The weekly Butte record., 1861-07-13
NO. SO
A Wonderful Architect.

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Do you know the typesetter is a wonderful
architect? You see those bits of lead ard
zinc lying over, across and against each other,
like the tangled braids Of a mermaid's hair ?
And yet they form an army more powerful
than ever fought on tented field. Yesterday
they stood up proudly, professionally speaking,
in one form truly, in a thousand forms.
Y on may look upon the little bits with smile
on your lip, but you little dream they are
stronger and wiser than you-that they will
speak when you are dead and forgotten. They
have sometimes made you SMILE and sometimes
shudder "Stocks' Isn't there something
in that word? Hayn't you been head and
heels in them for years, and don't your feelings
rise and fall with them alternately? A little
further on you come to the word " Married"
All l thought that would make you smile l
saw you kiss a baby then and that word un-
ravels it all. You havn't forgot the day when
you went courting, have you? Then there
was magic in the uttcrance. You stood at
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felt, and if you have not always loved the girl
as you ought to, there is no one you love as
well. You secretly bless the day when the
single word married " was wreathed like sa-
cred archway over the joys of you and yours.
Don't you remember little Minnie-sbe whom
you loved so well-she with the blue eyes and
auburn curls When Deaths dark Angel
folded her little delicate hands over her snowy
bosom, and sealed her loving eyes with its icy
fingers, don't you remember how the great tide
of sorrow came surging over your smtten
heart? You little thought the other day when
you picked up the papers-that the word
Died." of only four ietters-which you laugh
ed at as they lay dusty and dirty in their
square homes-would make you weep-would
make you think of her whom God hath taken
If you come to his Office tomorrow the
printer will show you how TO distribute knowl-
edge. He will pull to pieces, tough, wiry ar
guments that yesterday defed the world
Those pretty palaces which the poet wrought
will have to come down, and their golden fan
cies become tomorrow the integuments of the
politicians prose. In they go-those metallic
dwarls, scattered broad cast like good seed,
which shall bring forth sixty, aye an hundred
fold. Sixty lives lost and Prentice's last
joke march in together, and the printer whis-
ties Yankee Doodle as careessly as if human
life was below par, and so it is. This is the
printers life and business.
Printing Office is great bowling alley.
The printer sets up pins-the world keeps tai
ly, the editor puts the ball in motion, and away
it goes carrying death and destruction in its
front, sending a pin here and pin there, while
a noisy rabbe always stand by to cheer and
hiss down the players. Some play for money;
few-a precious few-do it to patronze the
boss and bless mankind. No matter what the
balls are made Of or how they go, if they only
hit the mark. The crowd pocket the spos
and the honors are left to the proprietor, who
goes behind the scenes and starYes in his shirt
sleeves. And such is life.
When the printer dies, the world Just gets
glimpse of his value as bis coattails vanish in
glory, and then it looks very bad, rubs its head
little, calls him a clever fellow-says his only
fault was in being poor, and then the world
shoyes his sympathy out of sight into that
idiom, the human heart, and on rolls the Jug
gernaut as though nothing had happened.
Some day the people will wake up and find
a screw lost in the jagged machine of human
progress. If you do, don't waste more sympa-
thy than possible on those NEUROLOGICAL iel-
lows who print your books and papers
Printer.