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Updated: June 16, 2025
The reporter's abstract, or summary, of the decision is this: "COURTS OF EQUITY, IN THIS COUNTRY, WILL NOT SANCTION ANY SYSTEM OF EDUCATION IN WHICH RELIGION IS NOT INCLUDED." The charity in question in that case was established in the reign of Edward the Fourth, for the benefit of the community and poor inhabitants of the town of Bury St. Edmunds.
I inquired of an officer near me, displaying my reporter's fire-line badge, more for its moral effect than in the hope of getting any real information in these days of enforced silence toward the press. "Black Hand bomb," was the laconic reply. "Whew!" I whistled. "Anyone hurt?" "They don't usually kill anyone, do they?" asked the officer by way of reply to test my acquaintance with such things.
With another kick at Jerry, hurling him clear, he leaped astride the reporter's horse which had continued to stand, without movement or excitement, in utter apathy, where he had dismounted from it. The horse went into a reluctant and stiff-legged gallop, while Jerry followed, snarling and growling wrath at so high a pitch that almost he squalled. "It's all right, Michael," Harley soothed.
"Happy Fear I hef knowt for a goot many years. He iss a goot frient of mine." "What?" "Choe Louten iss a bedder one," continued Mr. Farbach, turning again to stare at his chickens. "Git owit." "What?" "Git owit," repeated the other, without passion, without anger, without any expression whatsoever. "Git owit." The reporter's prejudice against the German nation dated from that moment.
This had been written with a coarse blue pencil, evidently picked up in the stable or workroom; and to the reporter's inquiries, put to the first ranchman he met, there seemed no satisfactory answer. The man in question had not seen Jessica since service, and the men's quarters to which Ninian hurried, were almost deserted.
Battles and sieges were simply occurrences for its columns. Good men, brave men, bad men, died to give it obituaries. The whole world was to him a Reporter's district, and all human mutations plain matters of news. I hardly think that any city, other than New York, contains such characters. The journals there are full of fever, and the profession of journalism is a disease.
But a person whom he did not recognize at first sight attracted the reporter's attention. In the half-light of the shop a melancholy shadow leaned over the ikons on the counter.
Among those who had come from St. Petersburg to press the young reporter's hand when they learned of his impending departure were Ivan Petrovitch, the jolly Councilor of the Emperor, and Athanase Georgevitch, the lively advocate so well known for his famous exploits with knife and fork. They had come naturally with all their bandages and dressings, which made them look like glorious ruins.
A reporter's life brings him into contact both with tragedy and comedy. I have an amusing recollection of a visit paid by Edward VII., when Prince of Wales, to Upper Teesdale during my stay in Leeds, for the purpose of shooting on the Duke of Cleveland's moors.
Oftentimes his material is very thin, flippant, and sensational, but he always is interesting, for he possesses the expert reporter's unerring judgment for choosing the essentials of his situation, character, or description, that catch and hold the reader's attention. His technique is brilliant, his wit keen, and his energy of the bold and dashing military type.
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