Supplementary specimen of printing

types, borders, rules and ornaments

from the Type Foundry of James Co.

The Black Monk And Other Stories

Geology of the Pacific Northwest

CGS NB McLean & CGS D’Iberville

104 Milk Street, Corner Kilby Str

RGB(255, 0, 255) Zen.Fuchsia drEAm

Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Cylinder & hand printing machinery

Primitive Icebreaker Ship of Bruges

Flux_Capacitor @ 1.21 Gigawatt$!!!

Basaltic Flows of the Snake River

Electric Sheep? Dr3am.exe [v12]

Pantone swatches 4 the Victorian Age

The mechanical composition of type

Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde

Around the World in Eighty Dreams

What’s a Girl to Do Fatima Yamaha

Printing with Oil Based Varnishes

Citizenship in a Castle of pixels

The Temple Woods Gang (2022) RAZ

High-Fi Sound: 24-bit@192kHz max

Johnny Guitar by Nicholas Ray, 1954

Manual dexterity of the compositor

No Country For Hot Metal Casters

Sunlight travelling 150 million km

SunrisE:Song.of.2.HumAns-1927

R&Drawings

Hieroglyphic

Philadelphia

Confidently

Landscapes

Pressure Ax

32Manifest

Quotations

MonoLguE

X-VECTOR

Catchword

SCAtlantic

a a a a a a a

a a a a a a a

a a a a a a a

a a a a a a a

Grotesque

Rounded

Aa Bb Cc Dd Ee

Ff Gg Hh Ii Jj Kk

Ll Mm Nn Oo Pp

Qq Rr Ss Tt Uu

Vv Ww Xx Yy Zz

Aa Bb Cc Dd Ee Ff Gg Hh Ii Jj Kk Ll Mm Nn Oo Pp Qq Rr Ss Tt Uu Vv Ww Xx Yy Zz

Thin & Light

The city of Mainz is in the western part of Germany, on the banks of the river Rhine, and even at the present time is heavily fortified. In the year 1462, seven years after Gutenberg’s first Bible was completed, it was the scene of a terrible conflict between two archbishops, Diether and Adolph II., who contended for the office of elector. The elector had a vote in the selection of the king or emperor, and Mainz was one of seven principalities entitled to such an officer.

Diether was the choice of a majority of the citizens of Mainz, but Adolph had the support of the pope in his claims and made war to establish himself in the office. One night in October, 1462, there was an uprising of the followers of Adolph within the city and hundreds of the inhabitants were murdered. The soldiers of Adolph then entered Mainz and set it afire. Most of the citizens fled, and industry and business were paralyzed.

Gutenberg was not affected by these events, as his new shop was outside of the city proper, in the village of Eltville, a short distance away.

The printing office of Fust and Schœffer, however, was burned, and the workmen, fleeing for safety from the distressed city, took up residence in various parts of Europe. Thus was the new art of typography spread and its secrets made common property.

Subiaco, a village on the outskirts of Rome. The cardinal in charge of the monastery, impressed with the importance of the new art and anxious to have it introduced into Italy, persuaded Conrad Schweinheim and Arnold Pannartz to come from Germany for the purpose. In 1467 these two printers removed to the city proper and there printed more extensively. Many classical works were produced, but five years later they complained that a large portion of the product had not been sold and that they were in distress.

c Edward & Saints

d Giga 0123 Hiphop

e TOP 82,378+456

R Sublime: Volume I

S YXi (FLOW STATE)

T 79 GATE CRITICS

Those Mr. Typograph

CASTING-MACHINE

PART/ rival Founders

QUICK&EASYBLOCK

1 (VPTS): A condition wherein ascenders dissolve into ligature clouds above the baseline. Common in high-pressure kerning fields.

2 (PKD): Observed when letterforms ionize under extreme tracking adjustments, causing unpredictable descender flares.

3 (SSB): A phase transition where light weights crystallize into ultra-bold block forms, often irreversible without typographic annealing.

4 (LPA): A hyper-energized connection between glyphs, stable only in high-resolution vacuum settings.

Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway. The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous, in the fading light. A vast silence reigned over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than any sadness—a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild.

But there was life, abroad in the land and defiant. Down the frozen waterway toiled a string of wolfish dogs. Their bristly fur was rimed with frost. Their breath froze in the air as it left their mouths, spouting forth in spumes of vapour that settled upon the hair of their bodies and formed into crystals of frost. Leather harness was on the dogs, and leather traces attached them to a sled which dragged along behind. The sled was without runners. It was made of stout birch-bark, and its full surface rested on the snow. The front end of the sled was turned up, like a scroll, in order to force down and under the bore of soft snow that surged like a wave before it. On the sled, securely lashed, was a long and narrow oblong box. There were other things on the sled—blankets, an axe, and a coffee-pot and frying-pan; but prominent, occupying most of the space, was the long and narrow oblong box.

In advance of the dogs, on wide snowshoes, toiled a man. At the rear of the sled toiled a second man. On the sled, in the box, lay a third man whose toil was over,—a man whom the Wild had conquered and beaten down until he would never move nor struggle again. It is not the way of the Wild to like movement. Life is an offence to it, for life is movement; and the Wild aims always to destroy movement. It freezes the water to prevent it running to the sea; it drives the sap out of the trees till they are frozen to their mighty hearts; and most ferociously and terribly of all does the Wild harry and crush into submission man—man who is the most restless of life, ever in revolt against the dictum that all movement must in the end come to the cessation of movement.

But at front and rear, unawed and indomitable, toiled the two men who were not yet dead. Their bodies were covered with fur and soft-tanned leather. Eyelashes and cheeks and lips were so coated with the crystals from their frozen breath that their faces were not discernible. This gave them the seeming of ghostly masques, undertakers in a spectral world at the funeral of some ghost. But under it all they were men, penetrating the land of desolation and mockery and silence, puny adventurers bent on colossal adventure, pitting themselves against the might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as the abysses of space.

They travelled on without speech, saving their breath for the work of their bodies. On every side was the silence, pressing upon them with a tangible presence. It affected their minds as the many atmospheres of deep water affect the body of the diver. It crushed them with the weight of unending vastness and unalterable decree. It crushed them into the remotest recesses of their own minds, pressing out of them, like juices from the grape, all the false ardours and exaltations and undue self-values of the human soul, until they perceived themselves finite and small, specks and motes, moving with weak cunning and little wisdom amidst the play and inter-play of the great blind elements and forces.

An hour went by, and a second hour. The pale light of the short sunless day was beginning to fade, when a faint far cry arose on the still air. It soared upward with a swift rush, till it reached its topmost note, where it persisted, palpitant and tense, and then slowly died away. It might have been a lost soul wailing, had it not been invested with a certain sad fierceness and hungry eagerness. The front man turned his head until his eyes met the eyes of the man behind. And then, across the narrow oblong box, each nodded to the other.

A second cry arose, piercing the silence with needle-like shrillness. Both men located the sound. It was to the rear, somewhere in the snow expanse they had just traversed. A third and answering cry arose, also to the rear and to the left of the second cry.

Regular & Book & Medium

1979

ROCK STEADY CREW

This specimen was produced at a point of great change in the American typefounding industry. The owners of the Central Type Foundry (Schraubstadter and St. John) had purchased the Boston Type Foundry in 1888. This specimen book, a joint effort of the two type foundries, is dated 1892. That is the year in which both companies were sold into the newly formed American Type Founders amalgamation. The bulk of the specimen book itself makes no reference to ATF. However, a final page advertises “Original Type Designs” for sale by many of the type foundries which amalgamated into ATF. On its title page this specimen refers only to the Central and the Boston foundries, but the cover of this particular copy bears the title “Artistic Novelties for Printers, for sale by Boston Type Foundry, Boston.” It seems reasonable to conclude that this specimen was prepared jointly by the Central and Boston foundries before the formation of ATF but that this particular copy was published by the Boston Type Foundry after the formation of ATF. Many of the larger foundries which combined into ATF retained separate identities for several years. Annenberg, in Type Foundries of America and their Catalogs, indicates that the Central did not produce a specimen under the ATF name until 1895.

Grotesque

Regular

Grotesque

Book

Rounded

Regular

Rounded

Book

Grotesque

Regular

Rounded

Regular

When he learned from Kovrin that not only had a romance resulted, but that a wedding was to follow, Yegor Semiónovitch walked from corner to corner, and tried to conceal his agitation. His hands shook, his neck seemed swollen and purple; he ordered the horses to be put into his racing droschky, and drove away. Tánya, seeing how he whipped the horses and how he pushed his cap down over his ears, understood his mood, locked herself into her room, and cried all day. In the orangery the peaches and plums were already ripe. The packing and despatch to Moscow of such a delicate load required much attention, trouble, and bustle. Owing to the heat of the summer every tree had to be watered; the process was costly in time and working-power; and many caterpillars appeared, which the workmen, and even Yegor Semiónovitch and Tánya, crushed with their fingers, to the great disgust of Kovrin. The autumn orders for fruit and trees had to be attended to, and a vast correspondence carried on. And at the very busiest time, when it seemed no one had a free moment, work began in the fields and deprived the garden of half its workers. Yegor Semiónovitch, very sunburnt, very irritated, and very worried, galloped about, now to the garden, now to the fields; and all the time shouted that they were tearing him to bits, and that he would put a bullet through his brain. On top of all came the bustle over Tánya’s trousseau, to which the Pesótskys attributed infinite significance. With the eternal snipping of scissors, rattle of sewing-machines, smell of flat-irons, and the caprices of the nervous and touchy dressmaker, the whole house seemed to spin round. And, to make matters worse, visitors arrived every day, and these visitors had to be amused, fed, and lodged for the night. Yet work and worry passed unnoticed in a mist of joy. Tánya felt as if love and happiness had suddenly burst upon her, although ever since her fourteenth year she had been certain that Kovrin would marry nobody but herself. She was eternally in a state of astonishment, doubt, and disbelief in herself. At one moment she was seized by such great joy that she felt she must fly away to the clouds and pray to God; but a moment later she remembered that when August came she would have to leave the home of her childhood and forsake her father; and she was frightened by the thought—God knows whence it came—that she was trivial, insignificant, and unworthy of a great man like Kovrin. When such thoughts came she would run up to her room, lock herself in, and cry bitterly for hours. But when visitors were present, it broke in upon her that Kovrin was a singularly handsome man, that all the women loved him and envied her; and in these moments her heart was as full of rapture and pride as if she had conquered the whole world. When he dared to smile on any other woman she trembled with jealousy, went to her room, and again—tears. These new feelings possessed her altogether; she helped her father mechanically, noticing neither pears nor caterpillars, nor workmen, nor how swiftly time was passing by.

Regular

Book

Medium

“They’re after us, Bill,”

said the man at the front.

His voice sounded hoarse and unreal,

and he had spoken with apparent effort.

“Meat is scarce,”

answered his comrade.

“I ain’t seen a rabbit sign for days.”

But in the country Kovrin continued to live the same nervous and untranquil life as he had lived in town. He read much, wrote much, studied Italian; and when he went for walks, thought all the time of returning to work. He slept so little that he astonished the household; if by chance he slept in the daytime for half an hour, he could not sleep all the following night. Yet after these sleepless nights he felt active and gay.

He talked much, drank wine, and smoked expensive cigars. Often, nearly every day, young girls from the neighbouring country-houses drove over to Borisovka, played the piano with Tánya, and sang. Sometimes the visitor was a young man, also a neighbour, who played the violin well. Kovrin listened eagerly to their music and singing, but was exhausted by it, so exhausted sometimes that his eyes closed involuntarily, and his head drooped on his shoulder.

One evening after tea he sat upon the balcony, reading. In the drawing-room Tánya—a soprano, one of her friends—a contralto, and the young violinist studied the well-known serenade of Braga. Kovrin listened to the words, but though they were Russian, could not understand their meaning. At last, laying down his book and listening attentively, he understood. A girl with a disordered imagination heard by night in a garden some mysterious sounds, sounds so beautiful and strange that she was forced to recognise their harmony and holiness, which to us mortals are incomprehensible, and therefore flew back to heaven. Kovrin’s eyelids drooped. He rose, and in exhaustion walked up and down the drawing-room, and then up and down the hall. When the music ceased, he took Tánya by the hand and went out with her to the balcony.

“All day—since early morning,” he began, “my head has been taken up with a strange legend. I cannot remember whether I read it, or where I heard it, but the legend is very remarkable and not very coherent. I may begin by saying that it is not very clear. A thousand years ago a monk, robed in black, wandered in the wilderness—somewhere in Syria or Arabia ... Some miles away the fishermen saw another black monk moving slowly over the surface of the lake. The second monk was a mirage. Now put out of your mind all the laws of optics, which legend, of course, does not recognise, and listen. From the first mirage was produced another mirage, from the second a third, so that the image of the Black Monk is eternally reflected from one stratum of the atmosphere to another. At one time it was seen in Africa, then in Spain, then in India, then in the Far North. At last it issued from the limits of the earth’s atmosphere, but never came across conditions which would cause it to disappear. Maybe it is seen to-day in Mars or in the constellation of the Southern Cross. Now the whole point, the very essence of the legend, lies in the prediction that exactly a thousand years after the monk went into the wilderness, the mirage will again be cast into the atmosphere of the earth and show itself to the world of men. This term of a thousand years, it appears, is now expiring… According to the legend we must expect the Black Monk to-day or to-morrow.”

“It is a strange story,” said Tánya, whom the legend did not please.

“But the most astonishing thing,” laughed Kovrin, “is that I cannot remember how this legend came into my head. Did I read it? Did I hear it? Or can it be that I dreamed of the Black Monk? I cannot remember. But the legend interests me. All day long I thought of nothing else.”

Releasing Tánya, who returned to her visitors, he went out of the house, and walked lost in thought beside the flower-beds. Already the sun was setting. The freshly watered flowers exhaled a damp, irritating smell. In the house the music had again begun, and from the distance the violin produced the effect of a human voice. Straining his memory in an attempt to recall where he had heard the legend, Kovrin walked slowly across the park, and then, not noticing where he went, to the river-bank.

By the path which ran down among the uncovered roots to the water’s edge Kovrin descended, frightening the snipe, and disturbing two ducks. On the dark pine trees glowed the rays of the setting sun, but on the surface of the river darkness had already fallen. Kovrin crossed the stream. Before him now lay a broad field covered with young rye. Neither human dwelling nor human soul was visible in the distance; and it seemed that the path must lead to the unexplored, enigmatical region in the west where the sun had already set—where still, vast and majestic, flamed the afterglow.

“How open it is—how peaceful and free!” thought Kovrin, walking along the path. “It seems as if all the world is looking at me from a hiding-place and waiting for me to comprehend it.”

A wave passed over the rye, and the light evening breeze blew softly on his uncovered head. Yet a minute more and the breeze blew again, this time more strongly, the rye rustled, and from behind came the dull murmur of the pines. Kovrin stopped in amazement On the horizon, like a cyclone or waterspout, a great, black pillar rose up from earth to heaven. Its outlines were undefined; but from the first it might be seen that it was not standing still, but moving with inconceivable speed towards Kovrin; and the nearer it came the smaller and smaller it grew. Involuntarily Kovrin rushed aside and made a path for it. A monk in black clothing, with grey hair and black eyebrows, crossing his hands upon his chest, was borne past. His bare feet were above the ground. Having swept some twenty yards past Kovrin, he looked at him, nodded his head, and smiled kindly and at the same time slyly. His face was pale and thin. When he had passed by Kovrin he again began to grow, flew across the river, struck inaudibly against the clay bank and pine trees, and, passing through them, vanished like smoke.

“You see,” stammered Kovrin, “after all, the legend was true!”

Making no attempt to explain this strange phenomenon; satisfied with the fact that he had so closely and so plainly seen not only the black clothing but even the face and eyes of the monk; agitated agreeably, he returned home.

In the park and in the garden visitors were walking quietly; in the house the music continued. So he alone had seen the Black Monk. He felt a strong desire to tell what he had seen to Tánya and Yegor Semiónovitch, but feared that they would regard it as a hallucination, and decided to keep his counsel. He laughed loudly, sang, danced a mazurka, and felt in the best of spirits; and the guests and Tánya noticed upon his face a peculiar expression of ecstasy and inspiration, and found him very interesting.

They reached Sevastopol late one evening, and stopped there to rest, intending to drive to Yalta on the following day. Both were tired by the journey. Varvara Nikolaievna drank tea, and went to bed. But Kovrin remained up. An hour before leaving home for the railway station he had received a letter from Tánya, which he had not read; and the thought of this letter caused him unpleasant agitation. In the depths of his heart he knew that his marriage with Tánya had been a mistake. He was glad that he was finally parted from her; but the remembrance of this woman, who towards the last had seemed to turn into a walking, living mummy, in which all had died except the great, clever eyes, awakened in him only pity and vexation against himself. The writing on the envelope reminded him that two years before he had been guilty of cruelty and injustice, and that he had avenged on people in no way guilty his spiritual vacuity, his solitude, his disenchantment with life… He remembered how he had once torn into fragments his dissertation and all the articles written by him since the time of his illness, and thrown them out of the window, how the fragments flew in the wind and rested on the trees and flowers; in every page he had seen strange and baseless pretensions, frivolous irritation, and a mania for greatness. And all this had produced upon him an impression that he had written a description of his own faults. Yet when the last copybook had been tom up and thrown out of the window, he felt bitterness and vexation, and went to his wife and spoke to her cruelly. Heavens, how he had ruined her life! He remembered how once, wishing to cause her pain, he had told her that her father had played in their romance an unusual role, and had even asked him to marry her; and Yegor Semiónovitch, happening to overhear him, had rushed into the room, so dumb with consternation that he could not utter a word, but only stamped his feet on one spot and bellowed strangely as if his tongue had been cut out. And Tánya, looking at her father, cried out in a heartrending voice, and fell insensible on the floor. It was hideous.

The memory of all this returned to him at the sight of the well-known handwriting. He went out on to the balcony. It was warm and calm, and a salt smell came to him from the sea. The moonlight, and the lights around, were imaged on the surface of the wonderful bay—a surface of a hue impossible to name. It was a tender and soft combination of dark blue and green; in parts the water resembled copperas, and in parts, instead of water, liquid moonlight filled the bay. And all these combined in a harmony of hues which exhaled tranquillity and exaltation.

In the lower story of the inn, underneath the balcony, the windows were evidently open, for women's voices and laughter could plainly be heard. There must be an entertainment.

Kovrin made an effort over himself, unsealed the letter, and, returning to his room, began to read:

"My father has just died. For this I am indebted to you, for it was you who killed him. Our garden is being ruined; it is managed by strangers; what my poor father so dreaded is taking place. For this also I am indebted to you. I hate you with all my soul, and wish that you may perish soon! Oh, how I suffer I My heart bums with an intolerable pain!... May you be accursed! I took you for an exceptional man, for a genius; I loved you, and you proved a madman...."

Kovrin could read no more; he tore up the letter and threw the pieces away.... He was overtaken by restlessness—almost by terror.... On the other side of the screen, slept Varvara Nikolaievna; he could hear her breathing. From the story beneath came the women's voices and laughter, but he felt that in the whole hotel there was not one living soul except himself. The fact that wretched, overwhelmed Tánya had cursed him in her letter, and wished him ill, caused him pain; and he looked fearfully at the door as if fearing to see again that unknown power which in two years had brought about so much ruin in his own life and in the lives of all who were dearest to him.

By experience he knew that when the nerves give way the best refuge lies in work. He used to sit at the table and concentrate his mind upon some definite thought. He took from his red portfolio a copybook containing the conspect of a small work of compilation which he intended to carry out during his stay in the Crimea, if he became tired of inactivity.... He sat at the table, and worked on this conspect, and it seemed to him that he was regaining his former peaceful, resigned, impersonal mood. His conspect led him to speculation on the vanity of the world. He thought of the great price which life demands for the most trivial and ordinary benefits which it gives to men. To reach a chair of philosophy under forty years of age; to be an ordinary professor; to expound commonplace thoughts—and those thoughts the thoughts of others—in feeble, tiresome, heavy language; in one word, to attain the position of a learned mediocrity, he had studied fifteen years, worked day and night, passed through a severe psychical disease, survived an unsuccessful marriage—been guilty of many follies and injustices which it was torture to remember. Kovrin now clearly realised that he was a mediocrity, and he was willingly reconciled to it, for he knew that every man must be satisfied with what he is.

Jimmy Dee & Jimmy Lee

Crazy Legs & B-Boy Fresh

The plates are carefully removed from the solid mass which comes out of the pan, and the plaster is washed from the surface. If, after examination, the face is good and sharply set, the plates are passed over to a picker, who removes any slight defects arising from an imperfection of the mould. They are then trimmed and passed through the shaving-machine, till all are brought to an equal thickness. The flanges are neatly side-planed, and the plates are then boxed, ready for the printing-press.

Subatomic (KR37) Still 

Exhibits World-Display

29,81 St@te of Bubbles

TASK1: SPACE FRIEND?

Like Attract Each Other

Stereotyping is said to have been invented by J. Van der Mey, in Holland, about 1698. A quarto Bible and some other books were printed by him from plates, which were formed by soldering the bottoms of common type together. William Ged, of Edinburgh, discovered the present mode in 1725, and stereotyped parts of the Bible and Prayer-Book. He encountered malicious opposition, and the business was abandoned, the new method dying with the inventor. About 1745, Benjamin Mecom, a nephew of Dr. Franklin, cast plates for a number of the pages of the New Testament. Dr. Alexander Tilloch, of Glasgow, re-discovered the art in 1781. Stereotyping gradually spread, and soon effected a considerable reduction in the cost of books. The arguments that were advanced against its utility have a ridiculous look at the present day, when almost every important work is stereotyped or electrotyped.

Matter for stereotyping is set with high spaces and quadrates. The forms must be small, containing about two pages of common octavo. A slug type-high is put above the top line and another below the foot line of each page, to protect the ends of the plates from injury when they are passed through the shaving-machine. Beveled slugs, in height equal to the shoulder of the type, are placed on both sides and between the pages, to form the flange by which the plate is to be clasped by the hooks of the printing-block.

[1] Vaporphase Top Serif

(2) Plasmatic Kerning Drift

{3} Solid-State Boldmake

(4) Ligature Plasma Arcs

Transforming from new [Matter] Particle 012Es

X:L SURFACE TENSION

VAPORS, eg. Ethereally

High G:Viscosity Cloud

A phase transition (or phase change) is the physical process of transition between one state of a medium and another. Commonly the term is used to refer to changes among the basic states of matter: solid, liquid, and gas, and in rare cases, plasma. Thermodynamic system and the states of matter have uniform physical properties.

A phase transition (or phase change) is the physical process of transition between one state of a medium and another. Commonly the term is used to refer to changes among the basic states of matter: solid, liquid, and gas, and in rare cases, plasma. Thermodynamic system and the states of matter have uniform physical properties.

A phase transition (or phase change) is the physical process of transition between one state of a medium and another. Commonly the term is used to refer to changes among the basic states of matter: solid, liquid, and gas, and in rare cases, plasma. Thermodynamic system and the states of matter have uniform physical properties.

A phase transition (or phase change) is the physical process of transition between one state of a medium and another. Commonly the term is used to refer to changes among the basic states of matter: solid, liquid, and gas, and in rare cases, plasma. Thermodynamic system and the states of matter have uniform physical properties.

A phase transition (or phase change) is the physical process of transition between one state of a medium and another. Commonly the term is used to refer to changes among the basic states of matter: solid, liquid, and gas, and in rare cases, plasma. Thermodynamic system and the states of matter have uniform physical properties.

A phase transition (or phase change) is the physical process of transition between one state of a medium and another. Commonly the term is used to refer to changes among the basic states of matter: solid, liquid, and gas, and in rare cases, plasma. Thermodynamic system and the states of matter have uniform physical properties.

Some American typefounder many years ago called this style of face “Gothic” and under that name this rather questionable type is widely known. It is possible, also regrettable, that it is the best seller of the type foundries’ product. Over in Scotland and England the type is called Sans-Serif and Grotesque; in Germany it is known as Block; in France and Spain as Antique.

16. Typesetting, A. A. Stewart

A handbook for beginners, giving information about justifying, spacing, correcting, and other matters relating to typesetting. Illustrated; review questions; glossary.

17. Printers’ Proofs, A. A. Stewart

The methods by which they are made, marked, and corrected, with observations on proofreading. Illustrated; review questions; glossary.

18. First Steps in Job Composition, Camille DeVéze

Suggestions for the apprentice compositor in setting his first jobs, especially about the important little things which go to make good display in typography. 63 pp.; examples; 55 review questions; glossary.

19. General Job Composition

How the job compositor handles business stationery, programs and miscellaneous work. Illustrated; review questions.

20. Book Composition, J. W. Bothwell

Chapters from DeVinne’s “Modern Methods of Book Composition,” revised and arranged for this series of text-books by J. W. Bothwell of The DeVinne Press, New York. Part I: Composition of pages. Part II: Imposition of pages. 229 pp.; illustrated; 525 review questions; glossary.

21. Tabular Composition, Robert Seaver

A study of the elementary forms of table composition, with examples of more difficult composition. 36 pp.; examples; 45 review questions.

22. Applied Arithmetic, E. E. Sheldon

Elementary arithmetic applied to problems of the printing trade, calculation of materials, paper weights and sizes, with standard tables and rules for computation, each subject amplified with examples and exercises. 159 pp.

23. Typecasting and Composing Machines, A. W. Finlay, Editor

Section I—The Linotype By L. A. Hornstein

Section II—The Monotype By Joseph Hays

Section III—The Intertype By Henry W. Cozzens

Section IV—Other Typecasting and Typesetting Machines By Frank H. Smith

A brief history of typesetting machines, with descriptions of their mechanical principles and operations. Illustrated; review questions; glossary.

24. Locking Forms for the Job Press, Frank S. Henry

Things the apprentice should know about locking up small forms, and about general work on the stone. Illustrated; review questions; glossary.

25. Preparing Forms for the Cylinder Press, Frank S. Henry

Pamphlet and catalog imposition; margins; fold marks, etc. Methods of handling type forms and electrotype forms. Illustrated; review questions; glossary.

26. Making Ready on Platen Presses, T. G. McGrew

The essential parts of a press and their functions; distinctive features of commonly used machines. Preparing the tympan, regulating the impression, underlaying and overlaying, setting gauges, and other details explained. Illustrated.

27. Cylinder Presswork, T. G. McGrew

Preparing the press; adjustment of bed and cylinder, form rollers, ink fountain, grippers and delivery systems. Underlaying and overlaying; modern overlay methods. Illustrated; review questions; glossary.

28. Pressroom Hints and Helps, Charles L. Dunton

Describing some practical methods of pressroom work, with directions and useful information relating to a variety of printing-press problems. 87 pp.; 176 review questions.

29. Reproductive Processes of the Graphic Arts, A. W. Elson

A primer of information about the distinctive features of the relief, the intaglio, and the planographic processes of printing. 84 pp.; illustrated; 100 review questions; glossary.

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The material for moulding is finely ground gypsum, nine parts of which are mixed with about seven parts of water, and well stirred up. A small quantity of the liquid mixture is poured over the pages, and gently pressed into the counter of the types with a small roller, for the purpose of expelling confined air; after which, the remainder of the gypsum is poured in, until the mould is somewhat higher than the upper edge of the flask. In a few minutes the mixture sets, and the upper side is smoothed over with a steel straight-edge. In about ten minutes the mould is gently raised by means of the screws at the corners of the flask; and, after being nicely trimmed at the sides, and nicked on the surface-edges to make openings for the metal to run in, it is placed on a shelf in an oven, and allowed to remain until the moisture has quite evaporated.

Bold & Black

beforeafter

GBo 191 Heated Argument 56, “Dubious Do-It-All 87”; Classic Reflection 43

GLi 192 SLEEPY TRAFFIC 90 & CUNNING JESTER 12 / AQUATIC CRAFTSMAN 59

RBo 283 Wakened Dreamer 98; Polite Masquerade 132, 4 Friendly Thinkers

RLi 284 GOLDEN SPACERACE 403 (TAME PALACE 76) + NUMB SCIENTIST 38

The artist completes a drawing with the chalk upon a grained stone as he would make a drawing in pencil or chalk upon paper. If while in this state a wet sponge were passed over the face of the stone, the drawing would wash off. To prevent this, and to make it capable of yielding impressions, a weak solution of nitrous acid is poured over it, which unites with and neutralizes the alkali or soap contained in the chalk, and renders it insoluble in water. After this, the usual course is to float a solution of gum over the whole face of the stone; and, when this is taken off, the drawing is no longer removable by the application of a wet sponge, because the chalk is now insoluble. The stone is now ready for the printer, who obtains impressions by the following process. Having damped the surface of the stone equally with a sponge filled with water which has been slightly tinctured by acid, the printer finds that the water has been imbibed by only those parts of the stone which are not occupied by the drawing, which, being greasy, repels the water and remains dry. A roller covered with ink is now passed over the stone, which will not even be soiled where it is wet, from the antipathy of oil to water. But the parts occupied by the drawing, being dry and greasy, have an affinity for the printing-ink, which, therefore, leaves the roller and attaches itself to the drawing. In this state it is said to be charged or rolled in. A sheet of damped paper is then put over it, and, the whole being passed through a press, the printing-ink is transferred from the stone to the paper, and the impression is obtained. Great nicety is requisite in the preparation of all the agents employed in this art, and in the process of printing as well as in making the drawing on the stone.

Cylinder & Hand

Printing Machinery

For sixteen days in March 1921, rebels in Kronstadt’s naval fortress rose in opposition to the Soviet government which they had helped to consolidate. Led by Stepan Petrichenko, it was the last major revolt against Bolshevik rule on Russian territory during the Russian Civil War. Disappointed in the direction of the Bolshevik government, the rebels—whom Leon Trotsky himself had praised earlier as the “adornment and pride of the revolution”—demanded a series of reforms: reduction in Bolshevik power, newly elected soviets (councils) to include socialist and anarchist groups, economic freedom for peasants and workers, dissolution of the bureaucratic governmental organs created during the civil war, and the restoration of civil rights for the working class. Trotsky signed the order to crush the rebellion which outlined a series of operational measures including a warning to the sailors to stop the rebellion in advance of a Red Army assault. However, he did not personally participate in the military operations or repressions which were organized by Felix Dzerzhinsky.

Convinced of the popularity of the reforms they were fighting for (which they partially tried to implement during the revolt), the Kronstadt seamen waited in vain for the support of the population in the rest of the country and rejected aid from the emigres. Although the council of officers advocated a more offensive strategy, the rebels maintained a passive attitude as they waited for the government to take the first step in negotiations. By contrast, the authorities took an uncompromising stance, presenting an ultimatum demanding unconditional surrender on March 5. Once this period expired, the Bolsheviks raided the island several times and suppressed the revolt on March 18 after shooting and imprisoning several thousand rebels.

Supporters saw the rebels as revolutionary martyrs while the authorities saw the rebels as “agents of the Entente and counter-revolution”. The Bolshevik response to the revolt caused great controversy and was responsible for the disillusionment of several supporters of the Bolshevik regime, such as Emma Goldman. While the revolt was suppressed and the rebels’ political demands were not met, it served to accelerate the implementation of the New Economic Policy, which replaced war communism. According to Lenin, the crisis was the most critical the Bolsheviks had yet faced, “undoubtedly more dangerous than Denikin, Yudenich, and Kolchak combined”.

Grotesque

Black

Rounded

Black

Burmese Days, 1934

A Clergyman’s Daughter, 1935

Keep the Aspidistra Flying, 1936

The Road to Wigan Pier, 1937

Homage to Catalonia, 1938

Coming up for Air, 1939

Animal Farm, 1945

Politics and the English Language, 1946

Nineteen eighty-four, 1949

Son of the Wolf, 1900

The Call of the Wild, 1903

White Fang, 1906

Before Adam, 1907

The Iron Heel, 1908

Martin Eden, 1909

Burning Daylight, 1910

Adventure, 1911

A Son of the Sun, 1912

The Abysmal Brute, 1913

I BECAME A TRAMP—well, because of the life that was in me, of the wanderlust in my blood that would not let me rest. Sociology was merely incidental; it came afterward, in the same manner that a wet skin follows a ducking. I went on "The Road" because I couldn't keep away from it; because I hadn't the price of the railroad fare in my jeans; because I was so made that I couldn't work all my life on "one same shift"; because—well, just because it was easier to than not to.

It happened in my own town, in Oakland, when I was sixteen. At that time I had attained a dizzy reputation in my chosen circle of adventurers, by whom I was known as the Prince of the Oyster Pirates. It is true, those immediately outside my circle, such as honest bay-sailors, longshoremen, yachtsmen, and the legal owners of the oysters, called me "tough," "hoodlum," "smoudge," "thief," "robber," and various other not nice things—all of which was complimentary and but served to increase the dizziness of the high place in which I sat. At that time I had not read "Paradise Lost," and later, when I read Milton's "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven," I was fully convinced that great minds run in the same channels.

It was at this time that the fortuitous concatenation of events sent me upon my first adventure on The Road. It happened that there was nothing doing in oysters just then; that at Benicia, forty miles away, I had some blankets I wanted to get; and that at Port Costa, several miles from Benicia, a stolen boat lay at anchor in charge of the constable. Now this boat was owned by a friend of mine, by name Dinny McCrea. It had been stolen and left at Port Costa by Whiskey Bob, another friend of mine. (Poor Whiskey Bob! Only last winter his body was picked up on the beach shot full of holes by nobody knows whom.) I had come down from "up river" some time before, and reported to Dinny McCrea the whereabouts of his boat; and Dinny McCrea had promptly offered ten dollars to me if I should bring it down to Oakland to him.

Time was heavy on my hands. I sat on the dock and talked it over with Nickey the Greek, another idle oyster pirate. "Let's go," said I, and Nickey was willing. He was "broke." I possessed fifty cents and a small skiff. The former I invested and loaded into the latter in the form of crackers, canned corned beef, and a ten-cent bottle of French mustard. (We were keen on French mustard in those days.) Then, late in the afternoon, we hoisted our small spritsail and started. We sailed all night, and next morning, on the first of a glorious flood-tide, a fair wind behind us, we came booming up the Carquinez Straits to Port Costa. There lay the stolen boat, not twenty-five feet from the wharf. We ran alongside and doused our little spritsail. I sent Nickey forward to lift the anchor, while I began casting off the gaskets.

JACK London: The Real thing, blowed in the GLASS!1907

Ghost Letra