It was convention week for the town criers. Manhattan was overrun with them—the men who keep their ears to the ground ,their eyes on public whimsy, their private thoughts to themselves—for town criers may no longer air their personal prejudices; the men who flood the land morning, noon and night with news, entertainment, instruction and the merchants' persuasions to buy, buy, buy, in bundles and bales and stacks and mountains of newspapers, which every year grow more numerous, multi-paged and hefty.
A. P. First there was a...
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