villele, who had a chance, if he had but known it, of destroying the
power of journalism by allowing newspapers to multiply till no one
took any notice of them; but he missed his opportunity, and a sort
of privilege was created, as it were, by the almost insuperable
difficulties put in the way of starting a new venture. So, in 1821, the
periodical press might be said to have power of life and death over the
creations of the brain and the publishing trade. A few lines among
the items of news cost a fearful amount. Intrigues were multiplied in
newspaper offices; and of a night when the columns were divided up,
and this or that article was put in or left out to suit the space, the
printing-room became a sort of battlefield; so much so, that the largest
publishing firms had writers in their pay to insert short articles in
which many ideas are put in little space. Obscure journalists of
this stamp were only paid after the insertion of the items, and not
unfrequently spent the night in the printing-office to make sure that
their contributions were not omitted; sometimes putting in a long
article, obtained heaven knows how, sometimes a few lines of a puff.

The manners and customs of journalism and of the publishing houses have
since changed so much, that many people nowadays will not believe what
immense efforts were made by writers and publishers of books to secure a
newspaper puff; the martyrs of glory, and all those who are condemned to
the penal servitude of a life-long success, were reduced to such shifts,
and stooped to depths of bribery and corruption as seem fabulous to-day.
Every kind of persuasion was brought to bear on journalists--dinners,
flattery, and presents. The following story will throw more light on the
close connection between the critic and the publisher than any quantity
of flat assertions.

There was once upon a time an editor of an important paper, a clever
writer with a prospect of becoming a statesman; he was young in those
days, and fond of pleasure, and he became the favorite of a well-known
publishing house. One Sunday the wealthy head of the firm was
entertaining several of the foremost journalists of the time in the
country, and the mistress of the house, then a young and pretty woman,
went to walk in her park with the illustrious visitor. The head-clerk of
the firm, a cool, steady, methodical German with nothing but business in
his head, was discussing a project with one of the journal