DAILY journalism is a risky business. You need not be in Fleet Street to know that; and within the past few years it has become apparent that the risks are growing greater. A melancholy madness has seized upon our newspapers: they propose and dispose with a frenetic zeal: their words and gestures seem less and less coherent, and they are gagging recklessly, like actors who know their play must be succeeded by another at the end of the week, and are already learning their new parts.
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