book and press alike the special character of public confessional. The first items in the press to which all men turn are the ones about which they already know. If we have witnessed some event, whether a ball game or a stock crash or a snowstorm, we turn to the report of that happening, first. Why? The answer is central to any understanding of media. Why does a child like to chatter about the events of its day, however jerkily? Why do we prefer novels and movies about familiar scenes and characters? Because for rational beings to see or re-cognize their experience in a new material form is an unbought grace of life. Experience translated into a new medium literally bestows a delightful playback of earlier awareness. The press repeats the excitement we have in using our wits, and by using our wits we can translate the outer world into the fabric of our own beings. This excitement of translation explains why people quite naturally wish to use their senses all the time. Those external extensions of sense and faculty that we call media we use as constantly as we do our eyes and ears, and from the same motives. On the other hand, the book-oriented man considers this nonstop use of media as debased; it is unfamiliar to him in the book-world. Up to this point we have discussed the press as a mosaic successor to the book-form. The mosaic is the mode of the corporate or collective image and commands deep participation. This participation is communal rather than private, inclusive rather than exclusive. Further features of its form can best be grasped by a few random views taken from outside the present form of the press. Historically, for example, newspapers had waited for news to come to them. The first American newspaper, issued in Boston by Benjamin Harris on September 25, 1690, announced that it was to be "furnished once a month (or if any Glut of Occurrences happen, oftener)." Nothing could more plainly indicate the idea that news was something outside and beyond the newspaper. Under such rudimentary conditions of