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The Press: Ideal and Real.

Outside the charmed circle of the daily press, let any one venture—no matter how mildly—a criticism of its methods and tendencies, and straightway a horde of wild editors, arranging a brief truce with each other, fall upon the critic and rend him. While thus intensely jealous of the character of The Press as a whole—a pure abstraction, with which no one comes in contact—it is always newspaper writers who are severest on the press in the concrete— the only form in which it is known and recognized by the reading, subscribing, and advertising public. The Abstraction is little short of Divine—its Mission is to Ennoble, Enlighten, and Bless. In its concrete form, as unworthily represented by Our Local Contemporary (or Contemporaries, as the case may be), it is Base, Corrupt, Ignorant, Mendacious, Time-serving, Venal, and so on, ad lib. No profound insight is needed to discover that these two self-drawn pictures of The Press are irreconcilable. Outside criticism, therefore, may after all possess a certain value.

Perhaps no man is better qualified to express an unbiassed opinion on the subject than the gentleman who has lately stirred up a hornets' nest by so doing—the President of the Hawke's Bay Philosophical Society. He can speak from the ripe experience of over fourscore years; from a knowledge of the details of literary work; from the special technical knowledge which an old printer alone possesses; and from a residence in this country extending over more than half-a-century, and long prior to the establishment of the first newspaper. As a literary man and a student of science he complained (and with justice) that literature properly so called and science received very scant attention in our colonial newspapers, and went on to say:

On the contrary, what do we find in them? Firstly, in importance, some foreign and colonial telegrams, often interesting and of service (for these they, the editors and proprietors have, and shall ever have, my hearty thanks). But, secondly, what do we find? A horrid dissonant uncivilized semi-barbarian lot! Column after column, paper after paper, of most wretched information, composed of races and their vicious belongings; football and cricket matches (even those of schoolboys and Maoris 1) usque ad nauseam; inhuman pigeon matches, at which tame birds issuing from a trap-box are fired at, many wounded, a few killed; fancy dress balls; pugilistic encounters; skating rinks; foot-race matches; illiterate rustic clownish holiday pastimes; a legion of theatrical performances in endless variety, regularly kept up with their standing exaltations in puffing—written, too, by the actors themselves! All making a continuous round of folly; leading to a complete dissipation of mind, and consequent loss of health, morals, and manners. In fact, to such an extent has this low craving after plays and pastimes, fun, frolic, frivolity, and buffoonery been carried in this district, that it is an almost impossible thing to find a single daily local without its news columns being more than half filled with such trash. And when to all that is also added the low prurient nouvellettes with which those papers are adorned, what wonder is it that « larrikinism » as it is called, should flourish as it does among us? Ever and anon we find the editors of our papers spasmodically muttering a weakly warning voice against this insidiously increasing colonial moral disease; but I fear they themselves have yet to learn that they are of its main causes, through their assiduously fostering all those things which encourage its wild and vicious growth. Such thoughtless doings seem to me to be very much like the old Greek story of sowing the dragon's teeth.

While the newspapers, almost with one accord, have joined in a shriek of execration against the writer of these words, his utterances have received the commendation of thinking men in all parts of the colony. To one expression— « written, too, by the actors themselves »— exception may justly be taken. Even if true in some instances—as it probably is—the statement is too sweeping. But the fact remains that stage criticisms in the colonial press are worthless. Trashy (and occasionally immoral) performances receive the same indiscriminate praise as the best—provided only that they are well advertized.

Twenty years ago, the New Zealand papers were higher in character than they are to-day. There were always abusive and scurrilous sheets; but the general standard, literary and moral, was higher. The unspeakably foul quack advertisements which are now freely admitted into many of the « leading » dailies, and which are a vile insult to every reader—were then rigorously excluded. Respectable papers did not imitate the buffooneries and indecencies of the gutter-literature known as « society journalism. » (This week we received a West Coast weekly intended for family reading, containing in its column of humor eight lines of rhyme which could not be read aloud in any mixed assembly.) The late prize-fight epidemic was deliberately fostered by a large section of the press—daily bulletins were published as to the condition of the heroes; on the morning of the day appointed for a fight an enterprising reporter « interviewed » them; found one in bed, very seedy,—having « mixed his drinks » overnight; noted the number of glasses of various liquors he had taken, the internal disturbance thence ensuing, and the medicines prescribed; and telegraphed the condition of the pugilist's bowels to newspapers five hundred miles away. This is an absolute fact of very recent occurrence; and yet Mr Colenso has been challenged to instance anything in the daily press tending to encourage « larrikinism »! So with the rink-folly, now passing away, after draining the country of thousands of pounds it could ill spare. The infatuation was widespread, involving all ages and both sexes—it has been productive of most serious evils, and from first to last has been assisted by the press— even to the extent of suppressing any mention of many serious accidents, involving life-long injuries, occasioned by the practice.

In reply to all strictures two pleas are advanced. First: an absolute denial—which is worthless, the facts being patent to all. Second: the poor plea that there is a popular demand for demoralizing pursuits and exhibitions, and that any paper setting its face against them, would not pay. There is a certain amount of candor about this latter argument—which, however, does not quite agree with the lofty position which The Press (in the abstract) is in the habit of claiming for itself; but we altogether deny that it is true.

There is no real demand such as is asserted to exist. Such as there is has been in fact created by the supply. Schoolboys who daily have their imaginations fired with sensational stories of escaped criminals and champion prizefighters will probably as they grow older demand more and more of the same kind of reading—and in time may even aspire to excel their heroes. The responsibility lies with the press. « It pays, » is the poorest of all excuses for the perpetration of a social wrong. But to the question, Does it pay? we answer, It does not. Twenty years ago the leading newspapers in the colony were splendid properties. To-day we do not know of one that returns a profit to its proprietors. Pandering to folly and ignorance has not paid, and never will pay. The best newspaper New Zealand ever possessed—the Nelson Examiner—was killed by the sporting element. And many of of our journals are blighted to-day from the same cause. The « sporting » department is often the costliest in the office, yields the least returns, and could most easily be dispensed with. It sickens and disgusts the best and most profitable class of readers. It degrades our journalism, and surrounds it with the atmosphere of the pot-house and the training stable. It pollutes the « well of English undefiled » with the slang of the blackleg and the spieler. It is a cancer of journalism, even as it is of the community at large, and there will be no real soundness of constitution for either until it is cut out.