Now, it is not at all improbable that many into whose hands this book may fall will be disposed to charge me with similar motives, as concealing secrets connected with paper making. It is, however, a reliable fact, that nothing can be more simple or straightforward than the manufacture of that, which, for want of a more comprehensive expression, I must denominate _genuine paper_. Chemical aid, combined with great practical skill, is absolutely indispensable, I admit, to enable one to keep pace with competition in the present day; when even the rags and tatters, cast off by the very poorest of the poor, may now be forwarded after sunrise, many miles distant, and before sunset, received back again converted into a becoming ground-work for the most enchanting _billet-doux_. Still, productions of this character, when contrasted with the results of a slow and simple manipulation of finer materials, even to the unpractised eye, will be found far inferior, as regards the one grand test of superiority, viz., _durability_. The slower the process of manufacture is conducted from beginning to end, from the trituration of the “stuff” in the rag engine, to the formation of the sheet, its sizing, drying, and rolling, the stronger and more durable will the paper ultimately turn out. No. 17, which is a specimen of paper thus carefully made, and almost as tough and durable as parchment, is capable of sustaining a weight of no less than 200 lbs., simply by means of a slip the width of a bank note. If, however, we glance at the other extreme, and take the aids frequently adopted to produce paper of apparent excellence from comparatively worthless materials, we shall find occasion to regret more than one form of artificial assistance, which is perpetually liable to objection. The effects, for instance, of excessive bleaching are still occasionally manifested, although by a better system of washing the pulp and the use of counteracting chemicals, evils which at one time resulted therefrom are now mainly checked. Within the recollection of my father, it was not at all an uncommon occurrence for a parcel of paper to become so completely perished from the circumstance of its not having been thoroughly washed after bleaching, that to draw a sheet as a sample, and to fold it up in the usual way, was found utterly impossible, without the sheets being cracked or broken at every fold. In some instances, the fibre was so completely destroyed, that an entire ream, composed of 480 sheets, might be as readily snapped asunder as a piece of rotten wood, merely by giving it a sharp blow against the back of a chair. The evils and inconveniences which must have resulted from this are altogether incalculable. Mr. Hansard (“Typographia,” 1825,) thus writes, “Whole piles of quired stock, meaning books unbound, are already crumbling to dust in the warehouses of booksellers, never to come to light as books, and many a volume designed to enrich the