Emily C. Pearson

Modes of making Type.—Varieties of Type.—Cylindrical Ink-distributor.—A Modern Printing Establishment.—Composition Room.—Cases.—Proof-reading.

Let us now glance at the Art of Printing in modern times.

In the making of types, formerly each letter was cast, and then finished one at a time, by hand. Now there is a process of manufacturing the copper face by machinery, the operation being effected by the pressure of a sharp die upon copper. And it is said that a small steam-engine can produce one type a second, or thirty-six thousand in ten hours.

By the more ordinary process, types are made by casting type-metal in a mould, though some of the larger sizes are manufactured from maple, mahogany, or box-wood. The process of casting type, which is the business of the type-founders, requires great skill. In the first place, a punch is cut, of the letter to be formed, except that it is in reverse. The punch being of hardened steel, and having this letter on its point, is then struck into a small piece of copper, which is called the matrix, or form of the letter to be cast. The matrix is now fixed in a curiously contrived instrument, termed the mould, attached to a compact hand machine, having in the centre a small furnace of burning coal to keep the vessel of type-metal over it liquid. The workman turns a wheel, thus forcing melted metal into the mould, which quickly shapes and drops one after another the types, perfect, save polishing. In some foundries there are twenty of these machines. In this way not only every letter, but every figure, hyphen, comma, or other mark, must have its punch and matrix, as well as its separate casting. One machine will cast one hundred types a minute.

In the cut, a is the body; b, the face, or part from which the impression is taken; c, the shoulder, or top of the body; d, the nick, designed to assist the compositor in distinguishing the bottom of the face from the top; and e, the groove made in the process of finishing.

As soon as a heap of types is cast, a boy takes them away, and breaks off the superfluous piece at the end of each, when another rubs its sides on a stone, to render it smooth. The face, or printing part of the type, is not touched after it leaves the matrix, that giving it all the distinctness and sharpness of which it is capable.

Type-metal is a compound of lead and antimony, in the proportion of three to one, with a small portion of tin, and sometimes a little copper. In Gutenberg’s day types were necessarily an imitation of the handwriting of the monk-copyists, with little variety and beauty. Now the types which compose an ordinary book-fount consist of Roman CAPITALS, small capitals, and lower-case letters, and Italic capitals and lower-case letters, with accompanying figures, points and reference-marks,—in all about two hundred characters. Including the various modern styles of fancy types, some three or four hundred varieties of face are made. Besides the ordinary Roman and Italic, the most important of the varieties are

The smallest body in common use is diamond; then follow, in order of size as below—

Until a comparatively recent period, no better method of inking the type had been devised than Gutenberg’s sheep-skin dabbers, or stamping balls. Earl Stanhope, who greatly improved the printing-press, sought by many experiments to supply the ink by means of a revolving cylinder or roller, instead of by the old process. The first impediment was the seam which it was necessary to make down the whole length of the roller; and it could be kept neither soft nor pliable. Providentially these difficulties were overcome by observing a process in the Staffordshire potteries, in which the workmen use what are there called dabbers. These dabbers, composed of glue and treacle, possessed every requisite to hold and distribute the ink, spreading it evenly over the form, besides being easily kept clean and pliable. This method was at once seized upon by ingenious printers, who used it in time in the cylinder form, as is common now in all printing-offices.

Formerly, the word the was indicated by the letters y and e, thus—y^e; & was used for and; with other ungainly abbreviations. Connected letters were also employed; c and t were joined by a curve from the top of one to the other; and when two s’s occurred a long ? was used.

Instead of ponderous folios and quartos, untitled, unpaged, and unparagraphed; without capitals, and with words so huddled together as to put the reader to his wit’s end to make out the meaning, now we have the beautiful pocket and library editions, convenient in size, clear and intelligible within,—“books that you may carry to the fire and hold readily in your hand,” as Dr. Johnson says.

We have, in imagination, visited Gutenberg’s Printing Rooms, and can vividly recall his rude beginnings and slow and toilsome methods; his printing-press; the wonder of that age,—only turning off a few hundred impressions per diem. With this in mind, let us step into a representative printing establishment of our times,—the “Riverside,” at Cambridge, Mass.; for we wish to get a just idea of the Art of arts. We will first visit the Composition Room.

Ranged down the sides of the room we see scores of laborers industriously at work, each one before a stand or frame, in shape similar to the music-stand at an orchestra. Each frame is constructed so as to hold two pairs of cases, one containing the Roman, the other the Italic letters of the same “fount,” or kind. The upper case has ninety-eight little divisions for the different kinds of type; the lower case has fifty-four boxes, arranged as in the diagram on the opposite page. The “compositor” or “type-setter,” is said to “work at case;” for all the types are sorted in “cases,” or shallow, open and divided boxes; the lower case, or the one nearest him, having all the small letters, points, and spaces to place between the words, and the upper case containing all capitals, accented letters, figures, and characters used as references to notes. Each letter has a larger or smaller box appropriated to it, according as it is seldom or frequently required, while the letters most needed occupy the position most convenient for the compositor.

In the English language, the letter e inhabits the largest box; a, c, d, h, i, m, n, o, r, s, t, u, live in the next-sized apartments; b, f, g, l, p, v, w, y, dwell in what may be called the bed-rooms; while j, k, q, x, z, Æ, and oe, double letters, etc., are more humbly lodged in cupboards, garrets, and cellars, as we call the various compartments of the case. The reason of this arrangement is, that the letter e being visited by the compositor sixty times as often as z,—his hand spending an hour in the former box for every minute in the latter,—it is advisable that the letters oftenest required should be in the nearest and largest boxes; everything being systematized so as to secure accuracy and despatch.

Behold the busy company. Eyes, fingers, and arms move almost in every direction with steadiness and speed. Some are “distributing;” that is, filling their cases with letters from the type pages of books or papers which have been printed off. This is done with great celerity; the compositor grasps and reads several sentences at once; and without again looking at the letters, his nimbly flying fingers deposit them, one by one, here, there, everywhere, in the square dens to which they belong. Four thousand “ems” per hour can thus be distributed by a good compositor, which is about five times as many as he can “compose,” or set in type; as it is much easier to spend money than to earn it.

Having filled the cases, the workman is ready to “compose.” Standing in front of the cases which contain the Roman letters, and having placed the “copy,” or manuscript from which he is to set, upon the least used part of the upper case, he takes in his left hand the “composing-stick,” made of brass or iron, with a movable side which can be adapted to any width of line by means of a screw. He then commences putting the letters of each word of the copy, with the necessary points and spaces, into the stick, the thumb of his left hand meanwhile securing each addition, from left to right along the line. To facilitate the process, a thin slip of brass, called the “composing-rule,” is placed in the composing-stick at the outset, and pulled out and put on the front of a line when completed. When the stick is full of lines, the compositor, with the fingers of both hands, lifts them out as if they were a mass of solid metal, and places them in the “galley,”—a flat board or piece of zinc or brass, having a ledge at the head, and on one or both sides. To do this last successfully requires practice and skill. And the young printer, although no adept in pastry-making, learns, to his disgust, that there is nothing easier than to make “pi,” as the heap of jumbled type, which has slipped through his untrained fingers, is termed.

The galley having been filled by the contents of successive sticks, and the requisite number of pages to form a sheet being completed, they are arranged upon a bench or “imposing stone,” and surrounded with pieces of wood, or “furniture,” so as to give a suitable margin for each page. The whole being then secured in the “chase,” or iron frame, by means of strips of wood and wedges. This is called “imposing.”

Next, a “proof” is taken by impressing paper upon the type, that the compositor may see and correct the mistakes he may have made in putting the copy into type.

Referring again to the engraving, “Composition room,” in the open space are the “imposing stones,” or “tables,” on which matter in type is placed in order to arrange it for printing; proofs are taken, errors corrected, and the “form” finally made ready for the press.

But in this cozy, well-lighted room, sits one whose attitude is the picture of careworn and earnest attention. No matter what the din in the building around him, his faculties are concentrated on the pages of proof. It is one of the proof-readers,—and an assistant who reads the copy, whose office it is to see that the work goes forth to the public correct in literary and mechanical execution. His is a wearisome and responsible task. His eye, with lynx-like vigilance and microscopic power, must detect the minutest defects of press or author. Faults in punctuation, grammar, rhetoric, logic, and data he must point out. All this at a glance, in an establishment crowded with work.