The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1905-10-16
(London Daily NfaiI.)
He May Camp "

I
The life Of William Maxwell. the
great war correspondent of the London
; Standard, is as packed with venture
/ and incident as a novel of Dumas. He
is one OF the gypsies OF journalism
| representative OF all that is exciting,
picturesque and romantic in q SEEM
| ingiy drab-colored profession.
TO follow his footsteps in recent years
/ is to traverse the Soudan with Kiteh-
ener, 10 enter Palestine with the i'm
i perial majesty of Germany, 10 sit out
] the peace conference with Sir John
/ Fisher, 10 walk the shell-wrecked
/ streets of Ladyslnith with White and
| Ward. TO ride with Roberts to Pretoria,
/ TO stand now at-the solemn grave OF
/ Queen Victoria, and now at the mar
riage altar OF Qneen Wilhelmina. 10
/ visit the rejoicing colonies of Britain
with the Prince and Princess of Wales,
| to converse on European diplomacy
/ with the sultan of Morocco, to follow
1 Kuroki into his most intimate privacy.
/ 10 look upon the mountainous dead at
| the Sha-ho and the Yalu, and TO Wit
| ness, alone among newspaper CORE
! spondents not originally attached to
| General Nogi's army. the historic hand
/ ing over of Port Arthur to the Japan
csc. And tomorrow he will be passing
/ through India with the Prince and
! Princess OF Wales.
The public has its reporter in the po-
! lice court its gossip in the lobby of the
! house OF commons, and its critic at the
| theatre. These are journalists: but the
true Journalist is a nomad. a man ac-
! quainted with all nations. at home in
every capital, and familiar with the
craftsmanship and the customs of every
people. He Is the Preside guest from
| foreign lands at the hearth of the news
paper reader. the delightful traveller
whose tales keep the night ever too
| young for sheets and Counterpart. He
| is the character in Il good romance who
Unexpectedly thrusts open the inn door
and comes out OF midnight wind ana
rain with splashed boots and clanking
sword, calling for tankard OF red ale
as he strides TO a place in the ingle.
To the general reader OF newspapers
the name of William Maxwell is hard
! ly known. bat among people working
out either the salvation or destruction
Of Europe. Maxwell of the Standard
! has long been a familiar phrase. The
| old principle in journalism Of anonym-
| ity has kept his name from the public,
but ne has long been an influence in
! the affairs OF the world, and persona
grata with the very elect
Mr. Maxwell is chief of our journal
| istic gypsies by reason of two gifts; he
| has first the same faculty for obserya-
ton which made George Stevens SO
gracious writer, and he has secondly
the faculty for craftsmanship which Sc
cures for him the trust and respect OF
dipiomatists in almost every country in
the world He not only describes bat
tlefeld. but he forms the politics Of
his reader. He brings a scene before
the eye, and in the mind plants the seed
of tomorrow's result. He is an obserV-
er OF the worlds movements, as well as
a painter of its great pictures.
His description OF the battle of Om-
durham, which appeared ia the old
Standard. remains 10 this day as one Of
the most brilliant essays in war liter
AZURE: and his picture of Port Arthur S
fall was the only worthy impression
received by Europe of that great event.
With such dispassion and GOODNESS does
he write that one might think he viewed
| battle through field glasses at dis
! lance where bullets never reached. And
| yet he has always been in the very
/ thick OF battle, and has sometimes
written his account after thirty hours
OF hungering and thirsting.
I asked him the other day, in what
the American lady would have called
( his 'pomme de terre" in London. what
| if felt like to be in the widst of an en-
! g2gement. stuck there as a peaceful
( observer OF death and destruction. He
| laughed as he admitted that the first
sensation is one of funk II think
! that the first sensa ton of almost every
man is one of funk. Then, quite sud-
| denly. comes the conviction that you
are about 10 die, that your life is fin
ished. and that in a few minutes you
Will have shuffied off the friendly coil
I of mortality and made acquaintance
/ with death With this comes relief, a
! joyful feeling of nonchalance and eX-
ultation Cowardice and terror go: one
awaits ones dismissal rather jauntily.
But presently one sees other men about
one still alive, feel ones self still 10 be
alive. and gradually accustoms ones
| self to the idea that one is not going
To die at ALA most curious discovery.
You can almost laugh at the whistling
bullets after that
But the heaps of dead?" ! questioned
1T is their very number which pre-
vents one from the collapse of horror.
A few dead men are dreadful TO see:
but thousands, tens of thousands. they
do not strike one as men at all: one
looks at them without realizing that
each corpse was once a separate indi-
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