A VERY SMART REPORTER!

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume II, Issue 195, 12 August 1874, Page 2

A VERY SMART REPORTER!

A Solemn Warning

I shall not tell you the exact place where the hero of this little anecdote dwelt, suffice it to say that it was not in New Zealand, but “somewhere t’other side.” His name was “Ben." The reporting business ruined him. Before he started corresponding for newspapers ho was a respectable member of society, although occupying but the somewhat humble position of a tallow-chandler’s storeman. How he first became bitten with the scribbling mania, I know not: but when this occurred, the unhappy man changed altogether. He seemed then to have a natural aptitude for saying the most unkind things at the most unfavorable season, and would not hesitate to sacrifice his nearest and dearest friend for the sake of uttering something smart. Anything told him in confidence was invariably reproduced in the columns ■of the organ rejoicing in his effusions. He was, in sooth, a very autocrat of the writing table ; and, although in strict matter of fact but a very sorry village politician, and chronicler of small beer, he fancied himself a second Junius in his scathing sneers and withering sarcasm. Every incident that occurred was offered up on the “ penny-a-line ” altar. On one occasion, when a poor widow woman was burnt out, Ben, while the woman’s small stock-in-trade was being consumed, pulled out his note book, and, pencil in hand, asked her, between her sobs, for an inventory of her loss, and full particulars of the probable origin of the fire, comforting her —when she told him that she was uninsured, and that it was very hard for her to have to begin the world over again, “ poor lone widow as she was,”—with the remark, that no doubt it was very shocking, but it would make a slashing paragraph for his paper, and bade her rejoice thereat. On another occasion Ben dropped across a real case of suicide. He had done many a sham one before, but there was no mistake about this ; so he fondly imagined that he had “ struck a patch,” and waxed very indignant with the brother of the unfortunate woman for not allowing him to copy a letter found among the effects of the deceased. “Alas,” said he, “ the liberty of the Press has been grossly insulted in my person,” alluding, no doubt, to the severe treatment he had experienced at the hands of the infuriated brother.

This saddened him much. Shortly afterwards came a great dearth of sensational items, so poor Ben got more and more low-spirited and took to drinking. One day a bright, idea flashed across his mind ; he turned bushranger, and not only replenished his somewhat empty exchequer by that means, but also had a fresh stock of subjects to enlarge upon. Telling the truth (a mistake by the way, Ben was not particularly given to) and throwing too much detail into his descriptions, eventually bowled him out. His accounts always agreed with what had happened, although the parties who had been “ stuck up” had not been professionally interviewed by him for that purpose. When I say “professionally interviewed,” I mean that Ben, in his capacity as reporter, had either too much delicacy of feeling to wait upon the people he had robbed in his character of bushranger, and get the particulars from them, or he was afraid of being recognised: but to my story. Suspicion was aroused, and Ben was caught—caught, I may say, redhanded.

No fewer than 11 cases were proved against him. The hard-hearted judge before whom he was tried refused to entertain his plea of “extenuating circumstances,” (Ben said that he had been led to these acts simply for the sake of enriching the current literature of the day), and when sentenced to 14 years penal servitude, he begged as a last boon to write the account of his capture and trial; this small favor was granted, and Ben made a most elaborate and touching article, which he handed to a brother scribe for transmission to the journal he had been engaged upon. “ Tell them,” said he, on saying farewell, “ I did my best, man can no more, and I flatter myself that my last appearance is well worthy of, at least, a column. Adieu 1” You Yangs.