Lewisburg chronicle. [volume] (Lewisburg, Pa.) 1850-1859, 1855-11-02

corner in the barroom, like an overfed old
spider, opened the stage coach door and
let out the hungry passengers. They were
always hungry when they got there, for
breakfast was just ready for southern emf
grants, and dinner for northern; but then
the landlord was not an old spider, but a
very jovi,l, pleasant sort Of man, who
made everybody feel as much at home as
he was, ard nothing more, home like could
be imagined and SO, very well to do did
he get, at two shillings a meal.
So much for the old village, for here
we are just Eow passing an orchard, and
there, with broader phylactary of tan
bark, is the printing office, whence was
issued weekly in olden times, the Blaeh
Ricer Gazette. The Office, low, white
building, once tenanted by lawyer, who
had gone up to higher court than any
they have organized yet on earth, stood
next the church. So they were, for once,
side by side, the pulpit and the..press !;
and nobody has learned to turn out such
epginery from forge and foundry, even to
this day. We enter there is ink on the
door, the print of five small fingers. In
cline your ear, delicate reader, it is the
devTs! Not he WHO wears but one boot,
and is disagrceably redoleut of birthstone,
but the begrimmed urchin iu shirt sleeves,
jus. creeping through the broken pickets
Of the orchard fence, with apples in each
hand, and one in his mouth, followed in
his flight by something bearing striking
resemblance to brick bat.
But here we are. The walls are cob
webed and dusty; the windows are cur
tained with newspapers; very dim lan-
tern to hold a great deal of light Click,
click; the footsteps of type, and there in
the corner is the editor, publisher, propri-
e.or, and printer, "setting up an editori-
al from . very queer old case. Click,
click there's pale young man busy with
"death" Died, and so he goes slowly on
as tho he were actually following the bier.
But then a death was a very rare thing,
very rare in the village, and 'reund in the
woods, and it was worth poudering over
True, everybody knew it already, but it
must 60 into the paper, nevertheless, for
there was somebody or other, that had
gone out into the "Genesee country" that
loved the living, and so the paper must
follow him away there, if it could, that be
might mourn the dead.
Wonderful decorations they are upon
the walls wha, marvellous borders, to the
handbills; what wonderful "Selims" that
the man with short coat and long whip,
could hardly hold; what "great sales" of
small articles; what gay coaches, riding
on the top Of cloud, the four in hand all
running away, and the ''nine inside" as
merry as punch.
But not a picture Of railroad, or a
reaper, or a steamboat. A strange old
Office in those days.
But there in further corner stands a
square frame of heavy timber, like huge
loom. 1t is loom, such as hiey wove
thought on it is the old "Ramage Press
Its huge lever, its lazy platen, its ponder
Gus tympan, its great ink balls, its creak-
ing, groaning mechanism-there it stands
in all its rudeness, the greatest triumph of
:his or any other age. A pair of tin sock
cts swung up by wire above the dingy
engine, bearing each "brief candle"
were the Castor and Pullox of the place
In the corner in the dark, stood solitary
keg of ink; not great way off, four reams
of very grayish blue paper, but then the
was passing rich' at less than
forty pounds year. 1t is publication
day, and editor, pale apprentice, and dingy
devil are in an active state of unrest The
editor writes, and SAYS "we," and "our
has two hundred and fifty
and then the printer sets type, and then
the publisher looks over the .'form," and
then the pressman places it on the press,
and then "comes the tug of war" 1t is
pull and repeat, pull again and again re-
peat, and the 'inside" comes off, sheet af.
er sheet, with the gravity of so many ele-
chants; the candles get briefer and dim
ner, but the two hundred and flf,ieth is
if at last, and they all, editor, publisher,
printer, and pressman, get into the same
oat and beneath the same hat, and learr
he devil to fold up the papers and sweep
ut the Office.
Where then were your compound lev
RS, your glittering cylinders, your faith l
III rollers, your painting furnaces, your {
rcss, instinct with life and energy, that {
AIRED on like chariot over whole high. :
,ays Of white paper in an hour? Where l
'ere the busy ''jours" and the editorial 8
crps? Where the steamers and the
ailway trains and the telegraphs, painting, 5
nd shsieking aud flashing, to transmit '
nat papers contents to the worlds dim, +,
Loudly ends? @