After forming the subject of innumerable consultations between those interested in its success, our ma.n.u.script book is finally "put in hand,"

or sent to the foreman of the composing-room, who scatters its pages here and there among his printers. As soon as half a dozen or ten or twenty sheets have been "set up" or turned into type, a galley-proof is "pulled" and handed to the proof-reader for correction. The galley is a long, narrow, bra.s.s-lined frame, in which a column of type is placed.

The face of this type is inked with a hand-roller, a long strip of white paper is laid over it, and the whole goes into a hand-press. The printing thus done is not very fine, but it is plenty good enough to enable the keen-eyed proof-reader to detect any errors that have been made. He marks these on the margins of the proof, and hands it back to the compositors, each of whom corrects the mistakes appearing in the portion he has set. There is no more interesting sight in a composing-room than that of a skilled compositor making these corrections, picking out and replacing the little black types, transferring whole lines or paragraphs from one place to another, s.p.a.cing, leading, punctuating, without dropping a type or making a mistake. The untrained eye can make nothing at all out of the type column, which has the same effect as the mirror reflection of an ordinary page.

After all corrections are thus made, another galley-proof, called a "revise," is pulled. Several copies of this are made, two of which are sent to the author of the book. There is no prouder nor happier moment in the life of an author than when he receives the first proofs of his first book. Never again will they appear so beautiful or so precious, though every author who is interested in his work always enjoys reading the proofs of each new book, no matter how many he may write. His ideas present such a different appearance in type from what they did in ma.n.u.script that he hardly recognizes them. His characters have attained such a dignity and reality that he almost needs an introduction to them.

On this galley-proof the author makes such changes and corrections as he pleases, though of course the fewer the better, and then sends one copy back to the composing-room, where all the alterations he has suggested are made in type. The galley columns are now broken into pages of the size previously agreed upon, and a set of page-proofs is pulled and sent to the author for his final revision. He must read this proof very carefully, for this is his last chance to make changes, and whatever pa.s.ses this time must go into the finished book. When this page-proof returns to the composing-room, and the final corrections are made in the types, they are sent to the foundry. Here stereotypes are made from them in the manner described under the t.i.tle "The Making of a Great Newspaper" in Vol. XV. of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. For book-printing these type-metal stereotypes are converted into electrotypes by being hung in an acid bath, where, in a very short time, by the action of electricity, they are coated with a thin film of copper.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PRINTING OF THE BOOK IN THE PRESS-ROOM.]

The finished plates are sent down to the bas.e.m.e.nt of the great building, where are the book-presses that will turn out printed sheets of from four to thirty-two pages each, almost as fast as the huge cylinder presses of a newspaper office can turn out newspapers.

On the press the printed pages of our book meet and make the acquaintance of the ill.u.s.trated or picture pages with which they are henceforth to be so intimately a.s.sociated. In the building of a book the artist's part must by no means be overlooked, for a well-ill.u.s.trated book, especially if intended for youthful readers, like the one we are considering, is doubled in value by its pictures. For ordinary books very little engraving or wood-cutting is now done, since by the aid of photography and electricity so many cheap processes for reproducing drawings have been discovered that the slower methods of the engraver are only employed for the very best and finest work. If the picture is to be engraved it is either drawn directly on the wood or transferred to it by photography; while if it is to be reproduced by one of the cheaper processes, it is photographed on a prepared plate of metal, from which the light s.p.a.ces are eaten out by acids, while the shadows remain untouched. The thin plate is given a substantial wood-backing to preserve its form, and is then ready for use.

[Ill.u.s.tration: St.i.tCHING THE SHEETS.]

From the press-room the printed sheets are sent to the bindery, where they are folded, once into quartos (4tos), twice into octavos (8vos), three times into s.e.xtodecimos (16mos), or into any other size that shall have been agreed upon. Then the sheets are st.i.tched together, pressed, their edges are cut by powerful machine knives, and the whole, finally glued into its cover, is set aside under pressure to dry.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN THE BINDERY.]

The making of covers is a distinct branch of book-building that gives employment to a great many skilled workmen and workwomen. The most conspicuous of these is the artist who draws the cover design, and suggests its scheme of color--for the sale of a book depends very hugely upon whether or not its cover is attractive. Covers are made of paper, cloth, or leather. Most books are bound in "cloth," as it is called, which means pasteboard, covered with muslin stiffened with sizing, and colored a uniform tint before the design is stamped or printed on it. A book bound in "boards" is enclosed between covers of pasteboard, and one bound in calf or morocco has its heavy pasteboard covers hidden beneath very thin sheets of leather. The inside of covers is often made of "marbled" paper, and one of the most interesting corners of the bindery is that devoted to marbling. Here a bath of gum-tragacanth, looking like a ma.s.s of smooth black glue newly melted, has wet colors sprinkled over it from paint-brushes. These are drawn into lines or figures with coa.r.s.e wooden combs. A dampened sheet of paper is spread over the colored surface, quickly withdrawn thoroughly "marbled," and hung on a line to dry.

In another corner of the room busy girls are applying gilding to covers from packets of gold leaf; while elsewhere dozens of others are doing different and equally interesting things, all belonging to the great trade of book-binding.

At length our book, having pa.s.sed through all these stages and processes, is p.r.o.nounced complete, and a date is set for its "publication" or presentation to the public. On the day that it appears half a dozen copies are sent to the author with compliments of the publisher. If the author wishes any more copies of his book to present to his admiring friends, he must buy them and pay for them like any one else.

Thus the building of the book is finished, and it is launched on the stormy sea of literature, to sink or swim according to whether or not it has been constructed of poor material by incapable workmen, or has been well and wisely built.

CLOTH OF GOLD.

Cloth of ermine covered The earth awhile ago, A royal robe on every hill; In every valley low The sparkle as of diamonds, The sheen of dancing light, And the world a fairy palace By dawn and noon and night.

Cloth of gold is woven To wrap the earth to-day, With stars of many twinkling rays, Broadcast upon the way.

The dandelions laughing, The daisies coming soon, And the world's a fairy palace By morn and night and noon.

M. E. S.

ON BOARD THE ARK.[1]

BY ALBERT LEE.

CHAPTER I.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decorative I]

t took a long time for Tommy Toddles to recover from the exquisite sensation of surprise and wonder which clung to him after his strange adventures with the Sheep and the ex-Pirate. He used to talk to his Uncle d.i.c.k continually of what he had seen and done during that famous afternoon, and many and many a time the two went out into the woods together and searched through the bushes and the trees for the haunt of the Loon, and for the lake by the side of which had stood the Poor-house. But they never found anything; and Tommy was consequently forced to sit at home and content himself with recollections and reminiscences--"which are decidedly unsatisfactory subst.i.tutes," thought he.

So it frequently happened that the little boy sat all alone in the big room at the top of the house, and went over and over again in his mind those peculiar incidents in which so many strange creatures had figured, and in which so many odd things had been said and done. But one rainy day he seemed to be more affected by those reminiscences than he had ever been before, and so he settled back on the window-seat, and gave himself up entirely to thoughts of the-ex-Pirate, the Sheep, the Reformed Burglar, and to all the quaint creatures of his acquaintance.

He was smiling quietly to himself at some of the funny things Thingumbob had said on the beach, when all of a sudden he thought he heard somebody knocking on the door. n.o.body ever knocked before coming into Tommy's play-room, and so the little boy looked up in a curious way, wondering who it could be, and wishing that no one would come in to disturb his reverie. The door was ajar, but he could see that there was some person standing out in the hall. Presently there was another knock. Tommy straightened up on the window-seat, and called out,

"Come in!"

The door swung slowly inward, and who should be standing there looking straight at Tommy but his old friend the ex-Pirate! It was the same old ex-Pirate of days and days ago, with his fierce mustaches and long hair, and his big pistols sticking out of his sash. He looked at Tommy for a moment, just as if he wanted to make sure that he was calling on the right little boy, and then a pleasant smile spread all over his face, and he walked rapidly across the room. Tommy jumped from the window-seat and hastened to meet him.

"Why, I'm awfully glad to see you!" he exclaimed. "How do you do, Mr.

ex-Pirate? And how did you get up here?"

The ex-Pirate laughed, and shook hands with Tommy, and then he said: "Oh, I just came. Things come and go, you know; and I just came. Wasn't it nice?"

"Awfully nice," said Tommy, enthusiastically. "I've been thinking a lot about you. I was beginning to think you were not real."

"Oh yes, I'm real," a.s.serted the ex-Pirate. "Just as real as you are."

"Perhaps _I'm_ not real," suggested Tommy; and then, becoming alarmed at the thought, he felt in his pockets, and pulled at his hair to see if he was all there. Rea.s.sured on that point he added, "Where is the Sheep?"

"I guess he's running yet," answered the ex-Pirate, laughing. "Poor fellow; I left him 'way behind. But I never saw anybody run like _you_ in all my life. You ran faster than Time, and Time runs pretty fast now, I tell you! He can go pretty near as fast as Money--and you know how fast Money goes."

Tommy did not know how fast money went, because he had never seen very much of it, but he thought that, from the nature of his past business, the ex-Pirate must have had wide experience in those matters. So he said, "I suppose so."

"That's right," continued the ex-Pirate. "That's perfectly right. But I ran as fast as I could, and I've only just arrived."

"You must be tired," remarked the little boy.

"Not at all. I never get tired. I'm ready to keep right on, if you want to."

"Keep right on?" queried Tommy.

"Yes."

"On what?"

"Why, looking for the animals," replied the ex-Pirate.

"But I found them," said Tommy.

"You did?" exclaimed the ex-Pirate, in surprise.

"Certainly. They were right here."

"Where?"