Grand River times. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1851-18??, 1855-07-04


fee, low white building, once tenanted by a
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 en-
ginery from forge and foundry, even to this
day. We enter; there is ink on the door,
the print of five small fingers. Incline your
ear, delicate reader, it is the DIS! Not
he who wears but one boot, and is disagreea-
bly, redolent of birthstone, but the be-grimed
urchin in shirt sleeves, just 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 windows are cob
webbed and dusty; the windows are curtain
ed with newspapers; very dim lantern to
hold great deal of light. Click, click; the
footsteps of type, and there in the corner, is
the Editor, Publisher, Proprietor and Printer,
setting up" an editorial from very queer
old case. Click, Click; there's pale, young
man, busy with death" Died, and so
he goes slowly on as though he were actual
ly following the bier But then death was
a rare thing, very rare, there in the Village,
and round in the woods, and it was worth
pondering over. True everybody knew it al
ready, but it must 90 into the paper, never
theless, for there was somebody or other, that
had gone out to the Genessee Country" that
had loved the living, and SO the paper must
follow him away there, if it could, that he
might mourn the dead.
Wonderful decorations they are upon the
walls; what marvellous borders to the hand
bills; 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 a
cloud, the four-in-hand all running away, and
the "nine inside" as merry as Punch.
But not picture of Railroad or Reap
er, or Steamboat. A strange old office in
those old days.
But there in the further corner stands a
square frame Of heavy timber, like a huge
loom. 1t IS a loom, such as they wove tho't
on; it is the old Ramage Press" Its huge
lever, its lazy platen, its ponderous tympan,
its great ink-balls, its creaking, ,groaning mech
anism-there it stands, in all its rudeness
the greatest triumph of this OF any other age.
A pair of tin sockets swung up by wire a.
bove the dingy engine, bearing each !" brief
candle" were the Castor and Pollux of the
place. In the corner, in the dark, stood a
solitary keg of ink; not great way off, four
reams of a very grayish blue paper, but then
the proprietor 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 ave" and our readers"
he has two hundred and ffty-and then the
printer sets type, and then the publisher looks
over the form," and then the pressman pla-
ces it on the press, then "comes the tug of
war;" 1t is pull and repeat, pull again and
again repeat and the inside" comes off sheet
after sheet with the gravity of so many ele-
plants; the candles get briefer and DINNER,
but the two hundred and fftieth is off at last,
and then they all, editor, publisher, printer
and pressman get into the same coat and be-
meath the same hat, and leave the Devil to
fold up the papers and sweep up the Office.
Where then were your compound levers,
your glittering cylinders, your faithful rollers,
your painting furnaces, your press instinct
with life and energy, that Jared on like a
chariot over whole highways of white paper
in an hour! Where are the busy "Jours,"
and the editorial corps? Where the Steam
ers and the Railway trains and the Tele-
graphs, painting, and shrieking and flashing,
to transmit that papers contents to the
worlds dim, cloudy ends?
The morning comes, and the inky imp of
yesterday indulges in clean face; his un-
kempt locks are out of snarl; he is transform
ed into Mercury. Forth he goes, packages
of papers beneath each arm, in his capacity
of carrier-boy. He is none of your brisk, pert
fellows, of the now-a-day order, that is cup"
to every shade of impudence, but very meek
is he indeed; and when the Squire speaks out
to him, strong and hearty, "good morning
my boy" he holds down his head and depos-
its the answer in his bosom, as if it were a
very delicate thing, and not yet able to fly.
Like Death, he visits every house, and his
burden grows lighter as he proceeds. He
does not chack the papers as they do now,
over the gate and under the fence, but de-
Gently and demurely places it folded and
damp in the hand of somebody commission
ed to receive it. But he doesn't "ring," for
there is nothing to ring in all the town, ex-
oo.>4 Al - oL,,uoL ILL .Ln4 A. noa4o. 4