LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: In arranging your excursion, did any of you remember that this year is, or ought to be, an anniversary of notable interest to newspaper men? It is true that there is now some question about it, but it was for many years accepted as a fact, and is still asserted by many authorities, that the first English newspaper ever printed made its appearance in 1588, just three hundred years ago. It was called _The English Mercurie_, was published under the authority of Queen Elizabeth, and its purpose, as stated, was “the prevention of false reports.” This tri-centennial anniversary year ought, therefore, to be a year of jubilee for editors and publishers. You, ladies and gentlemen, are first among the fraternity in Kansas to celebrate it. I am glad to see you, and proud that to me has been assigned the very pleasant duty of formally welcoming you to the capital. I shall not, however, tax your time and patience with a lengthy address. I know the craft too well to attempt anything of that kind. It is said that the American people will stand more speech-making, and, seemingly, enjoy it, than any other people on earth. But my experience is that editors, in this regard, are exceptional—especially when they are enjoying a holiday. You don’t need to be told how vast is the domain and how electric and irresistible is the influence of the newspaper press. You do not care to listen to a lecture on the duties and responsibilities of your profession. You would “jeer me with jeers”—or ought to—if I discussed, on this occasion, such hackneyed themes as “the independence of the press,” or the beauty of “impersonal journalism,” or the turpitude of “delinquent subscribers,” or the criminal stupidity of the man who don’t advertise, or that curious and interesting but never solved arithmetical puzzle, “what paper has the largest circulation?” All these things may interest the editor at home. But the editor abroad wants to forget them. At home, you are engaged in a serious and laborious vocation; but abroad, here and now, you want your holiday to be a real holiday—not such an one as the miserly old farmer gave his boys when he said to them: “My sons, this is the Fourth of July, and when we finish grubbing that acre of hazel-brush on the hillside, and get the hay from the bottom meadow into the barn, we’ll have some apples and cider.”