by J.R.P.
Originally published in The Literary Chronicle and Weekly Review (J. Limbird) vol.1 #27 (20 Nov 1819).
'— messenger of grief,
Perhaps to thousands, and joy to some.
What is it but a map of life,
Its fluctuations and its vast concerns.'
Of all the various sources of intelligence calculated to win the attention of mankind, there is not a better than 'The Newspaper.' In its diversified pages, persons of every rank, denomination, and pursuit, can be informed.
The philosopher, the politician, the citizen, the mechanic, and the gossip, are regaled by the novelty of its contents, the minuteness of its detail, and the refreshing arrivals of transactions which occupy the attention of human beings at the greatest or nearest distances from us. A newspaper may (without presumption, I hope} be compared to the planetary system; the light which it diffuses round the mental hemisphere operates according as it is seen, felt, understood, or enjoyed, The miser is gladdened by an account of the rise of the stocks; the mariner for the safety of his vessel during the thunder-storm; the manufacturer to hear of the revival of the foreign markets; the merchant that his cargo is arrived; the member that his election is secured; the father that his son is willing to return home; the poet that his production has been favourably received by the public; the physician that a difficult cure is transmitting his fame to posterity; the actor that his talents are duly appreciated; the agriculturist that grain fetches a good price; the upright man that his character is defended; the poor man that beer, meat, bread, and vegetables, are so within his reach that he may have a good Sunday's dinner.
A newspaper may be compared to the seasons. Its information varies on the roll of Time, and much of it passes away as a winter, giving many a bitter pang of the death of a relative or hopeful lover; it is as a spring, for, in the time of war and civil commotion, its luminary, the editor, like the morning sun, leads Hope forward to milder days and happier prospects, the smiles of peace;—it is the heart's summer calendar, giving news of marriages and births for heirs and patrons; it is the autumn of joy, giving accounts of plenty and guarding the avaricious against the snares of self-love, and offering arguments in favour of humanity. It is more; a newspaper is one of the most faithful lessons that can be represented to our reflections, for, while it is the interpreter of the general economy of nature, it is a most kind and able instructress to improve ourselves. What are our lives but as the ephemeral appearance of an advertisement? Our actions but as the actions of a popular contest? Our hopes, fears, exultations, but as the cross readings of diurnal events? And although grief is felt at the perusal of accidents, offences, and crimes, which are necessarily and judiciously given, there is in every good newspaper an impartial record, an abstract of the times, a vast fund of useful knowledge; and, finally, no person has reason, after perusing it, to rise without being thankful so useful a medium is offered to his understanding; at least, this the opinion of J.R.P.