The Tiffin tribune. [volume] (Tiffin, Ohio) 1848-1859, 1857-11-20
The Newspaper.

EernApS tnore Is no lepMtmenl OF ouVef
prise whose details arc less unders 90
oy iuelligent people than the art pre-
servative' achievement Of the types
Every day. their lives long. they are
accustomed TO read the newspaper. to End
fault with its statements, it's arrangements.
its looks; to plume themselves upon the
discovery Of some rogush aud acrobatic
type that gets in frolic and stands upon
its head; OF Of some word with a waste
letter or two in IT, but Of the process by
which the newsp ,per is made; Of the
myriads Of motions aud the thousands OF
pieces necessary to it's competition, they
know little, aud think less.
They imagine they discourse Of won.
der. indeed, when they talk Of the fne
white carpet woven for thought to walk
on, Of the rags that Hntered upon the
back Of the beggar. yesterday.
But theie is to us, something more
wonderful still. When We look at the
hundred and dfty little boxes, somewhat
shaded with the touch Of the inky fingers,
that compose the printers ease, and
watch him at his noiseless work; noise.
less except the clicking Of the types, as
one by one. they take their places in the
growing line, we think we have found
The marvel Of the art
Strown IN their little boxes, are thin
pNallelogRms Of metal, every one good
for single letter. a comma, hypheu, u
something that goes to make up wri:ten
.l'nguage--the visible footprints Of
thought upon carpets OF rags
We think how many fances in frag-
ments, there are in the boxes; how many
atoms Of poetry aud eloquence, the print
er can pick up here, il he only has a
little chart TO work by; how many facts
in small bsndfulls how much truth in
chaos
Now he picks up the scattered ele-
ments, until he holds in his hands stan
u Of Gray's Elegy, or a monody upon
Grimes, Fall butloned down before" %
Now he "sets up" puppy missing"
aad now para lise Lost" he arrays a
bride in "smsll caps" and sonnet in
"nonpareil;" he announces that anguish-
ing will olive" in one sentence; trans.
poses the word, and deplores the days
that are few aad "evil, in the next.
A poor old Jest ticks its way into n.
printers hand like lit;le clock just run
ming down: and strain Of eloquence
marches into line, letter by letter. We
fancy we can tell the difference by the
nearing Of the ear, but perhaps not.
The types that told wedding yesterday,
aunouuce a burial tomorrow; perhaps in
the sel(same letters They the are ele-
ments to make world of--those types
are; a world with something in it as
beautiful as Spring, as rich as Summer,
and as grand as Autumn; flowers that
froNts cannot wilt; fruit that shall ripen
for all time
The newspaper has become the logbook
Of the age; it tells at what rata the world
is running; who can find. our "reckon-
ing" without il? True the green grocer
may bundle up pound Of candles in our
last ex xbressed thoughts. but it is only
coming to "baser uses" as It's betters
! have done times innumerable. We con-
sole ourselves by thinking that one can
make Of that newspaper what he cannot
make Of ribs Of living oak--a bridge Of
time. That he can ding it over the chaSm
Of dead years. and walk safely upon the
shadowy sea of the far past. That the
snger Shall not end his song, nor the
true soul be eloquent no more. The
realm of the Press is enchanted ground.
Sometimes the Editor has the happiness
of knowing that he has defended the
right, exposed he wrong, protected the
weak; thst he has given utterance to a
sentiment that is not lost; sentiment
that has cneered somebody solitary hour,
made somebody happier, kindled smile
upon a sad face, or a hope in heavy
heart.
He may meet with that sentiment
months. years after; it may have lost all
traces OF its paternity, but he feels an af.
leelion for it. He reads il as for the FIRST
time. and wonders if indeed he wrote IL,
for he has changed since then. Perhaps
he could not give utterance TO the senti-
ment now; perhaps he would not, il he
could. IL seems like the voice Of his
former self calling to his present, and
there is something mournful in its tone.
He begins TO think, to remember; re-
member when he wrote il and why; who
his readers where then. and whittier they
have gone; what he was then; and how.
and how much he has changed So he
muses. tll he finds himself wondering Il
that thought Of bis will continue to 6oal
after he is dead. whether he is really look,
ing upon something that shall survive
him. And then comes the sweet con
seriousness that there is nothing in the
sentiment he could wish had been un.
written; that is tho better part OF him; a
shred from the garme OF immortality
he shall leave behind him, when he joins
the ''innumerable caravan, and takes bis
place ia the silent hall Of death - CAica
go Journal
| slave Case.
BosToN Nov 9. "a hearing was haC
to day in the case Of a habeas corpus, sue,