Makes a newspaper

I not only watched this tournament from day to day, but detailed an intelligent priest from my Department of Public Morals and Agriculture, and ordered him to report it; for it was my purpose by and by, when I should have gotten the people along far enough, to start a newspaper.  The first thing you want in a new country, is a patent office; then work up your school system; and after that, out with your paper.  A newspaper has its faults, and plenty of them, but no matter, it’s hark from the tomb for a dead nation, and don’t you forget it.  You can’t resurrect a dead nation without it; there isn’t any way.  So I wanted to sample things, and be finding out what sort of reporter-material I might be able to rake together out of the sixth century when I should come to need it.

Well, the priest did very well, considering.  He got in all the details, and that is a good thing in a local item:  you see, he had kept books for the undertaker-department of his church when he was younger, and there, you know, the money’s in the details; the more details, the more swag:  bearers, mutes, candles, prayers—everything counts; and if the bereaved don’t buy prayers enough you mark up your candles with a forked pencil, and your bill shows up all right.  And he had a good knack at getting in the complimentary thing here and there about a knight that was likely to advertise—no, I mean a knight that had influence; and he also had a neat gift of exaggeration, for in his time he had kept door for a pious hermit who lived in a sty and worked miracles.

Of course this novice’s report lacked whoop and crash and lurid description, and therefore wanted the true ring; but its antique wording was quaint and sweet and simple, and full of the fragrances and flavors of the time, and these little merits made up in a measure for its more important lacks.