central cylinder, on which the type is secured, and machine itself. The limit to the speed is in the abileight smaller cylinders arranged around it, at conve-ity of the eight persons to supply the sheets. At the nient distances. Eight persons supply the eight small cylinders with the sheets, and at each revolution of the large cylinder eight impressions are given off, the sheets being delivered in neat order by the rate of 2,500 sheets to each, the press would give off the unparalled number of 20,000 printed impressions per hour. The press is used exclusively for newspapers, or similar printing. The principles and operation of this wonderful in- | the impression to four or more sheets, introduced one vention are thus conclusively and laconically described in Messrs. Hoes catalogue mentioned above, which we annex, without alteration, for reasons heretofore assigned, and to which we can add nothing beyond the expression of our sincere and earnest admiration. "A horizontal cylinder of about four and a half feet in diameter, is mounted on a shaft, with appropriate bearings; about one-fourth of the circumference of this cylinder constitutes the bed of the press, which is adapted to receive the form of types-the remainder is used as a cylindrical distributing table. The diameter of the cylinder is less than that of the form of types, in order that the distributing portion of it may pass the impression cylinders without touching. The ink is contained in a fountain placed beneath the large cylinder, from which it is taken by a ducter roller, and transferred by a vibrating, distributing roller to the cylindrical distributing table; the fountain roller receives a slow and continuous rotary motion, to carry up the ink from the fountain. "The large cylinder being put in motion, the form of types thereon, is-in succession-carried to four or more corresponding, horizontal, impression cylinders, arranged at proper distances around it, to give by each impression cylinder. The fly and feedboards of two of the impression cylinders are similar to those on the well-known double cylinder press; on the other two, the sheet is fed in below and thrown out above. The sheets are taken directly from the feed-board, by iron fingers attached to each impression cylinder. Between each two of the impression cylinders there are two inking rollers, which vibrate on the distributing surface while taking a supply of ink, and-at the proper time-are caused to rise by a cam, so as to pass over the form, when they again fall to the distributing surface. Each page is locked up upon a detatched segment of the large cylinder, called by the compositors a "turtle," and this constitutes the bed and chase. The column rules run parallel with the shafts of the cylinder, and are consequently straight, while the head, advertising, and dash rules, are in the form of segments of a circle. A cross section of the column rules would present the form of a wedge, with the small end pointing to the centre of the cylinder, so as to bind the types near the top; for the types being parallel, instead of radiating from the centre, it is obvious that if the column rules were also parallel, they must stand apart at the top, no matter how tight they were pressed together at the base; but with these wedgeshaped column rules, which are held down to the bed or "turtle," by tongues, projecting at intervals along their length, and sliding in rebated grooves cut crosswise in the face of the bed, the space in the grooves between the column rules, being filled with sliding blocks of metal, accurately fitted, the outer surface level with the surface of the bed, the ends next the column rules being cut away underneath to receive a projection on the sides of the tongues, and screws at the end and side of each page to lock them together, the types are as secure on this cylinder as they can be on the old flat bed. "The cut represents a press with eight impression cylinders, capable of printing from 16,000 to 20,000 impressions per hour. Eight persons are required to feed in the sheets, which are thrown out and laid in heaps by self-acting flyers, as in our ordinary cylinder presses." | present high and enviable position; and by which they have placed the American press-so far as the perfection of time-gaining, and labor-saving machinery, and the attainment of facility, precision, certainty and punctuality are concerned, far ahead of that of any other country in the world. We regret that the conductors of some of the leading journals do not exert as beneficial a course in the employment of the highest grades of intellectual capacity in the preparation of their leaders, and as earnest a resolution to perfect the tone of their presses, by the suppression of all scandals, libels, falsehoods, and sophistries; by the dissemination of truths, whole truths, and nothing but truths; in the discouragement of all license and licentiousness; in the promotion and propagation of all humane charities, justice, benevolence, morality, and virtue, of art and science, literature and learning, as the Messrs. Hoe have displayed in the perfectionating the material portion of the department. Then we should have a public press equal to the requirements, moral, intellectual and physical, and worthy of the name of a people, which is ever proud to array itself in the first rank of the human race, as regards general education, intellectual capacity, and the diffusion of knowledge among all classes; and which, beyond a doubt, does actually number more readers, in proportion to the amount of its population, than any other country in the universe. Two of these presses, of completest power and finish, have, we understand, been ordered for the printing of the Public Ledger of Philadelphia, a penny paper of the widest circulation, and of as efficient usefulness as any journal in the United States. For the past three years the Messrs. Hoe & Co. have maintained, at their own expense, an evening school for the instruction of their apprentices and employees, in Mathematics, the Exact Sciences, Mechanical Drawing, the French and English Languages, etc. Every one of their many apprentices is required to give a punctual attendance at the school, which is also open to such adult members of the establishment as choose to attend. Two teachers, Messrs. O'Gorman and Dick, are regularly employed, and Prof. Hyatt has just closed the winter term with a course of lectures on Experimental Philosophy. They were attended by nearly all the workmen as well as the apprentices. We mention these facts-ten thousand copies of the Holy Gospel to be cirbecause we consider them worthy of being imitated by other large employers of laboring men. We have scarcely words in which to convey our respect and admiration for the genius, skill, enterprise, energy and perseverance by which those intelligent and able young men have attained to their To conclude: it has been said, that the greatest benefactor of the human race is he who causes two blades of grass to grow where but one grew before: but to our eyes, he seems a greater benefactor-inasmuch as the intellectual are loftier and nobler than the physical wants of man-who causes ten-we might better say ten thousand, good and wise books culated among the people, where but one was circulated before. And, of a truth, we know none to whom the above high praise is more justly applicable than to the inventors and owners of the Fast Printing PowerPress. Fortune and Fame attend them. OSCEOLA'S ADDRESS TO HIS WARRIORS. BY WM. H. C. HOSMER. OUR Women leave in fear Their lodges in the shade, And the dread notes of fray go up Fly doe and bleating fawn, While the pale robber beats his drum- Shall tomahawk and spear Be dark with peaceful rust, While blood is on the funeral mound No! fiercely from its sheath Let the keen knife be drawn, The ground our fathers trod, Free as the wind, is ours; Upon our tribe enslaved Bright morn shall never dawn, I shall not go over the years of probation that elapsed from these first exhibitions of infantile vocalization, to the period of my perfect development as a I AM the victim of a fine ear. Talk of the miseries of the halt, the lame and the blind! Their condition is that of celestial beatitude as compared with mine; and as for the deaf and dumb, they must be the hap-young gentleman of acknowledged taste and talent, piest mortals alive. They can neither inflict nor and my introduction, as a full-fledged connoisseur into suffer the miseries of sound. Blessing and blessed, the fashionable circles of how shall I contrive to gain admission to their happy brotherhood? Music has been the bane of my existence. My ear-the asinine organ that has since so extravagantly developed itself-was early noticed by a maiden aunt, and my first recollection is of her look of bland satisfaction as, with a shrill, little, piping, threeyear-old voice, I edified an audience of spinsters, around a quilting-frame, with the strains of "Bonnie Doon." Heaven pardon my poor old aunt for the wickedness of thus early encouraging a passion that has led to so many sins of temper, and, perhaps, to so many unuttered, but deep felt outrages upon her memory! My passion for music clung to me. I had become learned in the science. If I walked of a warm evening with a young lady, it was, as I expressed it in upstart pedantry, in an andante movement. Slow and fast both became decidedly low terms, and I could only condescend to say in place of them, adagio and allegretto. I had all the Italian musical terms, as contained in the elementary treatises, at my tongue's end, and, in a practical, common sense community, would have been written down the ass that I really was, for the ridiculous and constant use I made of them. But in there was a fine field for my learned talk, and the obscurity and nonsense of my conver sation got me up a reputation for musical science which at first flattered me, and engendered a vanity for which I have since suffered severe retribution. The nine days allowed for opening the eyes of young puppies having elapsed, mine were opened to a sense of my folly, and I by degrees broke myself of the habit I had adopted. At the period of my entrée into the society of —, music was the great and leading idea. A religious and moral cycle had succeeded to a dissipated and drinking cycle, and dancing, wine, etc., being excluded from the leading houses, music was the only "How beautifully Mr. Crotchet plays!" "Emma, my dear, come and look on; I want you to study Mr. Crotchet's exquisite touch!" "Oh, how sweet!" These and kindred sounds issued from the lips of the witches in curls, lace and artificials, who gathered around me as I sat at Mrs. Flambeau's piano, on the occasion of her first soirée. It was my debut, and is therefore memorable. I was playing a sonata of Beethoven's, which I soon found none of them comprehended. I thought of "pearls before swine," but went on, working out the mysteries and the meaning of the composition for my own gratification. The witches, at the close, seemed rather weary, and could do little but simper and say beautiful," but the chief of them, one Madame Hecate, to whom tradition attached French parentage and critical taste, approached me and said— 66 "Pray, Monsieur Crotchet, (she always spoke with a French accent to strangers) do you play the Battle of Prague?" I can recollect nothing but an emphatic "No, madam❞—a feeling as of a pail of iced water pouring down my back-a confused breaking up of the circle around the piano-a fruitless search for a glass of wine a prestissimo movement to the entry-a successful search for my hat-a rush to the street, and as I shut the door, the martial strains of the Battle of Prague, drummed out by a more complaisant amateur than myself, for the benefit of Madame Hecate. Oh, that Battle of Prague! Who shall ever pretend to give its official bulletin? Who shall describe the cries of the wounded and the groans of the dying, elicited from its auditors as it has been "fought o'er again" on countless pianos? Its victims are legion. Its progress is remorseless. It goes on and will go on to the end of time, murdering the peace of mind of every luckless owner of an ear such as mine. Its composer-if the writer of such a disturbing work can be called a composer-must have been possessed of an evil spirit from the fatal battlefield, condemned to roam this earth for the torment of the race, and seeking retribution for his own victimization by victimizing all that come after him. My next essay of the musical life of the city, was at a soirée of Professor Millefiori, the fashionable Italian vocal teacher-a sort of compromise, in appearance, between a Paris petit maître and an American Figaro. His pupils were all to sing, and by the courtesy usually extended to amateurs, I was invited. The first piece announced for the evening's entertainment was Casta Diva. Of course it was. Was there ever an amateur soirée that it was not the first piece? At the appointed time, a young lady of sixteen summers, with very bare neck and arms, hair done up in curls and furbelows by a French coiffeur, hands in white kid gloves, a variety of her mother's jewels on head, hands and breast, a little pug of a nose beneath two very innocent-looking eyes, and, as was said, a splendid soprano voice, stood up by the professor's piano to personate the Druid priestess. "Ca-ha-ha-hasta Dee-e-evar," she began, emphasizing each division of the words, and screaming them out as if she really thought she could make the Casta Diva-the moon-hear her vociferous appeal, and paying no regard to the fact that the chaste goddess was, at that particular time, enlightening the other side of the globe. The whole of the andante was in this scream. which threw the audience into ecstasies. Then she began, "Ah bello, a me ritorna." How she dashed through it-leaping over bars with a racer's agility, plunging through barriers and ditches of sound-up hill and down hill-over ledger lines and under them -helter skelter-chromatics and ecstatics-flats and sharps-screech and scream-over and over-with face hideously distorted, the veins and muscles of her neck swelled to bursting, while Millefiori's hands kept thundering at the piano and urging her on to louder labors. Shade of Bellini! was there not one of your chords to stop the throat uttering these musical blasphemies? At last she ended, amid a tumult of applause, for which she gave one of Monsieur Petitpas' most graceful courtesies, bowing so as to show Monsieur Chevelure's handiwork upon her head-works in the most effective manner. She was followed by a dozen or more of soprani, mezzo-soprani, contralti, baritoni and bassi, of whose performances I have but a dim, obscure recollection as of so many contests for the palm of superior noise; all of them being exhibited in the tremendous screaming and shouting pieces of the modern Italians. This was my last amateur soirée-and let me whisper a warning word to the world that remains behind me-"Beware of amateur soirées!" But my musical sufferings did not end here. The noises of the streets are agony to me. The oyster and the apple-men; the strawberry and the shadwomen-what are they to me but so many liberated fiends, placed on earth to persecute the owners of ears! And as for the news-boys-but I will not recapitulate my sufferings from them. I have for some time been engaged in projects for the correction of these street evils. I leave in my executor's hands the manuscript of the "Shadwoman's Complete Musical Instructor," "The Oysterman's Apollo," and "The News-Boys' Guide to Parnassus." In these I have arranged to the most beautiful melodies, the common cries of "Buy any Shad!" "Ho, fresh Oysters!" "Herald, Tri bune, Ledgee, Ledgee," "Evening Bulletin," and the other favorite appeals of these as yet unappeased street demons. A variety of melodies is given to each phrase, and beautiful variations are arranged in the "Guide to Parnassus," for extras, double-sheets, etc., with a special and elaborate composition arranged expressly for the familiar words, "Another Revolution in France!" I shall not live to enjoy the fruits of my labors. But I shall die happy, since I have just learned that the Legislature is disposed to treat favorably my projected "Institution for the Musical Education of News Boys." As yet I endure more than the torments of the rack, whenever I venture out of doors; and even within doors, it is scarcely better. When I come in, | with ears aching from the hideous cries of the street, to pore over the score of a new opera just received from Italy, how am I to provide a remedy for my home miseries? The quiet street" which I selected for its retirement, is infested with organ-grinders, who reap a daily harvest among the infantile population for which quiet streets are remarkable. My landladyworthy Mrs. Squall-has six little Squallets, who delight in hand-organs, and who interrupt my musical waking-dreams of the twilight hour, every day, with appeals for sixpence to give "the new organgrinder, with his sweet little monkey." Since I came into these quarters, a youth, with a pale face and a letter of introduction to recommend him to me, has established himself in the room above me. He has taken to flute-playing! His design is either suicide or murder; and unless the first soon takes place, and his brains are blown out through his instrument, I feel that murder will be the result, and myself the victim. Across the way dwells a practitioner on the trombone, and twice a week a brass band meets in his room to practice, while again twice a week the choir of church assembles next door to me to rehearse for their Sunday performances. Was any one ever plunged into such a combination of horrors? -. I have heretofore refrained from giving up this lodging among the fiends, by the presence of Mrs. Squall's young niece, Rosalie She is young and fresh, fair as a strain from La Dame Blanche, graceful as an air of Mozart, eloquent in speech as one of Mendelssohn's Lieder Ohne Worte, and symmetrical in figure as a scena from Rossini. She has brown hair, blue eyes, a knowledge of French and Italian, a smattering of the German language, and a thorough knowledge of German wools, $5000 a year, an amiable disposition, and, as I fancy, a decided penchant for me. I was already nearly on my knees to her this morning, when she suggested that we should sing together, and herself selected the duet "La ci darem la mano," from Don Giovanni. Such a selection was divine, and I eagerly sought out the opera and began my part, feeling convinced that I should ratify the vows of the song in plain prose and good English as soon as it was over. I held my breath as I waited for the first tones of what I felt must be an angel's voice, but what mortal agony could equal mine, when I found her pretensions to divinity all a sham? She sung a full semitone above the piano, and with a hard, rasping, metallic voice that grated like a file, and fairly set my teeth on edge. "Oh! false, false, false Rosalie !" It is possible that I did not finish the duet as I began it. I had lost all consciousness, except of the horror of my situation, and a sense of a heart crushed in its first and purest affections by a false voice-far worse to me than a false heart. We parted; she to her worsted work and her $5000 a year, I to seek another refuge, or to pursue my hopeless pilgrimage over the world, in search of harmony-to mourn over my blighted hopes, and the perfidious voice of my Rosalie, and to sink at last into an untimely grave. Let my epitaph be, not "Died of a Broken Heart," as the world might construe the fact, but simply "DIED OF A DISCORD!" NOT DEAD. AND thou art gone, the meek flowers wave In sadness o'er thine early grave; Too well I know that thou art gone, A shroud, with white and moveless fold, 'T was yesternight, when white-browed girls, With star-like eyes and golden curls, Came sadly in the twilight deep And bent above thy grave to weep; That I, too, came, with wild unrest, Not dead in what a blessed trance My spirit heard, through Heaven's expanse, L. L. M. |