The Portland daily press., 1873-09-06
Written for the PREss.l
Night Experiences of a Reporter.
BY THE ATLANTA WEEKLY MAN.
CHAPTER I.

In the office of the Daily Intimidation, an
enterprising journal published in New York,
were assembled, one rainy spring evening, a
aroup of men, writing, smoking and talking
forming a chaos out of which were to be
evolved ideas, sentiments. facts-all that in
fuences the world of politics and business
and is condensed into that remarkable motive
power-the newspaper. The chief editor, a
grave, benevolent looking man of perhaps
sixty years, was giving some orders in low
tone to the foreman; some boys were waiting
for COPY and some editors of special depart
ments were scribbling and chatting alternate
". The usual supernumeraries in want of
anything and everything, ready to accept any
work, provided there we're prospect of pay
for it: men waiting for word with one or
another of the busy editors; and confused
mass of exchanges, mails, wet umbrellas, were
the accessories OF this scene, of which the
twilight was half illumned by the light of gas
lets, somewhat dimmed by the clouds of ci-
gar smoke that gave tone and chiaro-oscuro
to the picture.
The chief editor had finished his instruc-
lions to the foreman. and, taking up con-
versation which had been interrupted by the
entrance of the latter, said musingly:
eyes, it is true. journalism is very diff
ferent thing in these days. Railroads, the
telegraph-and most of ALL the high standard
which present journalism proposes to ITSELF
and the rapid progress it has made, have rob-
bed il too of something that had a certain
charm. In making it science, building col
leges for it. in rendering it the most real, sub
stantial and powerful support of every inter
est-it has lost the adventurous Bohemian
ism of its early days. for one do not regret
it-but it is true that it is SO. As for you,
young man." he said turning to a reporter
who was sitting quietly and silently at desk
near him, ''you never will know the unique
~ adventures, the. experiences, sometimes trag-
lie, sometimes comic, always exciting, of the
journalist of forty years ago"
The reporter looked up from his desk,
smiled without any appearance of particular
interest, and then resumed his writing. Some
Of the older journalists, following the lead of
their cn1et, began TO refate anecaotes or UnvlI
experience or of incidents which had come
under their notice in some way. Interesting
as these stories no doubt were-we refrain
from repeating them, because anecdote in it.
self, without provocation and not in self-dc-
fence, is actionable: and because these editors
of whom we write were talking shop; and
shop to those who do not represent the
same class OF interest, is an infection and a
bore.
''By the way" said the chief editor sud-
denly, 'Mr. Reed, wish you to go this eve
ming to Avenue A. between-and-streets
and make a report of "The Night-side of New
York;, the ARABS of America or anything
of the sort that occurs to you as good name
for your article. They tell me that it's den
of wild beasts there; powerful report Of it
will be effective. We must have stirring To-
cal on it for tomorrow mornings paper"
The young reporter, previously, alluded to,
rose silently, took down his hat, and was
about to go, when the chief editor called him
ack.
otis bad place there, my boy; won't
warn you against ptckpockets-for a news
paper man isn't very tempting prey-but take
care Of your brains, for those are your stock
in trade"
The reporter laughed assured the editor
that he was all right and intended to keep so,
and limited that the manly art of self-defence
was not unknown to him. And so he went
away-whistling softly; giving, without think
ing of it, long look at the editorial build
ing, at the steep, dark stairs, at the door with
its rusty key-hole, noted these things curl
ously, unconsciously-t these things that he
had seen every day for months,-would see
every day for months to come,--would see
again in an hour!
As he walked along, his eyes bent to the
ground, instead of, as usual, glancing rapidly
from side to side with the trained alertness of
the practised reporter--he saw at his feet a
bit of paper. He stopped, took it up, ard
read upon it:
Avenue A. Observation-Disclosures. sharp
There was no signature, the handwriting
was evidently that of an iiterate man, and
the capitals and small letters were not ar
ranged with that judgment which the COM
positor will, we trust accord to our manu-
script Mr.. Reed turned the paper over-the
address was utterly undecipherable, soaked
in the muddy pool to which days steady
rain had converted defect in the pavement.
ga billet to the address of Mr.. Anyone, of
Everywhere" sa d the reporter to himself,
she must be a journalist, too; will attend to
his affair for hmv'
Meanwhile, he neared his destination, med
itating as he walked, upon the amount of ex-
traordinary language that he could employ in
his article without maddening the compositor
or rendering himself utterly unintelligible to
the popular reader, unaided by dictionary.
He surrendered himself to the charming Wis
ions of double leads, full-face nonpareil and
capitals large and small eXclamation-points
flashed like meteors before his minds eye;
and fecitous headlines occurred to him by
scores. Heleft the great thoroughfares-which
on fine day are thronged with people, intent
on business or pleasure; elegantly dressed la
dies, charming babies in their liputian car
riages; in short with great and ever-chane-
ing crowd, made up of all nationalities and
conditions-but which on this stormy even
ing presented a very different aspect. The
".
increased in violence, and few pedestrians,
comparatively speaking, were to be seen.
Carriages drove rapidly past, heard and
seen for moment, and then disappearing in
the rainy darkness. Still the reporter walked
on, rot caring for the storm; his mind, so far
as he knew, intent upon his forthcoming re-
port. Through street after street he went,
with the unconcerned air of man who knows
every labyrinth of the great city. At last, hay
ing met with no adventure, no notice having
been taken of him, except that here and there
apolceman regarded with little curious sus-
picion the young man who did not seem at all
part Of the surroundings; and few home
less Migrants watched him as they covered
into the shadow as he approached, or, little
holder, asked him the hour, or begged for
little money to pay their nights lodging.