The Fairfield Herald

The Printer, is the adjutant of thought and this explains the mystery of the wonderful word that can kindle a hope as no song can; that can warm a hope as no hope can; that word.. "we," with hand-in-hand warmth in it--or the author and printer are engineers together. Engineers indeed! When the little Corsican bombarded Cadiz, at a distance of five miles. It was deemed the very triumph of engineering; but what is that range to this, whereby they bombard the ages yet to be?

There at the "case" he stands and marshals into line the forces armed for truth, clothed in immortality and English. And what can be nobler than equipment of thought in sterling Saxon-Saxon with the ring of spear or shield therein, and that commissioning it when we are dead, to move grandly on to "the latest syllable of time." This is to win a victory from death, for thus has no dying in it.

The printer is called a laborer, and the office he performs is toil. O, it is not work, but a sublime rite he is performing, when he thus sights the engine that is to fling a word forth in grander curve than missile e'er before described; fling it into the bosom of ages unborn.

He throws off his coat indeed; we but wonder the rather that he does not put his shoes from off his feet, for the place whereof he stands is holy ground.

A little song was uttered somewhere long ago; it wandered through the twilight feebler than a star; it died upon the ear But the printer takes it up where it was lying there in silence like a wounded bard, and he sends it forth from the ark that had preserved it, and it flies on into the future with the olive branch of peace. and around the world with melody like the dawning of a spring morning.

B. F. TAYLOR.