contributor raked in the legend connected with the “Shambles” shoal off Portland, at the bottom of which, according to tradition, are the wrecks of many ships seized and dragged down in far-off times by the giant spider, Kraken. “Below the thunders of the upper deep; Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea, His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep The Kraken sleepeth.” There to remain-- “Until the latter fire shall heat the deep; Then once by man and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise, and on the surface die.” Such articles, perhaps, were calculated to spread, rather than restrict the general feeling of uneasiness. They served to fix the public mind upon what was already sufficiently in evidence, and by suggesting elements of the uncanny and occult, promoted the hysteric tendencies which were becoming so distressingly conspicuous among the people. CHAPTER XII THE “EPOCH” RUNS AMOK In those never-forgettable summer weeks in the mammoth city the converted _Epoch_ published a series of denunciatory articles without parallel in the history of the modern press. The _Epoch_ was now an organ of opinion, indeed, but not of opinion made to order, or governed by the exigencies of political party. Its independence was a fact, and not a polite fiction. It dealt with men as men and as members of specialised professions. It ranked politics as one of the professions, and not the most honourable, and it tarred the “ins” and the “outs” with one and the same prickly brush. The new departure made it clear that the freedom of the press, as hitherto understood, was itself a mere fiction. In law the newspaper had no greater freedom than the individual critic. Political opponents might, indeed, be attacked and misrepresented with an impunity begotten of necessity, and the pot-and-kettle system, inherited from the journalistic organs of Eatanswill; but beyond that, the only freedom consisted in the right to publish what a jury of twelve tradesmen might not consider libellous. Journalism, in fact, was analogous to advocacy. The pot called the kettle black, and the kettle declared that the pot was blacker. Both pot and kettle, meanwhile, had an eye to business. That was perfectly legitimate and natural, but the radical mistake of the public lay in its view of the press as a philanthropic institution bent only on maintaining the cause of peace and happiness, truth and justice, religion and piety throughout the realm. It was obvious to the reflective worldling that no journal could be run on truly ethical lines with ultimate advantage to the bank balance of its proprietors; just as it was plain to the world-fearing Christian that practical Christianity would never “pay.” No journalist or Christian admitted these facts. They knew them quite well, but they ignored them, and placidly drew around themselves the comfortable robes of organised hypocrisy.