Paper--Watermarks--Quiring.
Although we get our word “paper” from “papyrus,” this latter was not
a paper at all. The essential characteristic of a true paper is the
matting or felting together of small fibres, whether these be of wood,
linen, or other substance. Papyrus was the inner bark of a beautiful
reed, which grows along the banks of the Nile, and from a very remote
period strips of this bark were laid over each other at right angles,
fixed together with gum, or perhaps a little Nile mud, and used for
writing upon with a soft pen. The right-angular lines of the two layers
of papyrus bark can easily be seen on any papyrus MS.
Papyrus is not a good substance for writing upon; it is at first too
soft, and then it gets brittle and is apt to crumble away. By sticking
successive strips of papyrus to each other ancient scribes produced
long rolls of manuscript, and from these rolls we derive many of the
book terms which are still in use. The most obvious is “volume,” which
is from “volvere,” “to roll up”; and “Bible” comes from the Greek
“βυβλοἱ,” meaning the inner bark of papyrus.
In China the possibility of making thin feltings with silk fibre was
probably known at a very remote period, and it is likely enough that
from some such unsatisfactory production the better and usable kinds
made of vegetable fibres evolved itself. We cannot now say when the
possibility of felting together fibres of wood or grass first became
known to the Chinese, but it was certainly well understood in the fifth
or sixth centuries, because specimens of it still exist.
In the middle of the eighth century, in 751 A.D., there were certain
tribal disturbances on the Chinese frontier of Persia, and one of the
combatants called in the help of the Chinese. These, however, suffered
defeat at the hands of the Arab governor of Samarkand, who brought back
some Chinese prisoners to his town. These men were acquainted with the
Chinese methods of making paper.
From these Chinese prisoners the Arabs and their friends the Persians
learnt the art of paper-making with vegetable fibres, but the supply in
this particular very soon gave out, and because enough suitable fibres
were difficult to get they mixed them with pulped rags. Eventually
the Samarkand paper-makers used rags only, and these they easily got
in sufficient quantities from old linen clothes, and also the mummy
wrappings from Egypt were made use of in the same way.
From the Arabs the knowledge of paper-making passed rapidly to Europe,
and by the middle of the tenth century it had entirely superseded the
use of papyrus.
The researches of Dr. J. Wiesner and Dr. J. Karabacek, both professors
of the University of Vienna, have been of incalculable value as
regards the composition and history of ancient paper, and they were
fortunate enough to have the opportunity of examining the papers in the
collection of the Archduke Rainer, among which are specimens of very
early work. The professors have examined these and other old papers
microscopically and chemically, and found that from the beginning it
was considered necessary to load papers with some binding or filling
substance; they found starch, starch flour, probably from rice, and
among the Chinese papers a dressing of powdered gypsum. Without some
such dressing the papers would have resembled our blotting paper, and
it would have been almost impossible to write upon them.
Professor Wiesner found that Chinese papers of the eighth century were
really mixed papers; they contained fibres of mulberry bark, hemp and
rags. Rags of fishing nets themselves would contain fibres of flax,
hemp, and China grass. But the main constituent of ancient Chinese
paper is fibre of mulberry-bark, and I believe it is so still, although
China grass fibre is also much used.
Specimens of Chinese papers from the eighth century onwards can be seen
at the British Museum. They are soft, but have lasted fairly well, and
do not appear to show any wire marks. The colour of these papers is
much the same as Chinese papers made now, but in some instances they
have certainly darkened as modern wood pulp papers also do.
One of the later specimens, a bank note issued during the reign of the
Emperor Hung-wu, A.D. 1368-1399, is made of a darkened pulp, probably
due to admixture with a little lamp black, and on it are lighter
impressions from large stamps bearing the square seal letters. It is
just possible that these marks may be of the nature of watermarks, and
were impressed while the pulp was soft and wet, but it is not possible
now to take the bank note up from the cardboard on which it has been
pasted, as to do so would probably cause it to fall to pieces, so it
cannot, for the moment, be properly examined.
Corean and Japanese papers were the same as Chinese, and they all look
as if there are no wire marks or watermarks upon them, with the one
exception I have mentioned, but Dr. Wiesner says that by the ninth
century marks show in many instances which prove that papers were made
in moulds or sieves with network bottoms, the impression of which
remains like our “chains” or laid marks. In the King’s Library at the
British Museum is shown a piece of Oriental paper, an official letter
in Coptic, dated A.D. 1048. It does not look so strong or good as the
Chinese paper, but resembles thin blotting paper, and shows no wire
mark.
[Illustration: FIG. 54.--Watermark used by John Tate in 1495.]
An early example of European paper is preserved in the Record Office in
London. It is a letter from the Count of Toulouse to Henry III., and is
dated A.D. 1216. In France, however, by this time, the making of paper
had been understood for some time, as it was made there in 1189. In
Belgium it was not made until 1551, in which year a paper mill was set
up at Tourneppe by Henri de Nevere.
By the end of the fifteenth century paper-making in Europe was
perfectly understood, and the papers of that date, and for some time
after it, are frequently excellent in every way, and as sound, strong,
and good now as they were when first made.
The first English book printed on English paper is Bartholomaeus, _De
Proprietatibus Rerum_, published 1495-6. The paper is of high quality,
it shows a fine wire mark, and a watermark of a double circle enclosing
an eight-pointed star. The paper was made at Hertford by John Tate, who
was afterwards Lord Mayor of London; the title page is cut in wood, and
the book is illustrated with outline wood-cuts.
At the end are some verses, and among these occur the lines:--
“And John Tate the younger Joye mote he broke,
Which late hath in England doo make this paper thynne,
That now in our Englysch this boke is prynted Inne.”
It is paper to be proud of, and John Tate the younger would
unquestionably look upon the large majority of our modern papers with
the utmost scorn, and he would be perfectly justified in doing so.
The early method of making paper was to allow the pulp to settle at the
bottom of a trough like a sieve, with a wire bottom, in which the wires
were arranged in a certain way, thick and thin, the trade mark of the
maker also being outlined in wire. The faint marks these wires cause
in the paper are called watermarks, and although at first they were
makers’ marks, they eventually denoted the size of the sheet of paper
on which they were shown.
The present method of making paper from rags is to pulp them thoroughly
in water, and let the white particles become so thoroughly diffused
that the liquid in which they float looks like thin milk.
This thin mixture, however, if left quiet, very quickly resolves itself
into a sediment of white fibres with clear water above them. If now
the superambient water can be drawn off, and the sediment pressed
flat, paper is the result. But it is not so easily done as said. In
order to catch the sediment in the most satisfactory way, the milky
fluid containing the rag fibres is allowed to flow in a thin stream
over a long, shallow trough, which is kept moving onwards and is also
so arranged that it has a sideways tremble, backwards and forwards as
well. The effect of this is that when the further end of the trough
is reached, on its floor there is a thin continuous film of slightly
matted fibres, the water from which has flowed away along the sides of
the trough. Now another device comes into play; a thin light roller of
wire presses lightly on the wet film, and by this pressure the little
fibres are pressed upon each other so that they mat, interlace, and
cohere together. The paper in this state is of course very delicate,
but by reason of a quick drying and carrying off on light rollers it
soon acquires the strength necessary to enable it to hold together
until it is quite dry. Then it goes through several other stages,
the most important of which is pressing. The various processes can
obviously be modified easily enough so as to make a thin paper or a
thick one. Paper made in this way with a vibratory trough is called
“machine made,” and by reason of its fibres laying more or less in
a uniform direction the resulting paper is more easily torn in one
direction than in the other. If a circular piece be cut out of such
pulp and laid on water it will tend to fold up two of its opposite
sides.
But ancient paper was made in a trough held by hands and given a
lateral movement, then pressed and dried in some simple way. By such
a procedure the fibres are thoroughly mixed, and do not lie in one
direction more than in another, so that if a circular bit of such
paper be laid in water it will turn upwards at the edge evenly all
round, and look like a little saucer.
I have mentioned a light wire roller which presses the wet film more
or less into shape just before it leaves the long trough to be dried.
As long ago as the thirteenth century in Europe the fact that devices
could be impressed upon the undried film by thinning it and making it
more transparent where touched appears to have been known, and from
about that time onwards “watermarks” have fortunately been applied in
the same manner, namely, so as to come in the middle of the first leaf
of the pair forming a folio. It is also fortunate that the “chains” or
wires forming the rollers have always been laid in the same way; it is
certainly the obvious one, but obvious ways are not always adopted. The
result is that by observing the direction of the strong chain marks
and the fine “laid” marks between them much information concerning the
folding of the original sheets can be obtained.
In very early papers these rules cannot be safely followed, because
early chain marks as well as early watermarks were not produced in the
same reliable way. The paper being made in moulds with wire netting at
the bottom, the impression came below the paper instead of above it as
in the case of the roller, and also the sizes of the sheets were more
likely to differ.
Watermarks are the semi-transparent devices which show on certain pages
of a printed book. They are to be seen on most papers of the fourteenth
to the eighteenth centuries, and there has been a good deal written
about them, especially abroad. The devices were outlined in wire and
set in the bottom of the trough or on the wire roller I have just
described, so that the lines are impressed upon the pulp just when it
is in its most sensitive condition. The pressure from the wire device
thins the pulp wherever it is touched, and so when dry the device shows
lighter than the rest of the paper.
These marks should be called wire marks rather than watermarks, and
the French word for them, “Filigranes,” is more correct than ours. The
difference in tint between a watermark and the rest of the paper is so
distinct that a photographic negative placed under one will render a
capital photograph of it, far better than any drawing, but it needs a
long exposure.
Watermarks are already of considerable value to Bibliographers, and
it is likely that in the near future they will be much more noticed,
especially in English books. Many frauds have already been detected by
reason of the watermarks, as it is a point that _faussaires_ have so
far paid little attention to. The marks are, however, not to be relied
on after about 1750, as they do not run reliably in machine made or
wove papers.
Armorial devices have been largely used as watermarks. Many of the
earlier marks show the arms of towns, especially continental ones, and
among others there are the arms of France, Portugal, William and Mary
and Queen Anne, shown in full heraldic outlines.
[Illustration: FIG. 55.--English “hand” watermark, 1512.]
The Holbein family of Ravensburg bore a bull’s head as their armorial
badge, and they were paper makers, so the bull’s head shows on their
paper as a watermark. It was afterwards much copied, and during the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries it became a favourite mark on German
papers. There does not seem to have been any strict copyright in any of
the devices used as watermarks. They were freely used by any one who
cared to do so, but the copies were never very carefully made, they
were always variants of the original. They were moreover generally
accompanied by another mark, that of the maker, on another part of the
paper. The same privilege of using a “maker’s” mark was also allowed to
the silversmiths in addition to the official hall mark.
To some slight extent watermarks on paper made for particular books
have followed the subjects of those books, and in accordance with a
loyal feeling there are instances of a crown watermark being used on
paper prepared for special copies of books intended for presentation to
reigning sovereigns.
[Illustration: FIG. 56.--English “crown” watermark, 1745.]
On papers used for early English printed books we find the favourite
German bull’s head, bunches of grapes, unicorns, dogs, hands with
stars, and shears. These appear in several sizes, and show many
varieties and modifications of their original designs.
In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries a greater variety occur;
on English paper there is found the post horn and the fool’s cap,
sometimes showing as a cap only and sometimes as a fool’s head with
cap and bells. A similar design was largely used abroad. In the time
of Charles I. a crown was a usual watermark on official folio paper,
but the Rump Parliament ordered that the foolscap should be in future
substituted for it, which was done. “Double foolscap” is still used
as a designation for a certain size of printing paper, so also is
“double-crown.”
[Illustration: FIG. 57.--English “foolscap” watermark, 1661.]
[Illustration: FIG. 58.--English “Britannia” watermark, 1907.]
The foolscap itself shortly gave way to a figure of Britannia or a lion
rampant. The post horn was another common watermark here; it gave its
name to its paper about 1670, when the mail carrier was accustomed to
announce his approach by a blast from his horn. The name “Post” still
designates a certain size of printing paper. The smallest folio paper
of the seventeenth century was marked with a watermark of a “pot,” and
hence the name.
For specially printed books it is a pretty fancy to have a coat-of-arms
set as a watermark, and it is now and then done, but I fear few readers
notice it. Many papers are now made without watermarks, and it is
likely enough that, except for trade terminology, they will gradually
die out altogether as being unnecessary.
[Illustration: FIG. 59.--English “post” watermark, 1679.]
[Illustration: FIG. 60.--English “pot” watermark, 1640.]
The possibilities of artistic watermarking have not yet been fully
realised. At the St. Louis Exhibition in 1904 there was a German
exhibit which showed the remarkable effect which could be made by
impressing paper pulp by means of a photographic plate in relief.
The papers which had been so treated were set up in a frame with a
light behind them, and they looked like most delicate paintings in
monotone. Those exhibited were portraits of celebrities, and they
were not only excellent but possessed the quality of permanence in a
remarkable degree.
Printing papers are generally white, but sometimes they have been used
in colour, green, pink, blue or yellow. Such papers are now and then
found in Italian, German, and English books, more rarely in French.
Silk and satin have both been used for printing on in England from the
seventeenth to the nineteenth century. Vellum has also been largely
used for special copies of fine printed books.
A recent French book of prayers is entirely woven in white and black
silk. It looks like a beautifully printed book with monotone borders.
[Illustration: FIG. 61.--“Chain lines” thick, and “laid lines” thin, on
paper.]
An original sheet of paper can of course be made and cut to any size,
and the terms folio, quarto, octavo, and duodecimo do not indicate
any actual size except in bookbinders’ specifications. The terms only
indicate the number of times the original sheet has been folded, and
this obviously is a matter which is subject to as much variation as the
printers choose. But fortunately such foldings do not vary much, and
so we may safely mention those that are most commonly used. There are
several ways of finding this out, the most obvious being to count the
leaves which follow any one letter in the white line at the bottom of
the leaf. This letter is called the “signature.” If there is an A or
A 1 at the bottom of the first leaf, and when eight leaves have been
turned over a B or B 1 appears, then the book is an octavo, and so on.
Another way of determining the same thing is by means of the direction
taken by the chain or wire marks all over the paper, and yet another
is to be found by studying the position of the watermark. But neither
of these tests are conclusive, and often enough there are neither chain
marks nor watermarks to be found at all, and the sheets are not always
rightly or carefully cut, which brings the watermark all wrong, so the
following notes are only what may be expected in normal books.
If a piece of paper or page of a book printed before 1750, and possibly
in later work, be held up to the light, certain lines may be seen all
over it in a lighter tint than the rest of the page. These appear as
long thick lines crossed at right angles by short thin ones. The long
thicker lines are known as “chain” lines, and the shorter ones “laid”
lines, and they are of some value when they exist for helping to
determine the “size” of the book.
[Illustration: FIG. 62.--Fol.]
--Fol. If the original sheet is folded once it is called a folio, and
in this case the chain marks are perpendicular and the watermark is in
the middle of the first leaf. In a folio there is one fold, two leaves
or four pages, and nothing to cut. Most of Caxton’s books are folios
although they are quite small.
[Illustration: FIG. 63.--4^o.]
--4^o in size. If the once folded sheet be folded again across the
other way we get a gathering with four leaves, or eight pages, called
a quarto. The chain lines are horizontal, and the watermark in the
middle of the back of pp. 4 and 5; there are two foldings and two tops
of leaves to be cut.
--8^o. If the quarto be again folded we get a gathering of eight
leaves, or 16 pp., called an octavo, which is the commonest size for
English books. In an octavo there are three foldings, the chain lines
are perpendicular, the watermark is quartered at the tops of pp. 3, 4,
11 and 12, and there are two tops and two fronts to be cut.
The further foldings of 16^o, 32^o, and 64^o are the same operations
carried further, but although such sizes do exist they are so uncommon
that a further description of them is not necessary.
--12^o. In the case of a duodecimo a different initial folding is
followed. The original sheet instead of being folded once across the
middle, as in the case of a folio, is now folded into three equal
divisions. The parallelogram thus formed is folded across its shorter
diameter, and this again along its longer diameter. There is now a
gathering of twelve leaves, or 24 pp., with four foldings, the chain
marks perpendicular, the watermark halved at the tops of pp. 3 and 9,
and there are two tops and four fronts to be cut. It is the commonest
size of the smaller French books.
[Illustration: FIG. 64.--8^o.]
[Illustration: FIG. 65.--12^o.]
As to sizes, folios run from the great Atlas of Charles II., measuring
five feet nine inches and a half by three feet two inches and a
half, and requiring eight skins of morocco for its binding, to the
tiny _Galileo a Madame Cristina de Lorena_, 1615, “imprimé en 1897,”
measuring one half by one quarter of an inch. A folio cannot be
recognised by its shape.
The sizes of quartos and octavos are also very varied, but, roughly
speaking, they can be recognised by their shapes, especially in the
case of modern books. A quarto is generally squarish in outline, nearly
as broad as it is long; an octavo is an elongated rectangle, its
breadth considerably less than its length. A duodecimo is always much
longer than its breadth.
As curiosities, books have been made in many forms, circular,
heart-shaped, octagonal, flower or animal forms, but they are of small
importance, and have been chiefly made as Christmas cards, valentines,
and such ephemeral publications.
The rules as to quiring of books printed on paper do not apply to books
printed on vellum. Such books are always folios, and they are generally
quired in gatherings of ten leaves, following the fashion used in the
ancient manuscripts, but, of course, they can equally well be gathered
together in any even number that may be preferred. There is no rule.
In Europe, until the nineteenth century, paper was always made from
triturated rags, but the demand for cheap literature which has become
so urgent in recent years has compelled paper manufacturers to find
some commoner material from which to make their paper.
It is possible that the way out of the difficulty was suggested by an
analysis of Japanese paper. This has been known here for some time. It
is strong, soft, and valuable for many reasons, and is cheaply made of
fibres from plants of the mulberry tree species. Japanese paper is hand
made and has a certain amount of dressing, its surface is dull, but
takes impressions from engraved plates or type easily. It appears to
last fairly well, but would probably not stand much wear at the joints.
The idea of using pulped vegetable matter for paper was, however, not
new, even to the Japanese, as there was such a thing as paper made from
papyrus, but it does not seem to have been much employed, because it
was not necessary in view of the fact that the papyrus did quite well
by itself without any further manipulation.
For reliable papers, the Committee on the Deterioration of Paper
appointed by the Society of Arts in 1898 give in their report a
statement that 70 per cent. should consist of fibres of cotton,
flax, or hemp, but about the middle of the nineteenth century it was
found that passable paper could be very cheaply made from straw and
from esparto grass, and this paved the way for the disastrous use of
mechanical wood pulp for cheap newspapers and books.
Many sorts of wood pulps are now made for this purpose, and there is no
doubt that the industry of breaking up wood for the purpose of paper
making is a large and increasing one. In Norway there are several large
establishments already working at this output. The fibres of spruce,
pine, birch, poplar, jute, and manilla are all extensively used. The
wood is cut up into small pieces and triturated until it is in a state
of fine dissemination, a mass of small fibres, in which condition it
is mixed in certain proportions with the other materials of which the
paper is to be composed. In spite of the warnings of the Society of
Arts Committee, there is no doubt that the use of “mechanical” wood
pulp for paper is increasing, and this regardless of the fact that
there is no lasting quality in such material, for the fibres of the
wood are invariably brittle, and they also darken rapidly under the
influence of light.
The dressing of such papers with resin or gelatine effects a certain
improvement; gelatine particularly adds to the life of a paper and
increases the elasticity of the wood fibres, but this good effect tends
to die out in time. Resin is of less use.
One particularly troublesome result of having to deal with wood pulp
papers is that it will not hold the threads used in ordinary binding;
the thread cuts right through the paper because of the shortness or
brittleness of the fibres, and if a book printed on such paper has to
be bound, the only safe way to do it is to frame each page in a border
of sound rag paper, and then have it sewn as usual. Wood paper will not
stand bending, but breaks off short if there is anything like a joint
or fold in it, and the framing or mounting prevents this. The process
of mounting every leaf of a book is, however, a very expensive one; a
couple of pounds may well be spent on a comparatively small book for
this operation alone, so that the prospect before owners of libraries
who wish to keep their books in good order is not brilliant. No amount
of dressing can make such paper really strong, as it is the fibres
themselves that are in fault.
But there is another form in which the use of wood is not so harmful,
and in this case the fibres are no longer there to be found fault with.
“Chemical” wood pulp is a form of cellulose, and it is likely that it
is destined to play an important part in the paper of the future, in
conjunction with fibres of various sorts.
Chemical wood pulp is prepared from the wood fibres by “digesting” with
caustic soda or bisulphide of lime, as reducing agents. The process is
one of much interest, and moreover a good deal of wood has to be used
to make a comparatively small amount of wood cellulose. Esparto and
straw celluloses are not so good as wood cellulose.
The invention of the “half-tone” process, by which a dotted block can
be produced from a toned drawing, print, or photograph, can be made, is
responsible for much dangerous procedure with regard to the paper upon
which the prints from the dotted blocks are to be made.
In itself the invention of the half-tone process is a wonderful and
beautiful one, but it has done more to ruin the already decadent modern
paper than anything else, because it has made the dressing of the paper
of greater importance than the paper itself.
Incidentally, the half-tone block has given the death-blow to the old
and beautiful art of wood engraving, which is now only found in quite
exceptional instances. But the half-tone block has, nevertheless,
provided some small solace for the dispossessed wood engravers, because
the soft metal blocks go wrong in light places and themselves need
careful revision with a graver. This touching-up is so general, and
so much technical skill is required for its proper execution, that it
has already become a recognised profession, and the engraver’s name is
often enough recognised in the lettering of the prints made from such
blocks, especially in American publications.
The dots of half-tone blocks were at first of an easily visible size,
but as the method of production became better understood it was found
that they could be made so small that they were no longer visible as
separate dots to the unaided vision, but that the effect produced was
really that of a tone-wash.
But the very finely grained blocks were difficult to print from, the
ink stuck too readily between the dots, where it was not wanted,
and the surface of the paper was not even enough to give a clear
impression, even if it was calendered and super-calendered. So
something had to be done to give the paper a more level surface, and
the needed material was found in china clay mixed more or less with
barytes. It is laid down in the _Society of Arts Report_ that the
amount of this dressing should in no case exceed 10 per cent. in any
paper, but modern “art” papers have for a long time much exceeded this
fair proportion.
From the beginning some kind of dressing has always been found
necessary in the manufacture of paper, but nothing so dangerous as
china clay has ever been used. The net result is that almost all modern
editions-de-luxe, and fine illustrated books generally, either having
half-tone plates or colour plates done by the three colour process,
consist of little else but thin sheets of china clay supported by the
smallest possible skeleton of wood or other cheap fibres.
It must be at once granted that the impressions from delicate half-tone
blocks made on clay paper are admirable, and it is also true that the
printing ink makes the clay insoluble in water wherever it touches it.
But the clay has a certain affinity for damp, and books printed on clay
paper very readily show damp stains, and if left for any time in a
really damp place they are liable to become solid bricks of white mud,
quite impossible to repair.
If very dry the non-cohesive clay will turn to a white powder.
Moreover, this clay-laden paper will not hold binding threads, so again
it has to be preserved. A book printed on such material has to be
treated in the same way as I have described in the case of wood pulp
paper.
There is, however, a plan of preserving prints on clay, and this is
to fasten down the printed portion on a piece of sound paper from
the beginning. This is already done to some extent, and it should
be universal in the case of isolated plates, but when a book is all
printed on clay paper, as many fine and valuable books unfortunately
are, it is difficult to say what is best to be done. The only real
remedy seems to be a refusal on the part of purchasers to buy such
books. But purchasers do not always know when they are buying clay
instead of paper. It is, however, not difficult to tell, as the
clay-laden paper feels very smooth and soft to the touch of a dry
finger. This peculiarity can be easily detected in one or other of the
American magazines, Harper’s or Scribner’s, and the difference between
the feel of a page holding an impression from a fine half-tone block,
and that having only text, will at once be evident.
If a mark may be made on a suspected sheet, a drop of water should be
put upon one corner, left a second or two, and then dried off with
blotting-paper. Now a light scrape with a knife over the damped place
will remove a layer of white clay if it is there.
There is no doubt that the large majority of our modern books will not
be in readable condition in about a hundred years’ time from the date
of their publishing.
BOOKS TO CONSULT.
PAPER.
ARTS, SOCIETY OF.--Report on the Deterioration of Paper. _London_, 1898.
BLADES, W.--(_Athenæum_, March 30th, 1889, p. 409. Paper on Watermarks).
BLANCHET, A.--Essai sur l’histoire des Papier. _Paris_, 1890.
BREITKOPF.--Versuch die Einfuhrung des Leinenpapieres. _Leipzig_,
1784-1801.
BRIQUET, C. M.--La Legende Paléographique du Papier de Coton. _Genève_,
1884.
BRIQUET, C. M.--Recherches sur les Papiers du x^e au XIV^e siècles.
_Paris_, 1886.
CAMPREDON, E.--Le Papier. _Paris_, 1901.
CHARPENTIER, P.--Le Papier. 1890. (Frémy, E.)
DUNBAR, J.--Notes on the Manufacture of Wood Pulp Papers. _Leith_, 1892.
ERFURT, J.--The Dyeing of Paper Pulp. _London_, 1901.
EVANS, L.--Ancient Paper Making. _London_, 1896.
GIRARD, A.--Le Papier. _Lille_, 1892.
GOODCHILD, G. F., and TWENEY, C. F.--A Technological and Scientific
Dictionary. _London._
GRIFFIN, R. B., and LITTLE, A. D.--The Chemistry of Paper Making. _New
York_, 1894.
HERRING, R.--Paper and Paper Making. _London_, 1855.
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