But every periodical, besides its specialty on which it lives, gives its readers something more.  It need not, but it does.  The universal Ledger favors its readers with many very excellent essays, written for it by distinguished clergymen, editors, and authors, and gives its readers a great deal of sound advice in other departments of the paper.  It need not do this; these features do not materially affect the sale of the paper, as its proprietor well knows.  The essays of such men as Mr. Everett and Mr. Bancroft do not increase the sale of the paper one hundred copies a week.  Those essays are read and admired, and contribute their quota toward the education of the people, and reflect honor upon the liberal and enterprising man who publishes them; but scarcely any one buys the paper for their sake.  People almost universally buy a periodical for the special thing which it has undertaken to furnish; and it is by supplying this special thing that an editor attains his glorious privilege and opportunity of addressing a portion of the people on other topics.  This opportunity he may neglect; he may abuse it to the basest purposes, or improve it to the noblest, but whichever of these things he does, it does not materially affect the prosperity of his paper,—­always supposing that his specialty is kept up with the requisite vigor.  We have gone over the whole history of journalism, and we find this to be its Law of Nature, to which there are only apparent exceptions.

All points to this simple conclusion, which we firmly believe to be the golden rule of journalism:—­that daily newspaper which has the best corps of reporters, and handles them best, necessarily takes the lead of all competitors.

There are journalists who say (we have often heard them in conversation) that this is a low view to take of their vocation.  It is of no importance whether a view is high or low, provided it is correct.  But we cannot agree with them that this is a low view.  We think it the highest possible.  Regarded as instructors of the people, they wield for our warning and rebuke, for our encouragement and reward, an instrument which is like the dread thunderbolt of Jove, at once the most terrible and the most beneficent,—­publicity.  Some years ago, a number of ill-favored and prurient women and a number of licentious men formed themselves into a kind of society for the purpose of devising and promulgating a theory to justify the gratification of unbridled lust.  They were called Free-Lovers.  To have assailed their nightly gatherings in thundering editorial articles would have only advertised them; but a detailed report of their proceedings in the Tribune scattered these assemblies in a few days, to meet no more except in secret haunts.  Recently, we have seen the Fenian wind-bag first inflated, then burst, by mere publicity.  The Strong Divorce Case, last year, was a nauseous dose, which we would have gladly kept out of the papers; but since it had