delicate shades and that the edges of the shades may not be harsh and coarse, for the press is not naturally a discriminating machine, and unless everything is very near perfection, little aid can be given by it. But, nevertheless, the pressman is required to assist the engraver, and to do this properly he also must be an artist. By placing small pieces of tissue paper, or, sometimes, something coarser, under the electrotype here and there where needed, he will cause it to rise and greater pressure to come on some portions where greater distinctness is required than at others. This is called "underlaying." More perfect work than is possible in newspapers is obtained by "patches," as they are called, pasted on the "tympan," or the sheet which presses on the face of the engraving, a process called, in contradistinction to the other, "overlaying." There are now three engravers in the employ of the WITNESS office, and by one of these, Charles Wilson, a deaf-mute, the sketches which illustrate this article were made, with three exceptions, which the reader will have no difficulty in determining. Most of the pictures were engraved by him and his _confrères_, others being executed by an etching process on zinc without the use of wood at all, or, indeed, of any engraving process, which we cannot now further refer to. All matters in regard to the newspaper are in interest subordinate to the editing, to which everything is in all ways subsidiary. Who or what is the mysterious "We" whose opinions have such weight, and who appears to be possessed of all knowledge? Sometimes there is little mystery about it, as when the public are informed that "yesterday _we_ received the finest cucumbers _we_ ever ate from Mr. Gardner;" or when it is announced that "the public must excuse the small quantity of editorial matter and the mistakes in _our_ paper of last week, as _we_ were laid up with rheumatism." There is no poetry about a "we" who eats cucumbers or is troubled with rheumatism. But the candid impersonal opinions of a newspaper are usually of great weight and value, and enhanced by the impersonality of the writer.