Michael Twyman

Hullmandel’s stones at Kingston Lacy


Text of a paper given by Michael Twyman at the conference of the Association of European Printing Museums, From stone to chip: Alois Senefelder and the invention of printing in an international context, Nederlands Steendrukmuseum, Valkenswaard, The Netherlands, 3-5 November 2016. It is a summary of a much longer and fully documented article, not yet published.

My presentation this morning is in two parts. The main part will be about a coherent collection of 56 lithographic stones with images on them dating from the early 1820s. They are significant for several reasons, not least because they relate to Charles Hullmandel, England’s leading lithographic printer at the time, whose ownership of them is marked in an unusual if not unique way. In a short follow-up, I shall be proposing a census of lithographic stones in publicly accessible collections, which I hope might involve others here today.

The 56 stones are preserved at Kingston Lacy (1), a fine English country house, now a National Trust property.  I first saw these stones in 1992, when I made an initial study of them and took rubbings of the letters and numbers I found carved on their backs (2). At this point they were kept in the attic of the Kingston Lacy stables, which made working on them difficult, as this photograph reveals (3).

Discovery of these stones came at just the wrong time for me. I had already written several articles about lithographic stone, and had just completed what I thought was a reasonably comprehensive study of the Charles Hullmandel. Had I known about the collection earlier it would have featured significantly in these publications. So, a little deflated, I put my work on the Kingston Lacy stones aside, until, twenty-five years later, the National Trust asked me to follow up my initial investigation.

Why, you may ask first of all, are these stones in an English stately home? The short answer is that the work on them was commissioned by the Egyptologist William Henry Bankes (1786–1855) (4), a member of the family that had owned Kingston Lacy for centuries. It seems that the stones may have found their way to the house not long after they had been prepared for printing and proofed by Hullmandel in the early 1820s. However, that is an answer that raises several further questions, as I intend to reveal.

At present three of the 56 stones are on display in the Egyptian Room at Kingston Lacy (5). The remainder are stored in this utilitarian building in the grounds of the house (6), where I met up with National Trust staff earlier this year to take a further look at them. Each stone is now preserved in its own container within archivally approved packing (7) and under atmospherically controlled conditions.

The stones have survived partly, one imagines, from inertia, but mainly because the work on them (8), much of it unpublished, relates to the discoveries of William Bankes. His archaeological exploits in the Middle East have been well documented, in part – as I shall touch on later – because he led a particularly colourful life. A close friend of the poet and writer Byron since their student days at Cambridge, he was later to be associated with most of the leading Egyptologists of his day: archaeologists, collectors of antiquities, and those concerned with one of the major intellectual challenges of the day, deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphs. As a wealthy bachelor and heir to the family estates, he was free to pursue his own interests and soon became enthralled with travel, first in Europe and then, in the years 1815 to 1819, more intrepidly in the Middle East.

He was a competent enough recorder of monuments as far as diagrams and plans of buildings were concerned, and was also able to document Greek inscriptions himself, since he understood both the language and the characteristics of its script. But his privileged position meant that he could afford to hire others to record wall paintings, hieroglyphs, and topographical views. His pioneering achievements in the discovery and documentation of Egyptian monuments were widely recognized in his day, but he was less than diligent when it came to publishing his findings. The stones at Kingston Lacy provide therefore a poignant reminder of his failure to do himself justice as a scholar, a limitation he fully recognized.

Nine of the stones that record inscriptions have work on them signed by Johann Georg Scharf (9), who was probably responsible for many of the others too. A native of Bavaria, he settled in England in 1816, having studied in Munich partly under the lithographer Joseph Hauber. Like many of Scharf’s unsigned stones, this one is lettered ‘Printed by C. Hullmandel’ and ‘Published by John Murray’, and is dated ‘27 November 1821’. Despite this, only a handful of these stones ever got beyond the proofing stage.

Charles Hullmandel (10), an almost exact contemporary of Bankes, has to be seen as Britain’s leading lithographic printer of the first half of the nineteenth century. But before he set up a press at his home in London in 1819 he was an artist who had learned how to draw on stone. He continued to work as a lithographic artist, but from that point on immersed himself in the process in order to be able to print successfully. In addition, he was soon to become the principal promoter of the process in Britain through his published writings.

Hullmandel can be linked with the stones now at Kingston Lacy in several ways. First and foremost he owned them all, at least initially. Secondly, he made the drawings on some of them himself. And, thirdly, wherever a printer’s imprint appears on a stone it is his.

Around 1820, when Bankes began to be interested in lithography, the process was just beginning to become established in Britain as a trade, though its commercial future was by no means secure (11). In putting his faith in the new process he was certainly taking something of a risk, but by going to a printer of Hullmandel’s growing importance he was making a very sensible – and probably well-informed – choice.

 The first concrete evidence of Bankes’s involvement with lithography is this unambitious print in Cambridge University Library (12). It is signed ‘Wm. John Bankes’ and lettered ‘Admiralty Lithographic Press / 14 May 1820.’ This is some six months earlier than any lithographic item connected with Bankes at Kingston Lacy. The print must have been produced by transfer lithography, as it would have been difficult to create such a fluent signature by working backwards on the stone.

Three highly significant stones at Kingston Lacy record an obelisk that Bankes discovered on the island of Philae in Egypt in 1815 and eventually had erected in the grounds of his house (13). They were all drawn by Scharf, printed by Hullmandel, and published by John Murray, all with the same imprint date: 27 November 1821. This stone, after a drawing by Bankes, shows the obelisk as it was to be displayed, and this is an impression taken from it (14). Another stone (15) shows the hieroglyphs on the obelisk’s four faces. And a third (16) the Greek inscription on a granite pedestal which was eventually to support the obelisk. Sets of impressions from all three stones (17) were signed by Bankes and presented to the British Museum (18) and another set was presented to his old college, Trinity, Cambridge. In this respect they could be perhaps be described as ‘published’.

A further stone, which was published in a more accepted sense of the word, provided the frontispiece (19) to Henry Salt’s Essay on Dr. Young’s and M. Champollion’s phonetic system of hieroglyphics (London, 1825). It was drawn by Scharf (20) after a sketch of an inscription in Abydos, which Bankes made in 1818 following what he regarded as one of his most important discoveries. The stones for the other six lithographed plates of the publication – all made by Scharf after Salt’s own drawings – are not directly linked with Bankes. And, significantly, they are not at Kingston Lacy.

Despite attempts to establish the publications other Kingston Lacy stones were intended for, none has so far been traced, though proofs of most of them, and in a few cases the preliminary drawings too, are in the Bankes archives in Dorset History Centre. It seems that any publication Bankes had in mind was abandoned or simply failed to materialize. These ‘unpublished’ stones consist mainly of pen-drawn inscriptions (21), which were copied from sheets of sketches made by Bankes. These sketches would have been traced by Scharf in graphite and red ink (22). The inscriptions on these tracings (23) were then re-arranged on stone by Scharf, as here (24), presumably following Bankes’s instructions. Several proofs were taken from this particular stone in terracotta ink (25).

Other stones in the collection, nine all together, show crayon-drawn desert scenes. One of these (26) is fully lettered with its title and has the imprint ‘Drawn on Stone & Printed by C. Hullmandel’. There is no mention of a publisher or a date, which suggests that it may even have been something of a trial piece for Bankes to decide whether the process of lithography and Hullmandel’s drawing on stone were suited to work of this kind. This is the only stone in the collection to credit Hullmandel with having put the work on stone, which he did after this original by Linant now in the Bankes archives (27). Hullmandel followed the original fairly closely from an archaeological point of view (28), but added authority to the image, particularly in his treatment of the foreground. Though he was building up his own successful lithographic establishment at the time, he continued to make drawings on stone regularly in the 1820s.

The remaining eight pictorial stones are not lettered and were clearly not ready for edition printing, though single proofs of five of them are in the Bankes archives. All eight images were based on originals by Linant in the Bankes archives (29), which means that in some cases we are able to compare the original drawing, as here, with the drawing on stone based on it (30) and also with a proof (31). Like the stone credited to Hullmandel, the images were drawn in reverse to retain their topographical accuracy when printed. Otherwise, what you see is essentially what you get. Here is a detail (32) from another of these pictorial stones, and the same detail of the proof taken from it, but flipped for the purpose of making a comparison (32).

Adding titles and imprints to stones would have been the work of one of Hullmandel’s specialists, and was a stage in the production of a lithographed plate that normally led to an additional, itemized cost. .All these unlettered and unacknowledged views reveal the firm and regular crayon hatching that characterized Hullmandel’s early years as a lithographic artist.

The even grey tones of the skies on some of these views (34) must have been produced by a method called ‘lavis lithographique’, which Godefroy Engelmann invented in France in 1819, and was then adapted and described in detail by Hullmandel in his treatise of 1824 as the ‘dabbing style’. Hullmandel claimed that it allowed skies and delicate tints to be produced in half an hour that would take a week to create with the crayon. The few white clouds near the horizon of this print (35) would have been produced by removing the tint with a mezzotint scraper as suggested and illustrated by Hullmandel (36). Only a handful of lithographic artists working in Britain at the time would have been capable of producing such soft tones.

This combination of factors makes it almost certain that Hullmandel was responsible for the drawing of all these pictorial stones. They are the only ones I have seen or heard of that bear drawings by him, and the impressions taken from them are otherwise unrecorded. The fact that these drawings on stone were not lettered after successful proofing (and also after so much time had been invested in them) suggests to me some very unusual circumstances, which I shall touch on later.

Nearly all the 56 stones at Kingston Lacy are linked to Hullmandel’s establishment through the initials, CH, which appear on their reverse, most with an accompanying number, either painted (37) or incised (38). These numbers range between 30 and 4253, over half of them falling below 800. As it happens, we know that Hullmandel travelled to Solnhofen in Bavaria in July 1819 to buy a stock of lithographic stones, so there is every reason to believe that many of those now at Kingston Lacy were acquired as a result of this particular visit to these quarries, which then, as now, provided the finest lithographic stone in the world. This interpretation is supported by the date – 27 November 1821 – which appears on the imprints of many of the stones. The numbers on these stones also accord with an observation made by the contemporary bibliographer Dibdin, who noted that in the autumn of 1820 Hullmandel had at least 1500 lithographic stones.  Needless to say, nothing very useful can be gleaned from the particular number on any stone. Hullmandel’s staff would have selected stones for printing on the basis of their availability, size, and quality, and the numbers would soon have been thoroughly jumbled up.

It should be said that most of the Kingston Lacy stones are in remarkably good condition and show hardly any chips and abrasions of the kind frequently found on stones from the commercial era of lithography. This suggests to me that they may not have been moved around a great deal. Where there is damage to a stone it seems to have arisen from the conditions under which it was once stored. For example, a few stones show superficial water damage (39) and one or two reveal only a trace of the original drawn work.

The superficial dimensions of the stones vary, but as many as thirty fall between 345–350 x 290 mm. The thickness of most falls within the range 30 to 33 mm, the thinnest measuring about 25 mm and the thickest 55 mm. One stone, the lowest in the sequence of numbers, would have been much the largest in the collection had it not broken in half (40       ). All are prepared on one side only, which is typical of stones that have survived from the early decades of lithography. Large fragments of thick brown paper on the underside of many of them (41), partly obscuring their letters and numbers (42), suggest that they would have been completely covered in this way some time after leaving Hullmandel’s establishment. The assumption is that the covering was meant to protect work when the stones when piled one on top of the other.

A single grey stone stands out from all the others (43), the warmer hues of which were to be described as ‘yellow’ ­by the lithographic trade in later years. The sides of most stones show the characteristic marks of the toothed hammer used by quarrymen in the Solnhofen region to square up stones on site (44). And, as would be expected of stones from Hullmandel’s establishment, their edges are well bevelled and their corners rounded (45). This was done to avoid unsightly pressure marks on the printed sheet ­­– which, as you can see here in an impression from that very stone (46) ­– would have extended beyond its edges.

Lithographic stones with drawings on them from the first half of the nineteenth century are not especially rare. The Deutsches Museum, Munich (47), has a good representative collection, which is to be the subject of a paper at this conference, and a few stones from this period are to be found in other museums and print rooms around the world. There are also the stones from the André music publishing firm, that were unearthed while constructing the Berlinerstrasse in Offenbach in the 1980s, which we shall also be hearing about. And I am told that there are, or perhaps were, thousands of stones bearing cadastral plans in Munich, which date from Senefelder’s time working there. But coherent sets of stones for early publications are extremely rare. Among them are eighteen stones, drawn by Thomas Barker for his Forty lithographic impressions of rustic figures (Bath, 1813) (48) and a further eight for his Thirty two lithographic impressions of landscape scenery (Bath, 1814) (49), the printing of both being done by David Redman, Britain’s first native lithographic printer. These stones are now preserved in the Victoria Art Gallery, Bath, along with a few other early stones, two of them drawn by Richard Cooper (one dated 1806) (50).  From the second quarter of the nineteenth century, thirteen somewhat adulterated stones survive in the Musée Delacroix, Paris, bearing Delacroix’s illustrations for his Hamlet (Paris: Gihaut frères, 1843).  Stones with images on them from later periods, particularly commercial work of the first half of the twentieth century, are by no means rare, and representations of lithographic workshops and stone stores add to the  historical record (51). Taken together, such sources reveal that from around the middle of the nineteenth century stones were normally numbered on one or more of their edges and stored on sturdy racks, rather like books in libraries, as they still were (52) in Mourlot’s atelier in Paris in the 1960s.

The stones used by first generation British lithographers appear not to have been numbered at all, presumably because they operated on such a small scale that identification of their stones and the work on them presented no great problem. Later, when lithographic craft workshops began to be replaced by commercial enterprises (with dedicated press rooms and purpose-made facilities for storing stones), painting numbers and letters on the edge of a stone became the accepted practice and almost a necessity (53). These numbers were then recorded in albums, so that stones could be located and any work on them identified. This remained so until the industrial demise of stone lithography after the middle of the twentieth century.

The difference between Hullmandel’s stones and all others I have seen is that his identification numbers appear (along with his inititials) not on the edges of stones but on their roughly-hewn undersides. Whether Hullmandel was unique in adopting this practice may never be known, but it appears to have been his regular practice, since three small stones, each bearing a natural history illustration with his imprint, have been seen elsewhere with similar initials.

In almost every case the stones at Kingston Lacy are identified on their underside with the initials ‘CH’ and a number, sometimes with a full point between the letters. Those cut into the stone were either flat cut (54), or have ‘v’ section characters with modulated thick and thin strokes and serifs, the best of which were very competently cut (55). The most effective way to identify a stone would surely have been to put a mark on one or more of its sides, where it would be visible almost regardless of its position. So why did Hullmandel go to the length of carving letters on the underside of the stone? The answer seems to lie in the practice of hiring out lithographic stones, which, in the early days of lithography in Britain, was a common way of providing stones for artists and amateurs. The custom was often referred to on the advertising material of British lithographers of the early nineteenth century, in many cases with the terms of hire explicitly stated (55).

Associated with this practice was the transport of stones, both to an artist and back to the lithographic house for printing. Hullmandel devoted a section of his 1824 treatise to the packing of stones for those ‘residing in the country, or in distant towns’ and illustrated an appropriate crate (57). The stones now at Kingston Lacy may well have been transported in such crates, which were designed to protect the carefully prepared surface of stones both before and after they had been drawn on.

Hullmandel’s terms for hiring out stones remained the same over a long period, and between 1830 and 1848 his invoices carried the following statement (58): ‘All Drawings made upon Stones belonging to this Establishment remain thereon at a Rent-charge of from 4d to 18d per Month each according to their size until a written Order to rub them off be received.’ Hiring stones was already his practice by the close of 1820 when he wrote to a potential customer: ‘As to what you mention concerning the stones I never sell any of mine on any account but let them out for the purpose of making a drawing & printing it…’. This was, of course, a shrewd practice since it ensured that he alone would have been in a position to take on the printing.

Hullmandel’s method of marking his stones varied over time and reveals some kind of pattern. I shall not bore you with the details, except to say that the earliest numbers on the Kingston Lacy stones were all painted and that, beginning with number 423, many were carved. We can perhaps surmise that paint proved not to be a sufficient deterrent to theft, or what might be described as ‘extended loan’. Since one of the three Hullmandel stones with carved identifiers seen elsewhere was numbered 9123, it seems that this continued to be his normal practice for some years. It is perhaps worth pointing out that Solnhofen stone has long been used for delicate sculpture and that, though inclined to chip, is still used as a quality stone for inscriptional lettering.

The main puzzle presented by the Kingston Lacy stones is why William Bankes was allowed to keep Hullmandel’s stones. In the normal course of events these stones would have been returned for proofing and printing. One possibilty is that so many monthly payments had been made that their cost was fully covered by whoever hired them, an arrangement that was described by some of the earliest British lithographic printers.But surely Hullmandel would have seen this as the equivalent of selling his stones, which he had said in 1820 that he never did.

Unfortunately the archives of the leading publishing house of John Murray, whose name appears on eighteen stones in the collection, reveal very little about its role in Bankes’s doomed projects. Some record, rather generally, specific payments made to Scharf and Hullmandel, and even though Bankes and Murray wrote to one another fairly regularly, the Bankes side of the correspondence has little to say about his publications.

However, some of the stones at Kingston Lacy shed a little light on the lithographic production process through light graphite marks on their surface (59). These marks are found on almost half the stones in the collection, though some are so light that they can easily be overlooked. They were made on the thin coating of gum Arabic that would have been applied, as standard practice, to protect drawn work on a lithographic stone. Nearly all take the form of flourished initial letters in the stone’s margins, and appear to have been written hastily with a pencil, often with a touch of panache. Some are more or less identifiable, others are open to a variety of interpretations. The most common read ‘PH’ in a variety of forms (60). In one case some different initials accompany the word ‘Proofs’ (61). It has to be assumed that these jottings were made by senior staff, who were signing off a stone as ready for printing on completion of the most exacting stage in the treatment of a lithograph, the chemical preparation of the stone known as ‘proving’. The word ‘Provd’ (62) on another stone suggests that it was the equivalent of the ‘bon à tirer’ of later years.

But what do the letters ‘PH’ stand for? They could be the initials of a senior member of Hullmandel’s staff, as could other initials, but could the ‘P’ stand for ‘Proved’ and the flourished ‘H’ for Hullmandel? What is important is that these marks have survived, and that they record what is usually an undocumented stage in the lithographic process.

A finished drawing on stone that had been coated with gum Arabic as a temporary protective measure – that is, before being prepared chemically – would to all intents and purposes look the same as one that was ready for printing. Hence the need to mark the stone in some way. What is more, the process of preparing the stone was a most delicate operation. It could be done well or badly, which meant that ‘signing off’ a stone was a means of quality control. Once printing an edition had begun, the evidence for such a procedure would normally have been lost.

A few other scribbled ‘in-house’ messages are also found. This stone (63) has a note that reads ‘260 JC’, presumably the print run of a publication referred to as ‘JC’, supposedly the Classical Journal. And one of the three stones of the Philae Obelisk has a more complicated note (64), which I am inclined to read as ‘JD 60 No1 4to Impl’. This appears to be an instruction from ‘JD’ that sixty impressions were to be taken from the stone on sheets of first quality Imperial paper cut into four.

Clearly, these Kingston Lacy stones provide valuable evidence of lithographic mark-making by two major lithographers, Charles Hullmandel (65) and George Scharf (66). But a combination of other factors makes them exceptional: the painted and cut marks of ownership on their reverse; the graphite marks of quality control on their surface; the evidence they provide of work on stone before edition printing; as well as the existence of related drawings, tracings, and proofs. The peculiar circumstances of their survival are also of interest.

The last of these points warrants some speculation. There is just a suspicion that there were problems over the arrangements made for the use of Hullmandel’s stones, or perhaps over payments made or not made to Hullmandel for their printing. A short letter to Bankes, dated 23 November 1829 and mentioning a meeting with Hullmandel’s solicitor, adds credibility to the view that there may have been a dispute between the two parties.

The later history of the Kingston Lacy stones is a matter for some speculation too. Bankes enjoyed a considerable reputation for his archaeological discoveries, and had a certain following in society too. In different ways both aspects of his life involved a penchant for taking risks. His socializing led to a much publicised affair with a married woman, beginning in 1822. More significantly, he was charged with public indecency in 1833 and again in 1840,  the second charge requiring him to flee the country. He was never to return, at least not publicly, since homosexuality was a hanging offence in Britain at the time.

Wherever the stones I have been discussing may have been during this period – and there is no hard evidence that they were at Kingston Lacy ­­– out of sight must surely have meant out of mind. They do not seem to be mentioned in the household accounts of Kingston Lacy, and the other side of the story cannot be told either, since virtually no records survive of Hullmandel’s business activities. The most likely interpretation of events is that Bankes continued to entertain hopes of publishing the work on these stones, which he would have seen as the most considered and effective record of his archaeological pursuits. We have to assume that he was able to persuade Hullmandel to let him move the stones to Kingston Lacy (67), where they remained while he spent the rest of his own life in exile abroad.

In more recent times there has been a growing recognition of the significance of the Kingston Lacy stones as a record of Bankes’s archaeological discoveries and an understanding of why, over the generations, they were preserved, or at least not destroyed. But what neither Bankes nor his descendents could possibly have foreseen, is that they would provide such a valuable record of ‘work in progress’ in the formative years of British lithography.


It was a study of these Kingston Lacy stones, which I have summarized for the purpose of this talk, that made me realize that I did not know enough about the corpus of existing lithographic stones. And this took me back to an idea I had many years ago of a census of collections of lithographic stones.

Though I must have seen thousands of lithographic stones I was not looking for features of the kind these Kingston Lacy stones have revealed.  Numbers on the sides of stones are familiar to us all, but how common was an actual mark of ownership on a stone? Were there any other printers who marked their ownership of a stone on its reverse, or cut such marks? Are there other early stones with graphite or similar instructions still visible? If so, what do they say? And are there other early stones with images on them that have been proofed, but not printed in editions, or perhaps not even proofed? The truth is that anyone studying stones as evidence of lithographic production is working in relatively uncharted territory. Hence the need for a census.

It is probably best not to be too ambitious at the outset, unless funding is available, so I would be inclined to consider a census at two levels. Numerous stones have survived that date from the late nineteenth century to the mid twentieth century, which could be dealt with by means of collection-level descriptions, at least in the first instance. Though any particular stone or set of stones meeting certain significant criteria would still need to be catalogued at item level.

There is already a body of information about collections of lithographic stones on-line. Listing these would be a good starting point, if only to encourage providers to participate in making improvements to their documentation.  For example, images of all the Kingston Lacy stones are available online, both their face and reverse. Understandably they are available for browsing at low resolution only, which means that the graphite marks on them are most unlikely to be picked up. Crucial cataloguing of information is also lacking, largely I imagine because these are the only stones in the care of the National Trust. There clearly needs to be some guidance about the compilation of collection-level descriptions to make them useful.

Collections of earlier stones (say before 1850), and even single stones of this vintage, are relatively uncommon. They have to be catalogued at item level and to standards that are acceptable to both cataloguers and specialists in the field. Hence the need for team work. I am happy to be involved with a project of this kind, but for reasons that must be obvious, it would need younger people to carry it through to conclusion, so I would be looking for active partners.

Initially, some kind of checklist of catalaloging data needs to be compiled so that the same criteria can be applied to all items. How far a cataloguer should go into such features would be a matter for the institution concerned, but it seems important to establish an ideal position.

Certain questions need to be considered from the outset: should the project be European only or world-wide? And should we distinguish between the stone as an artefact and whatever may have been drawn on or applied to it? The answer may seem obvious, but would a census include stones without any images on them?

The kind of information required from cataloguers falls into several categories, though the provisional list I propose here (and you should all have copies) would need to tested by interested parties. The features I feel need to be identified are pretty boring to go through, so I will simply leave you to ask questions and make additions over the next day or so should you wish to do so.


Select bibliography

Jackson, Peter, George Scharf’s London: sketches and watercolours of a changing city, 1820–50 (London: John Murray, 1987).

Huber, Brigitte, Mainburg – London. Der Altbayer Johann Georg Scharf (1788–1860) als Bildchronist der englischen Haupstadt  (Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner, 2012).

Sebba, Anna, The exiled collector: William Bankes and the making of an English country house (London: John Murray, 2004).

Twyman, Michael, ‘Charles Joseph Hullmandel: lithographic printer extraordinary’ in Patricia Gilmour  (ed.) Lasting impressions (Canberra: Australian National Gallery, 1988), pp. 42–90, 362–67.

–––– A directory of London lithographic printers 1800­–1850 (London: Printing Historical Society, 1976).

–––– ‘Lithographic stone and the printing trade in the nineteenth century’, Journal of the Printing Historical Society, no. 8, 1972, pp. 1–41, plus 14 plates.

––––  Lithography 1800–1850 (London: Oxford University Press, 1970).

–––– ‘Thomas Barker’s lithographic stones’, Journal of the Printing Historical Society, no. 12, 1977/8, pp. 3–32, plus 16 plates.

Usick, Patricia,  Adventures in Egypt and Nubia: the travels of William John Bankes (1786–1855) (London: British Museum Press, 2002)