Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1868-05-08

negroes are the black letter fonts; drunk
ards the italics, while poets, orators, and
men of genius are the fancy letters, used
in illustrated editions, and printed in CO.
lors.
Col. CALKINs in late number OF the
ST. Paul Pioneer, writing of the ''Life
of a Newspaper" thus speaks of EUery
afternoon, literary venture of short
life.
at died and made no sign" A single
souvenir of its existence meets our eye
among the stems" of our exchanges. 1t
is rs follows
EVERY AFTERNOON says it is proposed TO
have ladies strains made separate from their
dresses. so that they can be removed and hung
in the hall. after being dragged through the
dirt, when the wearers wish to go into the
clean drawing-room.
This estray paragraph, orphaned al
most at its birth, will wander through
the world, surviving the authorship to
which it owes its being, credited to q
memory-a shade-to the evidence of a
thing no more seen. This single scin-
tiliation, like phosphorescence that
floats upon the evening air in the tan
gled woodland, or on the broad dusky
highway, remains, while the source from
whence the brightness emanated exists
no more. 1t is as ifa starlight ray
should remain fixed in the air after the
star had departed; as if the CLEAN from
the seventh pleiad should still be seen to
shine across the raven wing of night.
This is model little newspaper para
graph. 1t is a fashion Mountaineering
10 women because 4 p such, and to men
because it interests women. 1t states a
fact-a matter of news. 1t contains a
sarcasm, that rests as quietly within as
the stealthy stiletto rests in its jeweled
sheath, 1t has moral, and insinuates
the merit of the virtue of cleanliness,
which is akin to goodness. And to the
thoughtful mind, it is the sole relic of an
intellectual existence, offs thinking, SPEAK
ing thing that was, bat is not. And
as in the future our practiced eye scar
ches the columns of the newspaper world,
to select for our readers from this field
of incxhaustible richness, facts end fan
cies, morals and Jets of wit, or horrid
tales of woe, thick.
GAS orient pearls at random strung"
often, doubtless, this dainty paragraph
will appear before us, and excite remem.
brances of the fair page where it first
struggled into fugitive existence, and
regrets that thing of so fair promise
and so rich and deserving ,sho'd have been
so evanescent,
This is the very perfection of writing
AS neat as the paragraph which it SO
worthily embalms. Nothing more fin,
ished and dainty ever came from the
Colonel's practiced pen, and its perusal
naturally sets one to thinging of the
strange life which newspaper paragraphs
lead.
Every reader of newspapers knows
that there are paragraphs which he meets
continually. Their authorship may be
forgotten, their history unknown. but
their life is assured. Pregnant with
thought, broad and catholic in feeling,
they depend on neither time nor place
for their interest, but speak to the univer-
sal heart of man and are always well
come.
Such paragraph is that written by
DANIEL WEBSTER, where he shows the
Unreasonable superiority of him who
forms character to him who works in
brass or marble. The work of the one
shall decay-that of the other is lasting
as the life of God. Such a paragraph
is the one written by PRENTICE on the
Immortality of the Soal. The melody
of the breeze, and the light of the stars
the beauty of Day, and the grandeur
ofNight are in it. 1t passes sentinel
editors unchallenged and keeps its place in
newspaper columns by inherent right.
Of like character is that little poem of
the "Earth- angel" going home-a
poem treasured in thousands of scrap
books, dear to very many mothers sor.
rowing hearts. We reproduce it here,
for it is always welcome.
OUR IDOL.
Close the door lightly,
Bride thy breath,
Our little earth angel
Is talking with death.
Gently lie wooes her,
She wishes to stay;
His arms are about her,
He bears her away.
Music comes floating
Down from the dome,
Angels are chanting,
The sweet welcome home.
Come stricken weeper,
Come to the bed,
Gaze on the sleeper
Our IDOL is dead.
Smooth out the ringlets
Close the blue eye;
No wonder such heautv