San Andreas independent., 1856-12-13
CALAVERAS COUNTY, SATURDAY, DECEMBER l3 1856

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 enginery 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
Dist Not he who wears but one boot,
and is disagreeably redolent of birthstone,
but the -grimmed 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 fight by something bearing striking
resemblance to brick-bat.
But here we are The walls are cob
webbed and dusty; the windows are cur
tanned with newspapers; very dim Ian
tern to hold great deal of light Click,
Gfch;; the footsteps of type, and there in
the corner, is the Editor, Publisher, Pro
prietor and Printer, setting up an edito-
rial from very queer old case. Click,
click; there's a pale young man, busy
with death" Died, and so he goes
slowly on as though he were actually fol-
lowing the bier But then a death was
very rare thing, very rare, there in the
Village, and round in the woods, and it
was worth pondering over True every
body knew it already, but it must go into
the paper, nevertheless, for there was
somebody or other, that had gone out to
the i" Genesee 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
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 finland all
running away, and the "nine inside" as
merry as punch.
But not picture of Railroad, or a
Reaper, or steamboat. A strange old
office in those old days.
But there in the further corner stand
square frame of heavy timber, like huge
loom. 1t IS a loom, such as they wove
thought on; it is the old q Ramoge Press.
Its huge lever, its lazy planten, its ponder
Gus tympan, its great ink balls, its creak-
ing, groaning mechanism-therei it stands
in all its rudeness, the greatest triumph of
this or any other age. A pair Of tin
sockets swung up by wire above the
dingy engine, bearing each brief can
dle,' were the Castor and Pollux 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 proprietor was passing
rich at less than forty pounds year
It is publication day, and editor, pale ap-
prentice and dingy devil are in an active
state of unrest. The editor writes, and
says "we" 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 press
man places it on the press, then " comes
the tug Of war" 1t is pull and repeat,
pull again and again repeat, and the g in
side" comes off sheet after sheet with the
gravity of so many elephants the candles
get briefer and DINNER, but the two hun
dred and fftieth is off at last, and they
all, editor, publisher, printer and press
man get into the same coat and beneath
the same hat, and leave the Devil to fold
up the papers and sweep out 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 chariot over whole highways of
white paper in an hour? Where are the
busy Jours," and the editorial corps?
Where the Steamers and the Railway
trains and the Telegraphs, p nting, and
shrieking and flashing, to transmit that
papers contents to the worlds dim cloudy
ends?
The morning comes, and the inky imp
of yesterday INDUCES in clean face; his
unkempt locks are out Of snarl; he is
transformed 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, but very meek is he In
deed and when the Squire speaks out to
him strong and hearty, "good morning
my boy" he holds down his head and de-
posits the answer in his bosom, as if it
were 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 chuck the pa
pers as they do now, over the gate and
under the fence, but decently and demure-
ly places it folded and damp in the hand
of somebody commissioned to receive it.
But he doesn't ring" for there is moth
ing to ring in all the town, except the
church bell, that the Doctor brought home
IN his cutterv one dav from Utica or