The Printer

The night grows late ; the streets are hushcd; the inoonbeaiiis fleck the desertH pavomcDt, and üleep strews its slumbtrous poppie over the inhabitauts of the gilDt city. All is at rest save the priuter, who is busj at bis case. JDrcams lovely as winged cherubs, hover about the repose of mau and niaiden - visions as pure as first lilies and beauViful as the matron and child; but to the printer, all is reality, toil, and weariness ! How nimbly and cheerfully does he adjust the faithful type as if he took "lo note of time;" as if the duties that were wearing out hn lite wero more a diversión than a laborious avocation. - But amid their inonotouousjdischarge, belicve us, the priiiter thinks of home and Bweet rest, and sigbs within himself for the bettcr lot of which ethers are poseesscd - and yet there is no repose for hiin, though the night tramps ou, and tho jocund dawn will soon appear. Why does his motions grow less rapid? why move his fiugers in so delibérate and mechanical a way? Whence is the sinile that lingers at his lip, like the first sunbeam at the gatcs of morniug? There is a gentle pressure at his side - and aye -blue as violeta, glancing uto his on - au aceent sweet as music, entranciug liia ear, and reachiug his very heart. It is but a mouieut - it was only a rêverie - it did ïiot even win him from his otcupation; it only caused his hand lo falter, uot to ccase; the printer awakes to busy toil again. Ye who receive your sunrisc favorite, and wandcr, perhaps listless over its pages, remember that it is the fruit of toil, which was active and untiriug while jou were quietly elecping; that your ease and comfort are bought with the price of weariness. There is an "electiio chord," which, bcing charged with sympathy, will carry iMÍ gentle burdeu even to tho most distant heartg. We bespeak its ageucy in behalf of the faithful Printor, (3 Tb truly strong and sound mind, in the mil d that can tmbrace great thinj.8 and s.nall.