The evening Argus. [volume] (Rock Island, Ill.) 1861-1871, 1866-11-07
The Art of Printing.
BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

| Perhaps there is no department of enterprise
| whose details are less understood by intelligent
people than the tart preservative" the achieve
ment of typee.
| Every day, their life long, they are accustom-
ed to read the newspaper, to find fault with it's
statements, it's arrangements, it's looks: to
| plume themselves upon the discovery of some
| rogush and acrobatic type that gets into frol-
| ic, and stands upon its head; or of some waste
letter or two in it but of the process by which
the newspaper is made, OF the myriads of motions
and thousands of pieces necessary to its compost
ton, they know little and think less
! They imagine they discourse of wonder. in
/ deed, when they speak of the fair Garnet woven
| for thought to walk on-of the rags that iutter-
| ed upon the back of the beggar yesterday
But there Is something more wonderful STILL
When we look at the hundred and fifty-two little
| boxes, somewhat shaded with the touch of the
fingers, that compose the printers Case
nolseiess, 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.
We think how many fancies in fragments there
are IN the boxes, how many atoms of poetry and
excellence the printer make here and there
| II ne only had little chart to work-how MANY
facts in small ''handful"-how much truth in
chaos.
Now he picks up the scattered elements until
he holds in his hand stanza of "Gray's Elepv -
or monody upon Grimes ''all buttoned nm he
fore, and now Paradise Lost :" he arravs 81
bride In ''small caps, and sonnet in s'nonpar.
lei = he announces that the languishing 'sliye ("
IN one sentence-transposes the words and de-
piores the days that are few and 'sevil" in the
next.
A poor jest tricks it's way SLOWLY into tho
printers hands like clock Just running down
ana strain OF eloquence marches into line let
ter by letter. We fancy we can tell the differ.
ence by the hearing of the ear, but perhaps not.
The types that told a wedding yesterday an
nounce burial to-morrow-perhaps the selfsame
letters
They the elements to make n word oe
these types are world with something in Il 90
beautiful as spring, as rich summer. and as
grand as autumn flowers that frost cannot vie
fruit that shall ripen for all time
The newspaper shall become the log-book Of
the age; it tells at what rate the world ia RIM.
ning We cannot find out our reckoning without
True, the green grocer may bundle un a Mound
VI candies IN our last expressed thoughts. but IL
times innumerabIe "' % uohe
we eohdoie ourselves by thinking that one
uau nas s,. VI 1hat newspaper what he cannot
make OF living oaks-a bridge for tiua .L a.Dos
can hnd 1t over the chasm Of the daad Iuas ne
walk safely back upon the shadow 600 as a au
fair past. The singer shall not end his sa. o sno
the true soul be eloquent no more. 'o"s'nof
The realm of the press is enchanted ground
Sometimes the editor has the happiness of kno--
ing that he has defended the right, exposed tha
wrong, protected the weak that he has given
utterance to a sentiment that had cheered some
body's solitary hour, made somebody happier
kindled smile upon sad face, or hope in a
heavy heart.
He may meet with that sentiment many wears
after it may have lost all charm ofi:s paternity.
out he feels affection for it. He welcomes it as
long absent child. He reads it as if for the
nrst time, and wonders if, indeed, he wrote it.
ior ne has changed since then. Perhaps he
could not give utterance to the sentiment now