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ELECTROMAGNETIC RADIATION
Electromagnetic Radiation
1
3
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
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© Richard Freeman, James King, Gregory Lafyatis 2019
The moral rights of the authors have been asserted
First Edition published in 2019
Impression: 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics
rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Data available
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018953425
ISBN 978–0–19–872650–0
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198726500.001.0001
Printed and bound by
CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and
for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials
contained in any third party website referenced in this work.
Contents
2 The Potentials 43
2.1 The magnetic and electric fields in terms of potentials 43
2.2 Gauge considerations 44
2.3 The wave equations prescribing the potentials using the Lorenz gauge 45
2.4 Retarded time 46
2.4.1 Potentials with retarded time 48
2.5 Moments of the retarded potential 49
2.5.1 Potential zones 49
2.5.2 General expansion of the retarded potential 51
Exercises 55
2.6 Discussions 55
References 613
Index 617
Part I
Introductory Foundations
Essentials of Electricity
and Magnetism 1
1.1 Maxwell’s static
equations in vacuum 3
where the position vectors r and ro refer to the source and observer
locations, respectively, and ρ is the (static) charge density. We note
from this equation a number of important features: first, the static
electric field falls off as the inverse square of the distance to the
observer and is proportional to the charge density; second, a contri-
bution to the field at ro due to an element of charge ρ (
r ) dV will point
along R = ro − r, the direction from source to observer, with a polarity
dependent on the charge sign; and third, the field E ( r o ) is a linear
vector superposition of contributions from charge elements integrated
over all space, independent of time. If we now look at the divergence
taken with respect to ro of this field,
1 ρ (
ro)
∇ · E (
ro) = ρ (
r ) δ (
r o − r) dV = (1.2)
εo εo
∇ × E (
ro) = 0 (1.4)
Because the curl of a gradient is always zero, Eqs. 1.2 and 1.4 can
be more compactly expressed in terms of φ as ∇ 2 φ = ρ/εo (Poisson’s
equation) or ∇ 2 φ = 0 (Laplace’s equation) in charge free regions.
To obtain the fourth differential form of Maxwell’s equations under of Eq. 1.6
steady-state conditions in the absence of matter, we take the divergence
ro − r ro − r
∇· J (
r )× = · ∇×J (
r)
of Eq. 1.5 to obtain1 r o − r|3
| r o − r|3
|
ro − r
−J (r)· ∇ ×
∇ · B (
ro) = 0 (1.8) r o − r|3
|
obtained using the divergence theorem, states that the surface integral
of the normal component of B field around an arbitrary closed surface
is zero. Because B has no divergence value, it can be written as the curl
This vector field, known as the “vector potential”,
of another field, A.
is analogous to the scalar potential, φ, encountered in electrostatics.
So, continuing in close analogy with electrostatics, we are tempted to
write Eqs. 1.7 and 1.8 in terms of a single second order differential
equation of the potential such as the Poisson or Laplace equations.
Thus, we note that much like writing E as −∇φ automatically satisfies
∇ × E = 0 and turns ∇ · E = ρ/εo into the Poisson equation, writing B
as ∇ × A automatically
satisfies
∇ · B = 0 and turns ∇ × B = μo J into
∇ × ∇ × A = ∇ ∇ · A − ∇ 2 A = μo J. This is a more compact way
of expressing Eqs. 1.7 and 1.8. In summary, Maxwell’s equations for
steady state and in the absence of matter are:
∇ · E = ρ/εo (1.9)
∇ × E = 0 (1.10)
∇ × B = μo J (1.11)
∇ · B = 0 (1.12)
F = q[E + v × B]
(1.13)
is the same, with the proviso that the force is Within matter, where there are charges that respond to external fields
related to the velocity by by moving freely, or charges bound to other charged objects that
d orient or displace in response to external fields, Maxwell’s equations
F = (γmv)
dt become exceedingly difficult to solve exactly. It is useful then, when
1.2 Maxwell’s static equations in matter 7
∇ × E = 0 and ∇ · B = 0 (1.14)
II
We have already named the daily newspapers which existed
when Hamilton and his associates established the Evening Post. The
oldest of the five was the Daily Gazette, which had been founded as
a weekly in 1725; the Post made six, Dr. Irving’s Morning Chronicle,
patronized by Burr, seven, and the Public Advertiser eight. In 1807
the whole list of city publications was as follows:
Of the dailies, the Evening Post was the most important; its
scope was the widest, its editorials were the best-written, and its
commercial news was as good as that obtained by Lang or Belden.
Yet even it had, at the beginning of its second year, but 1,104
subscribers for the daily edition, and 1,632, chiefly out-of-town, for
the weekly. New Yorkers then regarded newspapers as a luxury, not
a necessity. Since a year’s subscription cost $8, or ten days’ wages
for a workingman, the poor simply could not afford it. Thrifty
householders exchanged sheets, and at the taverns they were read
to wide circles. The journal was never sold on the streets, and if
Coleman had caught an urchin peddling it he would have boxed his
ears for a fool; whenever a visitor at the City Hotel, or a merchant
particularly pleased by some long editorial, wished a copy, he not
only had to pay the heavy price of 12½ cents, but had to go to the
printer’s room for it. Coleman no more thought of his circulation as
variable from day to day than does the editor of a country weekly at
the present time.
We must remember that the dailies of old New York not only had
small and fixed circulations, but that it was not their editors’
intention to make them purveyors of news in anything like the
modern sense. Coleman in his prospectus made no promise of
enterprise in supplying intelligence. An editor was glad to give a
completer notification of new auctions or cargoes than any rival, or
to be first to strike the party note upon a political event; but a news
“beat” was unknown.
It was said of the Commercial Advertiser that wars might be
fought and won, dynasties rise and fall, quakes and floods ravage
the earth, and it would never mention them; but that if it failed to
list a single ship arrival or sailing, the editor would meditate blowing
out his brains. Several New York newspapers of 1800–1820 were
principally vehicles of political opinion; several were principally
organs for commercial information and advertisements; and some
were a mingling of the two. A modicum of news was thrown in to
add variety, and though it tended to grow greater, even by 1825 it
was only a modicum. One great difficulty was that there was no
machinery for news-gathering. Coleman was his own reporter for
local events, and had no money to hire an assistant; while almost all
news from outside was taken from exchanges, or from private letters
whose contents were communicated to him by friends. The mails
were slow and irregular. A still larger difficulty was that the news
sense had been developed neither by editors nor by the public to
whose demands the editors catered.
Illustrations of what would now seem an incredible blindness to
important events might be multiplied indefinitely. A New Yorker who
wishes to find in old files a real account of the first trial of Fulton’s
Clermont will search in vain. No report worthy of the name was
written, the brief newspaper references being meager and
unsatisfactory. Yet there was much interest in Fulton, and the
Evening Post of July 22, sixteen days before the experiment with the
steamboat, did give a good account of his successful effort in the
harbor to use torpedoes. More than twenty years later the Evening
Post carried an advance notice of the opening of the Baltimore and
Ohio Railway, the real beginning of American railroad traffic; but, like
most other papers, it gave no report of the actual occurrence.
Sometimes news was deliberately rejected. In 1805 Coleman
published a long series of articles discussing Jefferson’s second
inaugural address, but the address itself he never printed; it being
assumed that interested men could find it in the Democratic press.
Again, when in the autumn of 1812 a gang of robbers entered eight
of the largest stores of the city in succession, during a few days, and
took goods valued at $3,000, the editor made no effort to place the
particulars before his readers; could they not ask the neighborhood
gossips? He contented himself with a warning to the public and to
the watch. On Jan. 10, 1803, early in the evening, the house of a
well-to-do tallow chandler named Willis, in Roosevelt Street, was
robbed. Next day the paper made only a casual allusion to it, naïvely
adding: “For particulars see the advertisement in this evening’s
Post.” The obliging Mr. Willis, in advertising a reward, had stated the
details of his loss, which came to $2,500 or $2,600 in cash.
But on other occasions the editor made an earnest but
unavailing effort to procure the news. A single issue of 1826 affords
two examples: private letters in town had brought hints of a duel
between Randolph and Clay, but it proved impossible to verify the
reports, while of a fire that morning in Chambers Street no accurate
facts were ascertainable. In September, 1809, the Common Council
dismissed William Mooney, a Tammany leader, from the
superintendency of the almshouse, and men surmised that the
grounds were corruption. A few days later Coleman published the
following notice:
FOREIGN DOMESTIC
War Rumored Between Fire in Troy, N. Y.
Britain and France
Monroe Arrives at Editor Duane
Havre Apologizes for Libel
French Hunt Haitians Cheetham Fined $200
With Bloodhounds for Libel
Column on Harlem
Races
Two Columns on Paine Publishes Letter
British Penal from Jefferson
Reform
French Prefect Grainger’s Record as
Reaches New Postmaster-General
Orleans
British Give South Fire in New York Coach
Africa to Dutch Factory
Demands of Dey of Two Benefits at Local
Algiers on Powers Theatre
More Rumors of Election Dispute in
Anglo-French War Ulster County
Agrarian Violence in Election Incident at
Ireland Pawling
London Stock-Market Advance Sale of
Fluctuations Marshall’s
“Washington”
European Trade XYZ Affair Reviewed
Rivalries in Levant
French Troops
Concentrate in
Holland
This was absolutely all, and many of these subjects were treated
in only a few lines, and with obvious haziness and inexactitude. It is
plain that the week’s budget did carry much illumination to the
public mind; but it is also plain that only a tiny part of the world’s
activities were being covered, that city news was appallingly
neglected, and that a modern journal treating each day hundreds of
subjects would then have been inconceivable.
Yet the press could boast of occasional feats of news
presentation which would do credit to journalism even now. The
political meetings of each party were almost always well reported by
its own party organs. In 1807 Burr’s trial was covered for the
Evening Post by a special correspondent whose reports were dry—
there was no description of scene or personages, no attention to
emphasis, and little direct quotation of counsel or witnesses—but
were also expert, comprehensive, and minute. It is well known that
the greatest of American earthquakes occurred in 1811 in the
Missouri and Arkansas country just west of the Mississippi. The
Evening Post was fortunate enough to obtain a three-column
account of it, vivid, intelligent, and thrilling, from the pen of an
observer who witnessed it from a point near New Madrid. The
special Albany letters were fair; for years the Evening Post derived
occasional bits of inside information from Federalist Congressmen,
and made good use of them; and its London correspondence, which
began in 1819 with an account of the Holkham sheep-shearing, was
on a level with much London correspondence of to-day. One of the
most extravagant items in the Evening Post’s first account book is
$50 for getting President Madison’s annual message of 1809 to New
York by “pony express.” An attempt was made to use carrier pigeons
when the House in 1824 elected J. Q. Adams President, but it proved
a failure.
After the commencement of the War of 1812, as we should
expect, much more assiduous attention was paid to news. From five
columns, the space allotted rapidly rose to six, seven, and even
eight. Almost always, of course, it was very late news. Word of the
first disaster of the war, Hull’s surrender at Detroit, was published by
the Evening Post on Aug. 31, 1812. The capitulation has occurred on
the 16th, and the news came by two routes. An express rider had
carried it from Sandusky to Cleveland, and thence it was brought by
a postal carrier to Warren, Pa., on the 22d, so that Pittsburgh had it
on the 23d, and Philadelphia on the night of the 29th. At the same
time it was coming by a southern path. Hull sent a messenger direct
to Washington, who arrived in the capital on the 28th, and whose
dispatches were relayed northward.
Hard on the heels of this blow came cheering news. The
Constitution met the Guerriere on Aug. 19, and Capt. Hull’s victory
was given to the public by Boston papers of the 31st, and New York
papers of Sept. 2. Thus both the defeat and the victory were known
to most Northerners about a fortnight after they took place. Of “the
fall of Fort Dearborn at Chicagua,” on Aug. 15, the famous massacre,
New Yorkers did not learn until Sept. 24, when a brief dispatch from
Buffalo was inserted in an obscure corner by Coleman. All
Washington news at this time still required two full days for
transmission, and often more. When Madison on Nov. 3, 1812, sent
a message to Congress at high noon, the Evening Post announced
that it and the Gazette had clubbed together to pay for a pony
express, and that it hoped to issue an extra with the news the
following afternoon. It also stated that the previous evening an
express had passed through the city towards New England, reputed
to be bearing the substance of the message, and to have traversed
the 340 miles from Washington in nineteen hours. Next day the
editor stated that the express had really come from Baltimore only,
and that it had been paid for by gamblers to bear the first numbers
drawn in the Susquehanna lottery in advance of the mails. These
numbers had been delivered to the gamblers in New York, who went
to the proper offices and took insurance to the amount of $30,000
against their coming up that day; but the offices refused payment. It
was nearly thirty-six hours before Madison’s message reached New
York from Washington, and it was not printed until Nov. 5.
Late in the fall occurred an interesting example of the constant
conflict of that day between rumor and fact. Gen. Stephen Van
Rensselaer sacrificed a force of 900 men at Queenstown Heights,
just across the Niagara River, on Oct. 13. Seven days later the
Evening Post in a column headed “postscript” gave the city its first
intimation that a battle had occurred. Just as the paper at two
o’clock was going to press, it said, the Albany boat had come in with
word from Geneva that an army surgeon had arrived there from
Buffalo, and had reported a great American victory—the capture of
Queenstown and 1,500 prisoners. But the steamer also brought a
rival report from the Canandaigua Repository of a disaster, in which
hundreds had been killed and hundreds captured. The city could
only wait and fear as the following day passed without news. Finally,
on the afternoon of the 22d, the Albany steamboat hove in sight
again, and a great crowd thronging the pier was aghast to learn that
Van Rensselaer had lost a battle and a small army.
In the closing days of the war this episode was reversed, the
rumor of bad news being followed by a truthful report of good. On
Jan. 20, 1815, the whole city was in suspense as to the fate of New
Orleans. Nothing had been heard from Louisiana for a month, and
three mails were overdue, which boded ill, for every one knew that
Sir Edward Pakenham and his 16,000 British veterans were ready to
move upon the place. “It is generally believed here that if an attack
has been made on Orleans, the city has fallen,” said the Evening
Post. “But some doubt whether the British, having the perfect
command of all the waters about the city, and having it in their
power to command the river above, will not resort to a more
bloodless, but a certain method of reducing the city.” On Jan. 23 the
Evening Post published some inconclusive information received in a
letter from a New Orleans judge, dated just before the preliminary
and indecisive battle of Dec. 23. “We have cause of apprehension,”
Coleman wrote, “that to-morrow’s mail will bring tidings of the
winding up of the catastrophe.” New Yorkers were particularly
concerned because city merchants owned a great part of the
$3,200,000 worth of cotton stored in New Orleans. But a week, ten
days, and two weeks passed while little news was procured and the
tension grew steadily greater. Finally, on the morning of Feb. 6,
three mails were received at once, with New Orleans letters bearing
dates as late as Jan. 13, five days after Jackson had bloodily
repulsed Packenham. The tidings fell upon New York with a
tremendous shock of surprise and joy, and the Evening Post
hastened to publish them in two columns and with its closest
approach to the yet uninvented headline.
Under the stress of war the first news with conscious color,
pathos, and strong human interest began to be written. The earliest
account filled with human touches dealt with an incident of the
privateering of which New York harbor was a busy center. The
privateer Franklin, two months after hostilities began, returned from
the Nova Scotia coast with a strange prize—an old, crazy, black-sided
fishing schooner of thirty-eight tons, less than half the size of a good
Hudson River market boat. Coleman, going aboard, found the owner
a fine gray-haired woman, a widow. The little craft was her all.
Wrapped in a rusty black coat as tattered as its sails, “she cried as if
her heart would break” while she told the editor how she had left
four children behind her and had pleaded with her captor not to be
taken so far from home. It need not be said that the publicity
Coleman gave to this incident helped persuade the captain of the
privateer that honor obliged him to send the fisherwoman back.
Two years later occurred an incident the humorous values of
which the Evening Post did not miss. Mr. Wise, part-proprietor of the
Museum in New York, with a mixture of patriotic and business
motives, had an extensive panorama painted of the glorious Yankee
naval victories of 1812 and 1813. Having got all the New York
sixpences that he could with it, he packed it up together with the
lamps and other fixtures for its exhibition, and a valuable hand-
organ, and set sail for Charleston to show it there. On the second
day out from Sandy Hook, the British frigate Forth captured the
vessel. Greatly amused, the commander promptly set the panorama
up for inspection:
As the war drew near its close, sometimes even ten columns of
news were furnished, and on several occasions, as that of Gen.
Hull’s trial, a one-sheet supplement was issued. The first cartoon in
the Evening Post was evoked on April 18, 1812, by the act of
Congress cutting off foreign trade by land. It showed two large tree-
trunks in close juxtaposition, one labeled “Embargo” and the other
“Non-Importation Act,” with a fat snake held immovable between
them; from the snake’s mouth were issuing the words, “What’s the
matter now?” and from its tail the answer, “I can’t get out!” Such wit
was about equal to that of the second cartoon, on April 25, 1814,
which showed a terrapin (the Embargo was often called “the terrapin
policy”) flat upon its back, expiring as Madison stabbed it with a
saber, but still clinging to the President with claws and teeth. Below
was some doggerel expressing the determination of the terrapin to
hold on until it dragged Madison down and slew him. Evidently
readers were obtuse, for the next day appeared a solemn
“Explanation of the emblematic figures in yesterday’s paper.” But as
yet neither news nor cartoons were published on the first page,
which was sacred, as in English papers of to-day, to advertisements.
Except for one advance intimation, the news of peace might
have been as unexpected as that of the victory of New Orleans. This
intimation came on Feb. 9, in a curiously roundabout manner. A
privateer cruising in British waters captured a prize which bore
London newspapers dating to Nov. 28, and carried them to Salem,
Mass., whence their contents were reprinted all over the North. They
contained the speech of the Prince Regent on Nov. 11, and the
proceedings of the Commons immediately afterwards, holding out
hope for a prompt ending of the war.
The news of peace itself electrified the city two days later,
reaching it by the British sloop Favorite, which bore one of the
secretaries of the American legation in London, at eight o’clock on
Saturday evening. No journal was so indecorous as to issue a special
Sunday edition, but on Monday the Evening Post contained a full
account of the delirium of rejoicing with which the intelligence was
greeted. Nearly every window in the principal streets was
illuminated, and Broadway was filled with laughing, huzzaing,
exalted people, carrying torches or candles, and jamming the way
for two hours. On Tuesday the Evening Post recorded that sugar had
fallen from $26 a hundred-weight to $12.50, tea from $2.25 a pound
to $1, and tin from $80 a box to $25, while specie, which had been
at 22 per cent. premium, was now only at 2 per cent., and six per
cent. Government stock had risen from 76 to 86. The wharves were
an animated scene, ship advertisements were pouring in, and “it is
really wonderful to see the change produced in a few hours in the
City of New York.”
And what of the Napoleonic wars? All European news was then
obtained from files of foreign papers, some of which came to New
York journals direct, and some of which were supplied by merchants
and shippers. It was usual, whenever a packet arrived with a fresh
batch, to cut the domestic news to a few paragraphs, stop any series
of editorial articles in hand, and for several days fill the columns with
extracts and summaries. Though in 1812 a ship came from Belfast in
the remarkable time of twenty-two days, forty days was the average
from London or Liverpool, and European news was hence from one
to two months late. Sometimes a traveler, and frequently a ship-
captain, brought news by word of mouth.
A detailed account from the London prints of Napoleon’s
marriage at Vienna was not published by the Evening Post till ten
weeks after the event. Wellington stormed Badajos on April 7, 1812,
and the Evening Post announced the fact on June 11, or more than
two months later; while the battle of Salamanca that summer, where
Wellington “beat forty thousand in forty minutes,” was not known for
sixty-six days, the news coming in part through a traveler who
arrived from Cadiz at Salem, and was interviewed by a
correspondent there. It was the middle of October when the armies
of Napoleon and the Allies took position for the battle of Leipsic, and
Coleman was not able to publish his three-column summary from a
London paper till just after New Year’s. When the description of the
battle of Toulouse came in, there occurred an office tragedy:
IMPORTANT
Editor Coleman would have lifted his brows had he been told
that within a little more than a century St. Croix rum, lotteries to
encourage literature, and the sale of likely negro wenches would all
be outlawed.
The circulation of the Evening Post rose only slowly, and like all
the other New York newspapers of the time, until after the War of
1812 it found the struggle for existence a harsh one. At the
beginning of 1804 the whole group, except the youngest and
weakest, Irving’s Morning Chronicle, concerted to raise their yearly
subscription price from $8 to $10; this meaning, in the instance of
Coleman’s journal, the difference between $9,600 and $12,000 a
year. The reason alleged was the heavy increase in the cost of labor
and materials. Journeymen printers, recently paid $6 a week, were
now asking $8; the faithfullest clerk and most dogged collector in
town could once have been had for $300 a year, and now any such
employee wanted $400; while paper had risen until it cost the editor
$7,000 to $8,000 a year. The Gazette and the Mercantile Advertiser
caused much ill-feeling when they immediately broke faith and
reverted to the $8 rate, but Coleman stood by his guns. To help in
holding his subscribers, he advanced his printing hour from four
p. m. to two. Year after year there was a slight increase in the daily
circulation, though it hardly kept pace with the growth of population;
in 1815 it stood at 1,580 copies daily, and in 1820 at 1,843.
Arrears long cost New York editors the same sleepless nights
which they cost the owners of some ill-managed country journals to-
day. City residents paid regularly, for they could be reached through
the ten-pound court if they did not; but in 1805 Coleman
despairingly affirmed that “not one in a hundred” of the subscribers
to the semi-weekly were prompt. In some centers, as Boston, from
$500 to $1,000 was due the Post and Herald, and in Kingston,
Canada, more than $60 was owed merely for postage. “The loss that
arises from neglected arrearages would amount to not less than 30
per cent.,” lamented the editor. It was necessary to send a collector
up through New York and New England to Upper Canada, stopping
for money all along the mail routes.
When Michael Burnham took charge, on Nov. 16, 1806, business
affairs were greatly systematized; a fact of which we find evidence
both in the disappearance of complaints of arrears, and in the
ledgers and a curious old account book, 1801–1810. These accounts
throw much light on mechanical details. A frequent charge for
“skins” presumably refers to the buckskins which were cut and rolled
into balls, soaked in ink, and then used by the printers’ devils to
pound the forms and thus ink the type. Almost daily charges appear
for candles and quill pens. The journal seems to have paid many of
the expenses of apprentices, for there are numerous entries for
“cloathing” and for board at $3 a week. Coleman drew upon the till
occasionally, as is shown by an item of May 25, 1809: “Boots for Mr.
Coleman, $10.” But all the improvements that Burnham made in the
business management did not save Coleman at times before 1810
from half-resolving to let the Evening Post die and to return to the
bar again; in the year named, when he was trying to arrange his
English debts, he confessed such a hesitation. When Duane of the
Aurora charged that the Federalist newspapers in seaport towns
were bribed “by support in the form of mercantile advertisements” to
oppose all Jefferson’s measures, Coleman bitterly replied that
Federalist merchants actually neglected their press. Taking up a copy
of the chief Federalist organ in Philadelphia, and one of the chief
neutral journal there, he found six ship advertisements in the former
and forty in the latter; while “on a particular day not long since the
New York Gazette had eighty-five new advertisements, the
Mercantile Advertiser sixty-one, and the Evening Post nine.”
But after the Embargo and the war the skies slowly brightened,
not so much because of the growing circulation as because of the
more remunerative advertisements. It was not the $40-a-year
advertising that paid, but the single “ads” inserted at the new rate of
75 cents a “square.” There were now many more of these. Because
of the rapid growth of the city a brisk trade had sprung up in
Brooklyn and Manhattan real estate, which by 1820 often engrossed
from one-eighth to one-fourth the whole paper. Steamboats had
come, and from Capt. Vanderbilt’s little Nautilus, which left Whitehall
daily for Staten Island at 10, 3, and 6:30, charging twenty-five cents
a trip, to the big Chancellor Livingston running to Albany, and the
boat Franklin, which offered excursions to Sandy Hook, with a green
turtle dinner, for $2, all were advertising. Competing stage-coach
lines were eager to impress the public with their speedy schedules;
advertising that you could leave the City Hotel at 2 p. m., packed six
inside and eight outside a gaudily painted vehicle, and be at Judd’s
Tavern in Philadelphia at 5 a. m. the next day.
Competition continued keen, for while weak newspapers died,
new journals were constantly being established. The most important
of these were Charles Holt’s Columbian, established in 1808 as a
Clintonian sheet; the National Advocate, founded in 1813 and edited
for a time by Henry Wheaton, later known as a diplomat, who
supported Madison; and the American, an evening journal first
published in the spring of 1819, and edited by Charles King, later
president of Columbia College. But the Evening Post kept well to the
front, as is shown by a table of comparative circulations in May,
1816:
Mercantile Advertiser, 2000
Daily Gazette, 1750
Evening Post, 1600
Gardiner’s Courier, 980
Columbian, 825
National Advocate, 875
Commercial Advertiser, 1200
The circulation of the Mercantile Advertiser, we are told by
Thurlow Weed, who was then working on the Courier, was
considered enormous. It seldom had more than one and a half or
two columns of news, while Lang’s Gazette frequently carried only a
half column; so that the Evening Post was clearly the leading
newspaper. People in the early twenties regarded it as a well
established institution. Its editor had become one of the lesser
notables of the city, like Dr. Hosack and Dr. Mitchill; and we are
informed by a contemporary that he “was pronounced by his
advocates a field-marshal in literature, as well as politics.” Poor as
the newspapers of that time seem by modern standards, the
Evening Post when compared with the London Times or the London
Morning Post (for which Lamb and Coleridge wrote) was not
discreditable to New York; it was not so well written, but it was as
large and as energetic in news-gathering and editorial utterance.
CHAPTER FOUR
The infancy of the Evening Post coincided with the rise of the
Knickerbocker school of letters, with which its relations were always
intimate. Its first editor delighted in his old age to speak of his
friendship with Irving, Halleck, Drake, and Paulding; while the
second editor, Bryant, escaped inclusion with the Knickerbockers
only by the fact that his poetry is too individual and independent to
fit into any school at all.
A mellow atmosphere hangs over the literary annals of New York
early in the last century. We think of young Irving wandering past
the stoops of quaint gabled houses, where the last representatives
of the old Dutch burghers puffed their long clay pipes; or taking
country walks within view of the broad Tappan Zee and the summer-
flushed Catskills, halting whenever he could get a good wife to favor
him with her version of the legends of the countryside. We think of
that brilliant rainbow which Halleck stopped to admire one summer
evening in front of a coffee-house near Columbia College,
exclaiming: “If I could have my wish, it should be to lie in the lap of
that rainbow and read Tom Campbell”; of Paulding, Henry Brevoort,
and others of the “nine worthies” holding high revel in “Cockloft
Hall” on the outskirts of Newark; and of Drake, the handsomest
young man in town, like Keats studying medicine and poetry, and
like Keats dying of consumption. We think of how the young men of
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