The Lancaster gazette. [volume] (Lancaster, Ohio) 1863-1886, 1865-12-14
The Prinisr and his TYPE.

Perhaps there Is no department Of
enterprise whose details aro less IN
derstood by intelligent people than the
"art preservativc"--the achievement
Of types. sa
Every day, their life long, they are
accustomed TO read the newspaper, to
find fault with its statements. its ar.
rangements, its looks; 10 plume them
selves upon the discovery Of some
roguish and aerobatic type that gets
into frolic and stands upon IT'S head;
or Of somn waste letter or two in it,
bnt ofths process by which the nc VS.
paper is made, OF the myraids Of mo
ions and thOusa nds Of pieces ncccssa.
ry to its composition, they know little
aud think less.
They imagine they discourse of q
wonder, indeed. when they speak Of
the fair white carpet woven for
thought to walk on. Of the rays that
fiuttered on the back Of the bcggar
yesterday.
Buttherc is something more wonder.
ful still. When we look at the hun.
dred and fiGty-two little boxes. gone
what shaded with the touch ii inky
fingers, that compose the printers
"case-noiseless, except the clicking
of the types, as one by one they tax e
their places in growing line-wc think
we have found the marvel Of the ort.
We think how many fances in irag.
ments there are in the boxes, how ma.
ny atoms OF poetry and cioqnence the
printer can make here aud there. Il
he only had little chart 10 worl; l,y
how many facts in q small "banIiull "
how much truth in chaos.
Now he picks up the scattered cIc-
ments until he holds in his hand 4
stanza Of Grey's Elegy; or a monody
upon Grimes 'all buttoned up before. I"
Now he sets, puppy missing"
and now Paradise Lost" he arrays q
bride in 'sMALL cAPs, and sonnet in
"nonpareil;' he announces that the
languishing live" in one scneence-
transposes the words and deplorcs the
days that are few and "evil," ia the
next. .'-.
A poor jest ticks its way slawly into
the printers hand. like a clock Just
running down, and o strain of elo-
quence marches into line letter BY let
Ter. We fancy We can tell the diff
ference by hearing Of the ear, but per-
haps not. ..t.4
The types that told a wedding yes.
terday, announces a burial to morrow
perhaps the self same letters.
They are the elements to make ii
world of-those types are, world
with something in it as beautiful as
spring, AS rich as summer. and as
grand rs autumn flowers that frost
cannot wilt, fruit that shall ripcn tor
all time. . .
The newspaper has become the log
book of the age, it tells at what rate
the world is running; we cannot find
our ''reckoning" without il.
True. the green grocer laay bundle
up pound of candles in our last ex-
pressed thoughts, but it is only com
ing to base uses, something that is
done times innumerable.
We console ourselves BY thinking
that one can make of that newspaper
what he cannot make of living oaks
bridge for time, that he can fling
1t over the chasm Of the dead years
and walk safely back upon the shad-
owy sea into the far Past The sing
er shall not end his song, nor the t.ue
soul be eloquent no more.
The realm of the Press is cnchant.
cd ground. Sometimes the editor has
the happiness of knowing that he has
defended the right, exposed the wrong.
protected the weak; that he had Civ
en- utterance to sentiment that has
chccred somebody's solitary hour,
made somebody happier, kinde a
smile upon sad face, or hone on a
heavy heart.
lie may meet with that sentiment
many years after it may have lost ali
charm of its paternity, but lie feels af-
fectioHs for it. lie welcomes it as II
long absent child lie reads it as Tor
the first time, and wonders If, indeed,
be wrote it, for he has changed since
then. Perhaps be could not give ut
terance 10 the sentiment now-per.
haps he would not il he could.
1t seems like the voice OF his Tor
mer self calling to its parents, and
there is something mourntul in Its
tone. lie begins to think-to remem-
Der why he wrote it, where were his
readers then, and whittier they have
gone-wbat he was then, and how
much he has charged. So he muses.,
until he finds himself wondering il
that thought of his will continue TO
float after he is dead, and whether he
is really looking upon something
that will survive him. And then
comes the sweet consciousness that
there is nothing in the sentence that
he could wish unwritten that it is a
better part of him-a shred from a
garment of immortality he shall leave
behind him when ho joins tho ''innu-
merable caravan, and takes his place
in the silent halls Of death. ..
UI. -----.u..e,------- ...
nsA. "Be affable and courteous in
vontb that von NAV be honored in