STEREOTYPE CASTING-ROOM.
This next room is the finishing-room. Here the plates are carefully examined, picked, shaved, trimmed, and boxed, ready for the printer. Take a plate in your hand and examine it: it will bear inspection. You say it is far better than the untrimmed, uneven plates of English founders? We know that, sir; for we have often had to re-finish English plates imported by some publisher who imagined he could save a little by ordering a duplicate set of plates of a popular foreign book. A mistake, sir. Both in type-founding and in stereotyping the Americans have driven the foreigner from the field,—and in the only legitimate way, too: simply by surpassing him.
In this nook below, our engraving is done. The drawing is made on the block by the designer, as you see: then patiently and skilfully the engraver cuts and digs out, till the lines and shapes and lights and shades are all revealed in the beautiful picture. Our work in this department gives so much satisfaction that we are seldom without orders.
Now, Mr. Typograph, we shall admit you into our editorial parlour. Walk in, sir. It is not carpeted, and its principal furnishings comprise a desk or two, a few presses, stands and cases, with multitudinous type-surroundings. Here, sir, we edit and print our Specimen Books and our Typographic Advertiser. Don’t you see poetical flies buzzing around, and atoms of wit-dust floating in the air, and odours of sentiment stealing out at the key-holes, and grains of common sense sprinkled all over the floor. Will you have a few specimens as curiosities? You say you have already a good assortment in our Advertiser and our Book? Very well, sir: we hope you will treasure them up. You say truly when you remark, that the printing done in this room is seldom, if ever, surpassed in America. We know that; and we intend to stand on the topmost round of the typographical ladder, and to show our fellow-artists what can be done with type such as we manufacture.
We are afraid, Mr. Typograph, that your long excursion over the house has wearied you. Let us go down-stairs again. These, sir, are our warerooms. On these numerous shelves are ranged founts of all the various sorts of types made by us, carefully put up, labelled and classified, and all accessible at a minute’s notice. Our customers throughout the country keep actively employed all these porters, packers, clerks, salesmen, and bookkeepers. Many of our customers have never visited us; but we put up their orders with as conscientious fidelity and care as if they were standing before us and watching our every movement. We are happy to see them, and hope none will visit our city without calling in and taking us by the hand. We like to see them face to face, so that we can hang up their portraits in our mental gallery; and, when we afterward receive a letter from them, we can imagine that we are hearing them talk to us rather than reading their writing.
The side-door on which your eye has just rested leads to one of our fire-proofs. Enter it. Here, sir, are safely stored many thousand matrices, as well as moulds, when not in use. As it would require the labour of many weary years to replace them if destroyed, we endeavour to keep them secure from the danger of ruin by fire. The upbuilding of a complete type-foundry is a work of generations.
You will hardly care to look into the basement,—the storehouse of ink and other typographical appliances? Your time is exhausted? Then, sir, we bid you good-day. A safe return to your pleasant family, Mr. Typograph.
