Newspaper tirades did begin again. The previous attacks on the Pope almost were forgotten, (horribly pungently palate-tickling though they were,) at a time when men's minds were filled with wars and rumours of wars. But the Fleet Street fishers, who knew their business, were aware that the public appetite is capricious and must be tempted with a variety of bait. Even wars and rumours of wars are apt to pall. One must not cry "Wolf" too often. Tired of Black-gnats, trout must be tried with May-flies: for newspapers must be sold, or the soap-and-cocoa people will quake; and newspapers will not sell unless their news are new. So, when the editor of the _Daily Anagraph_ received a couple of letters from Jerry Sant and Mrs. Crowe, proffering certain tasty information, and asking for an offer for same, he consulted his proprietors. The subject certainly was not entirely novel: but what had gone before merely had been so to speak an appetizer. This was the strong meat, the pièce de résistance in the banquet of garbage. Sant was in possession of exclusive information. The publication of it would mean a boom for the paper. Editors cannot afford to be curious about the morals of their contributors, or indeed of anything bar the quality of their contributions. Neither proprietors nor editor were actuated by any sort of malice, personal or professional, in defaming the Pope. Their motive was merely commercial. Therefore, they offered £4,000 a-piece to Sant and his accomplice; and they invested a similar sum in amateur investigations. At intervals during the next few weeks, the _Daily Anagraph_ published articles reflecting on the character of God's Vicegerent; and two columns daily were set apart for anonymous ex-parte statements concerning His career. Oh, it all began again! The points insisted on were that He was, and never had been anything but, a lazy luxurious (the second intention was "debauched") jesuitical machiavellian and false-pretentious ignoramus.--Oh it all indubitably began again. Mediocrities, entrusted with power over their fellow-creatures, invariably develop into tyrants. All history proves it: the tyranny of the clergy was bad enough: but it was as nothing in comparison with the sordid tyranny of the Press which we now complacently tolerate.