Year: 1867

Perhaps there is no department of enterprise
whose details are less understood by intelligent
people than the art preservative the achieve
ment of types. Every day their life long, they
are accustomed to read the newspaper and find
fault with it's statements, its arrangements, its
looks; to plume themselves upon the discovery
Of some roguish and acrobatic type that gets
into a frolic and stands upon its head; or of
some waste letter or two in it-but Of the pro-
cess by which the newspaper is made, of the
myriads of motions and the thousands of pieces
necessary to its composition, they know little
and think less. They imagine they discourse
of wonder, indeed, when they speak of the
fair white carpet, woven for thought to walk on,
of the rags that futtered on the back of the
beggar yesterday. But there is something more
and fifty-two little boxes, somewhat shaded with
the touch of inky fingers, that compose the
printers 'scase, noiscless, except the clicking
of the types, as one by one they take their pla-
ces 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 eloquence the prin-
ter can make here and there, if he had only a
little chart to work by, how many facts In lit
tie handful" how much truth in chaos. Now
he picks up the scattered elements until he
holds in his hands a stanza of 'Grey's Elegy,"
or monody upon Grimes ''All Buttoned up
Before Now he sets puppy missing" and
now Paradise Lost he arrays bride in
small caps, and sonnet in 'nonparell ) he
announces the languishing live in one sentence
-transposes the word and deplores the days
that are few and 'evil' in the next. A poor
jest ticks its way slowly into the printer hand,
like clock just running down, and strain OF
eloquence marches into the line letter by letter.
We fancy we can tell the difference by the ear,
but perhaps not. The types that told we'd
ding yesterday announce burial tomorrow
perhaps the same letters. They are the 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 frost cannot wilt Fruit
that shall ripen for all time.


The newspaper has become the log book OF
the age 1t tells at what rate the world IS run
ming; VIC cannot find our reckoning without
it. True the green grocer may bundle up
pound OF candles in our last expressed thoughts,
but it Is only coming 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 over the
chasm OF the dead years and walk safely back
upon the shadowy sea into the far past. The
singer shall not end his song, nor the 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 the wrong, protected the
weak that he has given utterance to a sentl-
ment that has cheered somebody's solitary
hour, made somebody happier, kindled smile
upon sad face, or hope In heavy heart
He may meet with that sentiment many years
after; it may have lost all charms of its pater-
IL L e. feat for 10
it as a long absent child. He reads it as for
the first time, and wonders if, indeed, he wrote
it, for he has changed since then. Perhaps he
could not give utterance to the sentiment now
perhaps he would not if he could. 1t seems
like the voice of his former self calling to his
parents, and there is something mournful in
his tone. He begins to think-to remember
why he wrote it, who were his readers then,- and
whittier they have gone-what he was then,
and how much he has changed. 80 he muses.,
until he finds himself wondering if that thought
Of his will continue to float after he IS dead,
and whether he is looking upon something that
will survive him. And then comes the sweet
consciousness that there is nothing In the SEN
tence that he could wish unwrtten-that is
better part of him-a shred from a garment of


Immortality he shall leave behind him when he
ions the sinnumerablc caravan" and takes his
place in the silent halls of DEATH


VOLUNTEER DRILL FOR SINGLE MEN-FaU
IN love with some good and industrious woman.
Attention pay to her faithfully and respectfully.
Riglt face in popping the question: like man.
Quick march to her parents, and ask their con-
sent. File Right with her to church, and go
through the service of matrimony. Halt and
reflect seriously upon the new duties which you
have assumed. and then perform them. Right
about face from the haunts which you fre-
quented when single, and prefer your own
home. Adramce arms to your own wife when
out walking with her, and never leave her to
trail behind Break off staying out at night,
and other bad habits, if you wish to have a
happy home


Greely says the man who pays more for his
shop rent than for advertising, don't know his
business.