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First edition of this rare early abridgement. A full translation by Mme Lesbazeilles-Souvestreunder the title Jeanne Eyre, ou les Memoires d'une institutrice had been printed by Giraud in 1854 (2 vols), but this version by ‘Old Nick’, issued as part of the Bibliothèque des chemins de fer demonstrates the popularity of the work. Both versions are rare. Worldcat: Harvard and Princeton only in US.

One of 70 copies on papier vergé, with the author’s initials (total edition 76). An enlarged edition of Asselineau’s biographical account of France’s most celebrated cabinet maker, pioneer of the distinctive inlaid marquetry technique which still carries his name. The book first appeared in 1854 (13 pages) and was reissued in 1855 (16 pages), with important biographical documents added to this 1872 edition.

First edition of this graphic companion to the life of the great French corsair captain Du Guay-Trouin, and specifically to the Memoires (Amsterdam, 1740), for the use of young mariners who are urged to examine and draw copies of the detailed engravings. The work includes a précis of his exploits (the text also engraved) a glossary of marine terms.

Besides the two maps, the engraving is the work of the remarkable Ozanne family: Nicolas (or Nicolas-Marie) and his sister, Jeanne Françoise, whose names appear as artist and engraver respectively at the foot of the title plate. Hailing from Brest, the young Nicolas (1728-1811) had begun a career as a naval artist when his father died, leaving him responsible for three siblings (a brother and two sisters) all of whom he enlisted as contributors to his business. He rose to some prominence and was named as a royal ‘dessinateur de la marine’ in 1757, still assisted by his siblings. Jeanne François (1735-95) seems to have been the most active of these, and is named as engraver in several other collections and single plates besides this one, usually marine prints.

Duguay-Trouin is remembered as one of the greatest French naval commanders. In 1704-1705 he commanded the ship Jason and captured the British ships of the line HMS Elizabeth and HMS Coventry; then on 21 October 1707, together with Claude de Forbin, he achieved his greatest victory against a British squadron, in the Battle at the Lizard (part of the War of the Spanish Succession); in 1709 he captured the British ship of the line HMS Bristol, while the triumph of his career came on 21 September 1711, in an 11-day battle, where he captured Rio de Janeiro, then believed impregnable. The two double-page maps (both signed ‘Drouet’) depict his battles around the French and British Coasts and his capture of Rio. Une famille d’artistes brestois au XVIIIe siècle: les Ozanne, Charles Auffret (Rennes, 1891). Borba de Moraes, p. 273; Bosch 244; Polak 7235; Rodrigues 908; not in Sabin.

An exceptionally rare English calendar with two revolving dials (one giving the date, the other, the month with its corresponding number of days). Around the central calendar and dial are emblematic figures of the gods representing the days of the week: Apollo (Sunday), Diana (Monday), Mars (Tuesday), Mercury (Wednesday), Jove or Jupiter (Thursday), (Friday) and Saturn (Saturday).

John Seller (1632-1697), whose initials appear at the foot, and his full name in the globe at the head, was one of the most important mapmakers and makers of scientific instruments in seventeenth-century London. Examples of paper instruments made by him are exceptionally rare, and while the perpetual calendar may have been one of his simplest offerings in this line it probably had the widest appeal. However many copies he printed, its rarity is understandable: we can find no example of this calendar in library catalogues, though a similar calendar (also framed, with rundles, but uncoloured) appeared in the British trade several years ago (then described as possibly unique). The estimated date of production is approximate, and based partly on Seller’s output of pocket almanacs and similar (at least one issued with volvelles) in the 1680s. The presence of his initials as well as imprint suggests that the engraved design is Sellers’ own.

Seller operated throughout his documented career from premises at the Hermitage Stairs in Wapping, but for a number of years maintained additional retail premises in and about the Royal Exchange. He was a member of the Clockmakers Company from 1667 and served as its warden from 1692-6.

A large and striking broadside printed on vellum by an unknown press, presumably in France around the year 1700. The text is of 20 ‘maximes du sage’, wise and stoic counsels for the government of the mind, spirit and body. The typography is competent but occasionally irregular, reflecting the difficulty of handling such a large sheet of vellum in the press, but also suggesting the possibility of a private press. The floral borders are stylised, with decorative swags and ribbons at the head, but with recognisable lilies, rose, carnations and iris on either side, and blue chine bowl with tulips, fritillaries and other flowers at the foot.

No other example of the broadside has been located, though the text is almost identical to that of a fine manuscript on vellum probably made at the behest of Louis XIV (1638-1715) for the philosophical education of his son Louis, the Grand Dauphin (1661-1711) (sold at Sotheby’s Paris, 6 July 2017, collection of Mme Djahanguir Riahi, lot 28). A quotation of a fragment of the text appears in the Clef du cabinet des princes de l'Europe, 21, October 1714, p. 237, appearing also as advice to princes, but we have not found any other printed version of the complete text.

‘Adore le Createur de l’Univers, & l’aïme de toute ton Ame: Honore ceux qui t’ont mis au monde; obeïs aux loix; revere les Puissances: Faits à autruy comme tu voudrois qu’on te fît à ton mesme. Sois humain, civil & bien faisant à tous les hommes. Aïme tes proches, aïme tes amis; mais plus que tour aime ta Patrie, & procure le bien public. Respecte les gens de bien, fuy les méchans, & ne hante que ceux à qui tu veux ressembler, Reconnois les biensfairs, n’attire pas les injures, Connois-toy toy-mesme, mesure tes desseins à tes forces, ta dépense à ton bien, & l’un & l’autre à la raison. Exerce moderement ton corps, applique fortement ton esprit: Ecoûte beaucoup, parle peu, regle tes pensées & pese tes paroles. Abhorre le menteur & le mensonage, mais souviens-toy que toutes vertitez ne sont pas toûjours bonnes à dire, Pardonne beucoup aux autres, rien à toy, & sois plûtost ennemy de tes vices. Que censeur de ceux d’autruy, Songe que le repentir suit de pres la faute, & que le premier fruit des bonnes actions est la plaisir qu’il y a de les faire. Ne prens jamais de mauvaises voyes pour arriver a une bonne fin. Tiens les flateurs pour tes plus grands ennemis, pour tes meilleurs amis ceux qui te voyent plutost à cause de toy qu’à cause d’eux-mesmes. Prens conseil, mais forme tes resolutions toy-mesme. Sois ferme non pas opiniâtre, & si tu as à changer d’avis, que ce soit par raison, non par legereté. Desire ce que t’est propre, supporte ce qui t’arrive. Sois le maître non pas l’esclave de tes passions, qu’elles servent à t’avancer, non pas à t’égarer. Modere tes desirs, tu augmenteras tes biens, il est assés riche qui est content, & il est content qui est sage’.

A wonderful satire on contemporary women’s fashion. The 1820s had seen considerable change in women’s fashions, with neoclassical straight lines and sparse adornments giving way to a more exhuberant and romantic style with more emphasis on curvaceous shapes, cheekily satirised here with wine glass and fruit. BM Satires 15611.

53 invitation cards to the notorious Parisian annual costume ball. The ball was inaugurated in 1892, and apart from the war years, ran until 1966, with attendance restricted to students and alumni of the École, both men and women, as well as a few ‘artistic personalities’ who had contributed to the preparation of the ball. They were held in several major venues scattered throughout Paris over the years, with most taking place at the Moulin Rouge, the Salle Wagram, and the Parc des Expositions at the Porte de Versailles. Although in its early years the ball was simply an elaborate party, from 1900 each ball had a specific historic theme, often derived from an ancient text or inspired by an ‘exotic’ foreign culture, around which various contests were arranged. With the addition of a theme the balls became more elaborate often turning into debaucherous, romping affairs with guests soon discarding the period costumes that they were required to wear to gain entrance. The nudity, dancing and merrymaking often continued into the following day, the ball usually ending, with a shout of ‘Vive les Quat’z’ Arts!’, around seven o’clock in the morning, followed by a procession through the Latin Quarter, the Louvre, and a march over the Pont du Carrousel to the Théâtre de l’Odéon, where the partygoers would disband.

Not surprisingly The Bal des Quat’z’Arts quickly became one of the premier events of the summer season. The invitations were elaborately designed to match the spectacle of the events, and correspondingly were often thematically orientalist, exotic, or primitive, with overtly erotic and sexual imagery. They are a tour de force of the evolution of artistic style, showing the progress from Art Nouveau to modernist primitivism, up through psychedelic design, though in retrospect they exhibit a troubling degree of predatory sexism and cultural appropriation. The ball is famously depicted in a series of photographs by Brassaï of 1930 and numerous other photographic records exist of the ball, allowing a comparison of the themes of the printed invitations and the costumes worn on the night.

There were different invitations for men, women and committee members, and most included a tear-off coupon, which often survivive. This group contains examples from the following years, all complete with their coupons except where specified: 1895 (by Caran d’Ache); 1901 (without coupon) 1902 (without coupon); 1904 (m, without coupon); 1906 (?f); 1908 (f without coupon); 1909 (f); 1912 (f); 1913 (f, without coupon); 1914 (poster, folded once); 1920 (f); 1922 (m); 1923 (f); 1924 (f); 1927 (f, without coupon); 1928 (f); 1928 (m, without coupon); 1929 (m); 1929 (comité, without coupon); 1929 (f); 1930 (comité, without coupon); 1931 (m without coupon); 1931 (f without coupon); 1932 (m, without coupon); 1933 (m, without coupon); 1934 (m); 1939 (f?); 1946 (m); 1947 (m 2 copies); 1948 (m) 1948 (f, without coupon); 1949 (m) 1949 (f); 1950 (m) 1950 (f); 1951 (m) 1951 (f) 1951 (additional); 1952 (m) 1952 (f ) 1952 (additional); 1953 (m) 1953 (f); 1954 (m?); 1955 (m) 1955 (f); 1956 (m) 1956 (f); 1958 (m) 1958 (?); 1959 (m); 1964 (m); 1966 (m?), plus one unidentified year.

An extensive military manuscript, unpublished in print, consisting of order issues by the Savoyard minister of war, comte Bogin in 1752-3, setting out detailed procedures for ordering, drilling and manoeuvring in the infantry regiments of the armies of the King of Sardinia, Charles Emmanuel III. Presumably a contemporary copy of orders sent out to the regiments themselves, each part ends with the dated subscription (in copy) of Bogin at Turin. The manuscript is highly detailed, with 43 chapters across the two parts, covering rifle exercise (including bayonets), flag bearing, drilling, marching, battle formations and the conduct of firing in battle. The mid-eighteenth century Savoyard/Sardinian armies counted over 30 infantry regiments among their forces.

The island of Sardinia had been ceded in 1720 by the Habsburg and Bourbon claimants of the Spanish throne to the Duke of Savoy, Victor Amadeus II. The Savoyards united it with their historical possessions on the Italian mainland, while the monarchs of the House of Savoy ruled from their mainland capital of Turin, but styled themselves primarily with the royal title of Sardinia, ‘rois de Sardaigne’, as superior to their original lesser dignity as Dukes of Savoy.

An exceptional (and exceptionally rare) seventeenth-century devotional image depicting the battle in the heart between good and evil. This is an emblem of repentance in which the male subject looks down in tears upon an enlarged heart, in which the dove of the holy spirit is surrounded by tongues of fire and tears and personifications of the vices are driven outwards: a peacock (pride), ram (luxury), pig (gluttony), tortoise (sloth), leopard (anger), snake (envy) and a toad (avarice). An angel presides at the top left bearing a bible and crucifix, while the devil flees to turns his back and flees to the bottom right. It is one of twelve illustrations on the States of Man (or, Tableaux énigmatiques ou d'Images morales) conceived by the Jesuit Vincent Huby (1608-1693) for use in religious retreats and published in Paris in 1682 by Pierre Gallays.

These large printed placards were used specifically for instruction at week-long Jesuit retreats for lay-people. They were exhibited singly or in pairs, while an instructor explained the significance of the emblem. ‘The arguments dealt with the phases of the spiritual life—and its dangers—based on concrete examples taken from everyday life. The order of presentations varied with the director of Exercises. Those relating to the good and paradise were often presented early in the week; sin, attrition, contrition, penitence, a good death, and paradise, while warnings against slackening, relapse, a bad death and hell were addressed towards the week’s end’. (Silvia Mostaccio. ‘Shaping the Spiritual Exercises: the Maisons des retraites in Brittany during the Seventeenth Century as a Gendered Pastoral Tool.’ Journal of Jesuit Studies 2, 2015659-684).

According to Huby’s account of his excercises, ‘Using these placards is extremely helpful... they make the verities we want to make known more sensible and the impression is that much stronger and more easily made than if they only heard it. Everyone is quite gratified, the savants as well as the ignorant’ (La Retraite de Vennes ou la façon dont la retraite des hommes se fait dans Vennes, sous la conduite des pères jésuites, et les grands biens que Dieu opère par elle. 1678, trans. Mostaccio).

Huby’s spiritual method was specifically developed for the Jesuit’s missionary activity in Brittany (La Retraite was published first in Vannes) but the engraved placards were printed in Paris by Gallays, notable for other popular prints and almanacs (the engraver’s name is not recorded). Though the complete set of twelve plates is known from Huby’s instructions, no complete extant set has been located and the Bibliothèque nationale holds only a single print. This example is number 3 (numbered at foot). Huby also devised a series specifically for women (also exceptionally rare); his method became popular and his manual reprinted several times, while the imagery of the placards found its way into numerous books of emblems and later devotional paintings. cf. Images du Grand Siècle: l’estampe française au temps de Louis XIV (1660-1715), Bibliothèque nationale, 2015, 77 (single image ‘L'estat d un homme dans le quel le Diable estant rentré victorieux’)

‘Writing to The Times in May 1824, the industrialist and philanthropist Robert Owen remarked that in recent years ‘the human mind has made the most rapid and extensive strides in the knowledge of human nature, and in general knowledge’. He called this ‘the march of intellect’ and believed it had reached a pace that could not be stopped. Building upon this, Henry Brougham established the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in 1826, with the purpose of enabling the education of the masses. The phrase ‘the March of Intellect’ became a rallying cry for social and technological progress, its importance being to give all classes the opportunity to better themselves. To others, though, it was seen as giving hope where in fact there was no opportunity and of raising people above their station. Would the March of Intellect benefit society or stagnate it?

Amongst those uncertain of its benefits was cartoonist William Heath who, in 1828, under the pen name Paul Pry, produced a series of posters called the March of Intellect. Even though Heath was satirising the movement, his posters include some wonderful future ideas for transport, including a steam horse and a steam coach, a vacuum tube, a bridge to Cape Town, and various forms of flight, including a flying postman’ Ashley, ‘Inventing the Future’, British Library website, Discovering Literature: Romantics & Victorians.

A satire against corruption: a huge automaton representing the new London University (later University College, London) tramples over greedy clerics, doctors, lawyers and the crown.

A nice collection of eleven physiologies, one of the many such little books illustrative of ‘the craze that swept Paris in the early 1840s for a series of small illustrated volumes marketed under the general title of physiologies [looking back, perhaps, to Brillat-Savarin’s bestselling Physiologie du goût (1826) and Balzac’s Physiologie du marriage (1830)]. Some 120 different physiologies were issued by various Parisian publishers between 1840 and 1842 (ranging alphabetically from the Physiologie de l’amant to the Physiologie du voyageur), and it is estimated that approximately half a million copies of these pocket-sized books were printed during the same two-year span’ (Sieburth, p. 163).

Designed for mass consumption, these satirical guides to particular social types were based on ‘the witty interaction of image and text, drawing and caption, seeing and reading … Byproducts of the recent technological advances in printing and paper manufacturing which had made illustrated books more commercially feasible and analogous to the various dioramas and panoramas which enjoyed a considerable popularity during the period, these illustrated anthologies of urban sites and mores catered to the public’s desire to see its social space as a stage or gallery whose intelligibility was guaranteed both by its visibility as image and its legibility as text …

‘Quickly produced and marketed, consumed and discarded, … the physiologies (like the sensational tabloids or canards hawked on Paris streetcorners of the period) are early instances of the cheap, throwaway “instant book” whose appeal lies in its very topicality and ephemerality’ (op. cit., pp. 165–7).

A nice collection of physiologies, one of the many such little books illustrative of ‘the craze that swept Paris in the early 1840s for a series of small illustrated volumes marketed under the general title of physiologies [looking back, perhaps, to Brillat-Savarin’s bestselling Physiologie du goût (1826) and Balzac’s Physiologie du marriage (1830)]. Some 120 different physiologies were issued by various Parisian publishers between 1840 and 1842 (ranging alphabetically from the Physiologie de l’amant to the Physiologie du voyageur), and it is estimated that approximately half a million copies of these pocket-sized books were printed during the same two-year span’ (Sieburth, p. 163).

Designed for mass consumption, these satirical guides to particular social types were based on ‘the witty interaction of image and text, drawing and caption, seeing and reading … Byproducts of the recent technological advances in printing and paper manufacturing which had made illustrated books more commercially feasible and analogous to the various dioramas and panoramas which enjoyed a considerable popularity during the period, these illustrated anthologies of urban sites and mores catered to the public’s desire to see its social space as a stage or gallery whose intelligibility was guaranteed both by its visibility as image and its legibility as text …

‘Quickly produced and marketed, consumed and discarded, … the physiologies (like the sensational tabloids or canards hawked on Paris streetcorners of the period) are early instances of the cheap, throwaway “instant book” whose appeal lies in its very topicality and ephemerality’ (op. cit., pp. 165–7). Richard Sieburth, ‘Same difference: the French Physiologies, 1840–1842’, Notebooks in Cultural Analysis (Duke UP, 1984), pp. 163–200.

A nice collection of eight physiologies, one of the many such little books illustrative of ‘the craze that swept Paris in the early 1840s for a series of small illustrated volumes marketed under the general title of physiologies [looking back, perhaps, to Brillat-Savarin’s bestselling Physiologie du goût (1826) and Balzac’s Physiologie du marriage (1830)]. Some 120 different physiologies were issued by various Parisian publishers between 1840 and 1842 (ranging alphabetically from the Physiologie de l’amant to the Physiologie du voyageur), and it is estimated that approximately half a million copies of these pocket-sized books were printed during the same two-year span’ (Sieburth, p. 163).

Designed for mass consumption, these satirical guides to particular social types were based on ‘the witty interaction of image and text, drawing and caption, seeing and reading … Byproducts of the recent technological advances in printing and paper manufacturing which had made illustrated books more commercially feasible and analogous to the various dioramas and panoramas which enjoyed a considerable popularity during the period, these illustrated anthologies of urban sites and mores catered to the public’s desire to see its social space as a stage or gallery whose intelligibility was guaranteed both by its visibility as image and its legibility as text …

‘Quickly produced and marketed, consumed and discarded, … the physiologies (like the sensational tabloids or canards hawked on Paris streetcorners of the period) are early instances of the cheap, throwaway “instant book” whose appeal lies in its very topicality and ephemerality’ (op. cit., pp. 165–7). Richard Sieburth, ‘Same difference: the French Physiologies, 1840–1842’, Notebooks in Cultural Analysis (Duke UP, 1984), pp. 163–200.

A satire on contemporary student life, one of the many such little books illustrative of ‘the craze that swept Paris in the early 1840s for a series of small illustrated volumes marketed under the general title of physiologies [looking back, perhaps, to Brillat-Savarin’s bestselling Physiologie du goût (1826) and Balzac’s Physiologie du marriage (1830)]. Some 120 different physiologies were issued by various Parisian publishers between 1840 and 1842 (ranging alphabetically from the Physiologie de l’amant to the Physiologie du voyageur), and it is estimated that approximately half a million copies of these pocket-sized books were printed during the same two-year span’ (Sieburth, p. 163).

Designed for mass consumption, these satirical guides to particular social types were based on ‘the witty interaction of image and text, drawing and caption, seeing and reading … Byproducts of the recent technological advances in printing and paper manufacturing which had made illustrated books more commercially feasible and analogous to the various dioramas and panoramas which enjoyed a considerable popularity during the period, these illustrated anthologies of urban sites and mores catered to the public’s desire to see its social space as a stage or gallery whose intelligibility was guaranteed both by its visibility as image and its legibility as text …

‘Quickly produced and marketed, consumed and discarded, … the physiologies (like the sensational tabloids or canards hawked on Paris streetcorners of the period) are early instances of the cheap, throwaway “instant book” whose appeal lies in its very topicality and ephemerality’ (op. cit., pp. 165–7). Richard Sieburth, ‘Same difference: the French Physiologies, 1840–1842’, Notebooks in Cultural Analysis (Duke UP, 1984), pp. 163–200.

A satire on contemporary fashion, one of the many such little books illustrative of ‘the craze that swept Paris in the early 1840s for a series of small illustrated volumes marketed under the general title of physiologies [looking back, perhaps, to Brillat-Savarin’s bestselling Physiologie du goût (1826) and Balzac’s Physiologie du marriage (1830)]. Some 120 different physiologies were issued by various Parisian publishers between 1840 and 1842 (ranging alphabetically from the Physiologie de l’amant to the Physiologie du voyageur), and it is estimated that approximately half a million copies of these pocket-sized books were printed during the same two-year span’ (Sieburth, p. 163).

Designed for mass consumption, these satirical guides to particular social types were based on ‘the witty interaction of image and text, drawing and caption, seeing and reading … Byproducts of the recent technological advances in printing and paper manufacturing which had made illustrated books more commercially feasible and analogous to the various dioramas and panoramas which enjoyed a considerable popularity during the period, these illustrated anthologies of urban sites and mores catered to the public’s desire to see its social space as a stage or gallery whose intelligibility was guaranteed both by its visibility as image and its legibility as text …

‘Quickly produced and marketed, consumed and discarded, … the physiologies (like the sensational tabloids or canards hawked on Paris streetcorners of the period) are early instances of the cheap, throwaway “instant book” whose appeal lies in its very topicality and ephemerality’ (op. cit., pp. 165–7). Richard Sieburth, ‘Same difference: the French Physiologies, 1840–1842’, Notebooks in Cultural Analysis (Duke UP, 1984), pp. 163–200.

A satire on educated women, one of the many such little books illustrative of ‘the craze that swept Paris in the early 1840s for a series of small illustrated volumes marketed under the general title of physiologies [looking back, perhaps, to Brillat-Savarin’s bestselling Physiologie du goût (1826) and Balzac’s Physiologie du marriage (1830)]. Some 120 different physiologies were issued by various Parisian publishers between 1840 and 1842 (ranging alphabetically from the Physiologie de l’amant to the Physiologie du voyageur), and it is estimated that approximately half a million copies of these pocket-sized books were printed during the same two-year span’ (Sieburth, p. 163).

Designed for mass consumption, these satirical guides to particular social types were based on ‘the witty interaction of image and text, drawing and caption, seeing and reading … Byproducts of the recent technological advances in printing and paper manufacturing which had made illustrated books more commercially feasible and analogous to the various dioramas and panoramas which enjoyed a considerable popularity during the period, these illustrated anthologies of urban sites and mores catered to the public’s desire to see its social space as a stage or gallery whose intelligibility was guaranteed both by its visibility as image and its legibility as text …

‘Quickly produced and marketed, consumed and discarded, … the physiologies (like the sensational tabloids or canards hawked on Paris streetcorners of the period) are early instances of the cheap, throwaway “instant book” whose appeal lies in its very topicality and ephemerality’ (op. cit., pp. 165–7). Richard Sieburth, ‘Same difference: the French Physiologies, 1840–1842’, Notebooks in Cultural Analysis, (Duke UP, 1984), pp. 163–200.

First edition. A major catalogue of over 700 Empire-style neoclassical plaster ornaments for exteriors and interiors, plus some schemes for entire rooms. Beunat had evidently learned the art of plaster moulding in England before patenting his method in France and establishing his factory at Sarrebourg (Moselle) in 1805.

An illustrated companion to the private china collection of Mrs Sophia Wilson of Ledstone (Yorks), beginning a history of ceramics from its beginning to the date of composition, including the origins of porcelain in China, and recent developments in Europe by Wedgwood and the factories of Sèvres, Dresden and Berlin. There is also an interesting account of the process of contemporary British transfer decoration, illustrated with an original transfer paper:

‘When the paper comes from the printing press, it is, of course, found to be stamped with the intended pattern. It is then delivered, while wet with the colour, to a girl, who cuts off the supefluous paper with a pair of scissors, and passes it to another girl, who immediately applies it to a piece of biscuit ware, and then delivers it to a third who fixes it more firmly by rubbing it very hard with a piece of flannel tightly rolled’ [and so on].

The lithographs are evidently original (and probably not published elsewhere) and the manuscript may have been destined for private publication in lithograph, since we know that Dodds prepared a similar collection guide for Mrs Wilson’s collection of fossils Companion to the Minerals and Fossils, Contained in the Ledstone Museum (1827), privately printed. It is also known that the Wilsons had moved by 1834 to another part of Yorkshire, living at Oxton Hall near Tadcaster from 1841.

Sophia Wilson was evidently a major collector. The last few pages of the manuscript contain a description of her china rooms: with a vast Chinese ceiling lamp, two Sèvres urns (the gift of George IV), ‘a group representing a bower formed of espaliers and flowers in which is a negro with a flower basket, the gift of the Marchioness of Hertford’, together with other gifts from the Earl of Strathmore, the Countess of Darlington, Countess Fitzwilliam and the Countess of Lonsdale (and several others).

The author, George Dodds, was curate of Rochdale (Lancs), then Gainsborough (Lincs). He was educated at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge and became chaplain to the Marquis of Queensberry.

Lettice Hallett (1787–1859) was the eldest daughter of the Radical reformer William Hallett of Denford Park, near Kintbury, in Berkshire. She married solicitor Nash Crosier Hilliard (1789–1844), of Grey’s Inn, in 1819. The three-page section of writing here, dated 20 November 1825, records ‘A list of the several person of the respective Families of Nash Crosier Hilliard and of Lettice Elizabeth Hilliard living at this Period’: Hilliards, Halletts, Nelsons, and Fowles. The first section, for which the book has been turned on its side, in oblong format, contains poetry: a 24-line poem ‘On Science’ (‘E’er yet the Morn of Science rose on Earth …’) by ‘W. D.’; ‘Lines found deeply engraved on the Bark of a large Tree in the Neighbourhood of Mentz [i.e. Mainz] in Germany’; ‘Music’ by William Strode (1598–1645; ‘When whispering strains do softly steal …’); ‘To a Friend in Distress’ (‘Shrink not to meet with adverse fate or part, / When black the scene, then bravely arm your heart …’); ‘The Morning before the Ball’, ‘The Morning after the Ball’, and extracts from ‘The Traveller’ and ‘The Deserted Village’ by Goldsmith.

The other end of the book (for which the book has been flipped over to write) is taken up by a history of England, seemingly paraphrased, and expanded, by Lettice from Trusler’s Compendium of Useful Knowledge (1784 and later editions), from the Ancient Britons up to William the Conqueror and his sons.

A miniature lotto set, rare complete with all the printed cards and counters.