JOSEPH PULITZER

A SAMSON OF JOURNALISM SOME LEAVES FROM HIS LIFE. The late Joseph Pulitzer, proprietor of the Now York World, like Gordon Bennett, the owner of the New York Herald, was eccentric us well .as vastly rich, but then he was blind— a very Samson Agonistes of modern American journalism, but quite a match for any sighted Philistine. Mr. Pulitzer had enormous resources to draw upon in keeping the World in the front rank of papers of its kind. So long as ho got the news he did not care what it cost, in either men or money. The more he spent in this way the more the coffers of the World bulged with gold. Personally Mr. Pulitzer was not an easy man to "get on" with. He wanted know ing. Hero he resembled Gordon- Bennett. But he \vas a man of great strength of character, and one who also delighted to make himself appear harsh, whereas at heart ho was both kind and generous. Mr. Alleyne Ireland, his companion and secretary, has just published his " Reminiscences of Joseph Pulit7er," through Mr. Mitchell Kennerley, New York, and from these one gathers impressionß that ""Nvill endure of a truly remarkable man, and one who bore at times great pain with courage and fortitude. As a. sufferer ho makes a great pathetic claim upon the sympathy of all who are well and strong. In being blind he but strengthened that claim. v Mr. Ireland was one of 600 applicants for a position to be filled, a3 the advertisement in, a London paper stated, by '.' an intelligent man of about middle age, widely read, a good sailor, as com-panion-secretary to a gentleman." A 'SEVERE TRIAL. After several interviews, first with a representative of Mr. Pulitzer nnd next with his son, Mr. Ireland was next summoned to spend a fortnight as Mi. Pulitzer's guest and on his yacht. Of ihat first meeting Mr. Ireland writes : My first swift impression was of a very tall man with broad shoulders, the rest of the body tapering away to thinness, with a noble head, bushy, reddish beard streaked with gray., black hah swept back from the forehead and ligntly touched here and thero with silvery white. One eye was dull and half closed, the other was of a deep, brilliant blue which, so far from suggesting blindness, created the instant effect of a searching, eaglo-liko glance. The outstretched hand was large, strong, nervous, full of character, ending in well-shaped and immaculately kept nails. A hign-pitched voice, clear, penetrating,'and vibrant, gave out the strange challenge : " Well, here you see br foro you the miserable ureck who is to be your host ; you must make the best you can of him. Give me your arm in to dinner." . Mr. Pulitzer couldj think, and that clearly, of two things at once, or rather, he could follow one thing and still think of Another. Mr. Ireland describes how, in the middle of an account of a play, when I was doing my best to reproduce some Scene from memory, with appropriate changes of voice to represent the different characters, Mr. Pulitzer would suddenly break in, "Did we ever get a reply to that letter about I.aurier's speech on reciprocity? No? Well, all right, go on, go on." MEN WHO CAME SHORT. The writer or these remarkable Reminiscences underwent a severe probationary experience. Having dined,' 1 of, rather, Bat down to dinner— for Mr. Pulitzer kept him so plied with questions exacting precise and strictly accurate--and detailed answers that he ate practically nothing — Mr. Ireland wafc astonished when his host exclaimed : " I must explore your brain, your character, you' tastes, your sympathies, your prejudices, your temper; I mußt find out if you have tact, patience, a sense of humour, the gift of condensing information, and, above all, a respect, a love, a passion for accuracy." Mr. Ireland began to speak, hut was interrupted before he 1 had got six words out of his mouth. ' "Wait! wait!" M/T Pulitzer cried, " let mo finish whaf I have to say. You'll find this business of being a candidate a Very trying and disagreeable one ; well, it's damned disagreeable to me, too. What I need is' rest. lepose, quiet, routine, understanding, sympathy, friendship, yes, my God ! the h-iendship of those around me. Mr. Ire land, I can do much, I can do everything for a man who will be my friend. I can give him power, I can give him wealth, I can givs him reputation— the power, the wealth, the reputation which come to a man who speaks to a million people a day in the columns of a gieat paper. But how am I to do this? I am blind, I'm an invalid; how am I to know whom I can trust? I don't moan in money matters; moneys nothing to me; it can do nothing for me; I mean morally, intellectually. I've had scores of people pass through my hands in the last fifteen years — Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, Welshmen, Germans, Frenchmen, Americans, men of so-called high family, men of humble birth, men from a dozen universities, self-taught men, young men, old men, and, my God ! what nave I found? Arrogance, stupidity, ingratitude, loose thinking, conceit, ignorance, laziness, indifference j absence of tact, discretion, courtesy, manners, consideration, sympathy, devotion; no knowledge, no wisdom, no intelligence, no observation, no memory, no insight, no understanding ! My God ! I can hardly believe my own experience when I think of it." ' A TACTFUL REBUKE. Occasionally Mr. Pulitzer's . temper became more trying than even Mr. Ireland could put up with, and this quite early in their relationship. T,he former had discussed a matter upon which Mi\ Ireland was particularly well informed, and had contradicted him again ana yet again. Then he became very angry (but the author charitably desenbea the anger as assumed). Mr. Pulitzer said : Mr. Ireland, I am really distressed that we should have had this discussion. I had hoped that, with years of training and advice, I might have been able to make something out of You ; but any man who could seriously hold the opinion you have expressed!, and could attempt to justify it with the mass of inaccuracies ana absurdities that you have given me, is simply a v damned fool." "I am sorry you .said that, Mr. Pulitzer," I replied in. a very serious voice. "Why, for God's sake, you don*t mind my calling you a damned fool, do you? " " Not in the least, sir. But when you call me a damned fool you shatter an ideal I held about you." "What's that? An ideal about me? What do you mean? " " Well, sir, years before I met yon I had heard that if there was one thing above all others which distinguished you from all bther journalists it was that you had the keenest nose for news of any man living." " What has that to do with my calling you a damned fool?" "Simply this, that the fact that I'm a damned fool hasn't been news to me any time during the past twenty years." He saw the point at onco, laughed heartily, and, putting an arm round * mv . Bhould&B h gii &| kabj^wtih, &

of us when he wished to show a friendly feeling or take the edge off a severe rebuke, said : " Now, boy, you're making fun of me, and you must not make fun of a poor olcL blind man. Now, then. I take it all back ; I shouldn't have called you a damned fool." THE END. Then there is the most graphic description of this blind Samson's end. It took place on board .the millionaire's yacht. Mr. Ireland writes :—: — At three o'clock in the morning of Sunday, 29th October,' Cunningham came to my cabin and, without making any explanation, said : " Mr. Pulitzer wishes you to come and read to him." I put on a dressing-gown, gathered up half a dozen books, and in five minutes I was sitting by Mr. Pulitzer's bedside. He was evidently suffering a good deal of pain, for he turned from side to side, and once or twice got out of bed and sat in an easy chair. I tried several, books, but finally settled down to read Macaulay's Essay on Hallam. I read steadily until about five o'clock, and J.P. listened attentively, interrupting me from time to time wit£ a direction to go back and read over a passage. About half-past live 1# began to suffer severely, and he sent for the yacht's doctor, who did what was possible for him. At a few minutes after six J.P. said: "Now, Mr. Ireland, you'd better go and get some sleep ; we will finish that this afternoon. Good-bye, I'm much obliged to you. Ask Mr Mann to come to me. Go, now, and have a good rest, and forget all about me." I slept till noon. When I fame on deck I found that everything was going on much as usual. Ono of tho secretaries was with J.P. ,' the others were at work over the day'B paperß. At lunch we spoke of J.P Ono man said that he seemed a little worse than usual ; another that he had seen him much wqrse a score of times. Suddenly the massive door at the for ward end of the' saloon opened, I turned in my seat and saw framed in the doorway the towering figure of the head butler. I faced his impassive 'glance, and received the full shock of his calm but incredible announcement : ! " Mr. Pulitzer is dead."