The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1894-11-15

tradesman or mechanic or professional
man, he has caught thessplague of itching
curiosity to know every few hours what
people are saying and doing. The paper
will tell. him. He sits down after break.
fast to loaf and enjoy his soul. The few
! brlef hours are before him when, if at
| al ne must grasp at all that religion.
all that the noblest. thinkers and writer's
all that the sober reflection and the bet
ter life OF home can do to help him un
learn the sardonics lessons of the week
| what can the best Christian civilization
OF the world do for him at the close OF
| the Nineteenth Century2 The paper will
tell him. Several murders, assaults and
divorce cases, much politics, all the
scandals of high life, one lynching, two
prize lights, Paris fashions, the base ball
field, the race course, what ballet dancers
think about each otner, and the gossip of
the churches. Then comes Ito be JUST
some good art criticism, scientific arti-
Gle and an editorial by the religious edi-
tor, perhaps to prove the statement lately
made by prominent journal, that Sun
Gay newspaper forms complete Sun
day school library.
The man spends his morning over this
mess, or, perhaps he reads half, and
then goes to church, leaving the rest for
an afternoon meal. l ask you whether
the worship of God can ever mean what
IL might and should to man who
throws aside his paper to attend it?
may be in error, but it seems to me
about the worst kind of preparation one
can imagine.
l am speaking to church mem bers more
especially. do not expect to influence
olhers, for in the case not so much of un
christian as non Christian people, the
sunday paper has become. almost part
OF their existence. 1t represents about
their ideal of life, not the lowest, as
we must confess, but still distinctly not
high from the standpoint of Christian
sunday devoted to repairing the material
ravages and unravellings of the week.
1t must he classed however moral its
editorials and kindly it's editors) as the
greatest of those forces which prevent
men from reversing the wheel OF life once
in seven days. 1t even keeps them from
cultlvating good secular literature, since
it keeps them from solid reading of any
kind. Yet it is practically certain now
that the path cannot be retraced. The
critical moment has passed. And it is
even doubtful whether we have the NOR
al right, even if we possessed the physical
force in this country to do more than
we can effect by our example.
But to the power of that example,
as shown by Christian men and women,
we have the right to appeal. Not as a
minister. but as man simply, do not
take Sunday paper. Simply as man
repeat. not even as Christian, read
my morning paper-yes, my evening
paper too, through the week. But by
Sunday l am sick of the papers, sick Of
the worry of the world, sick of politics,
sick OF all the sordidness of public and
private life, sick of the many times
have caught myself in what blame in
my neighbors. When Sunday comes
thank God for it I want different
day. Put it on the lowest ground you
will, don't wish to see newspaper or
have one in the house. I desire differ
ent train of thought, and the sig bit of
those pages with their startling head.
lines of murders, elections, scandals and
all the old weary round cropping up on
Sunday, crying Here we are again" fills
me with rcpulsion. believe that there
are tens of thousands of families into
which Sunday papers go, where, if a
strong, manly appeal were made to the
inmates on the threefold ground OF ex-
ample, of duty and of higher view of
life than the average, like confession
are multitudes of men and women who
have grown careless in this matter of
Sunday observance from want of thought
rather than from want of heart. They
stand ready to respond, if the right word
be properly said. They are heart and
soul in sympathy, as am, with our
progressive American life But they are
still prepared to confess that it has not
been an onward step to replace as, has
been done in SO many upright house,
holds, the gathering about the family
altar, by the Sunday police reports, and
the froth of secular politics, and while
they believe in a free press, even at the
risk Of corruption, on eweek days, they
will say with us, tosthe Sunday paper,
no mn in hnv Ell
hallowed Sabbath hour dawns."
Bishop Lawrence presided at the eve
ming session. Rev. R. A. Holland, DID,.
of st. Louis, was the first speaker. He
said:
After an entertaining review of the
growth and purposes and the faults and
merits OF newspapers, Mr.. Holland said:
Already the arm of the newspaper is
lifting that inward-opening door from
it's hinges. The liberal compass of mans
warm embrace closes about the misery
that leans right against his heart. Caste
will ere long be impossible. No house.
no spirit can shut our the life of human
ity, high and low, rich and poor, that
with the newspaper enters every door
and leaves it wide open. No matter
what the reader likes, the headlines
run so close together that he has to see
sorrow at the elbow of gaiety and birth
upon the breast of death, while sob and
laugh, shout and wall, blessing and
cursing and prayer all blend into an I'M
dertone, which his busiest thought and
purpose cannot hush. lie is what he
reads and his character is richer and
more harmonic because with lies higher
tones the lower too are heard, as the alto
their soprano, the bass of their tenor, in
a full-choired humanity.
In all this perhaps>the newspaper has
no ethical intention. Profit may be
his chief and only aim, but profits re-
quire sale. Unsold its news would be
the puff checked winding of a cracked
and silent horn and in order to sell. it
must supply the intelligence which men
want, and mems wants, because they are
human. are necessarily ethical and meet
in ethical scales whenever brought to
knowledge that cannot avoid comparison
and judgment.
In the newspaper the bishop enters the
boo tblack's world and looks around and
sees how immense it is. what wrongs of
souls venerate a policeman's club more
than crosier. He wonders why this
world is not theirs; why perhaps they
have no idea of soul, much less of a