- 'tis flatten and fold, isn't it, and flatten again, among the thicknesses of...

- 'tis flatten and fold, isn't it, and flatten again, among the thicknesses of Hide, till presently you've these very thin Sheets of Gold-Leaf." "Lamination," Mason observes. "Lo, Lamination abounding," contributes Squire Haligast, momentarily visible, "its purposes how dark, yet have we ever sought to produce these thin Sheets innumerable, to spread a given Volume as close to pure Surface as possible, whilst on route discovering various new forms, the Leyden Pile, decks of Playing-Cards, Contrivances which, like the Lever or Pulley, quite multiply the apparent forces, often unto disproportionate results. . . ." "The printed Book," suggests the Revd, "- thin layers of pattern'd Ink, alternating with other thin layers of compress'd Paper, stack'd often by the Hundreds." "Or an unbound Heap of Broadsides," adds Mr. Dimdown, "dispers'd one by one, and multiplying their effect as they go." The Macaroni is of course not what he seems, as which of us is?- the truth comes out weeks later, when he is discover'd running a clandestine printing Press, in a Cellar in Elkton. He looks up from the fragrant Sheets, so new that one might yet smell the Apprentices' Urine in which the Ink-Swabs were left to soften, bearing, to sensitiz'd Nasalia, sub-Messages of youth and Longing,- all about him the word repeated in large Type, LIBERTY. One Civilian leads in a small band of Soldiers. "Last time you'll be seeing that word." "Don't bet your Wife's Reputation on it," the Quarrelsome Fop might have replied. Philip Dimdown, return'd to himself, keeps his Silence.

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