- Black, J. B.
Andrew Lang and the Casket Letter Controversy
Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd., Edinburgh, 1951, Wraps, , , Very Good
32 pp. A sticker shadow, some discoloration near edge of wraps, a few light pencil marks in text, else fine. Being the Andrew Lang Lecture delivered before the University of St. Andrews, 11 May 1949. ''You will see that I am leading you gently but firmly towards what is generally admitted to be the greatest 'Serbonian bog' of History, where 'armies whole' of critics have 'sunk', in vain effort to find bottom, and from which few have emerged with credit.''
An excellent report by Maureen Mulvihill of the auction of rare books and manuscripts from the estate of Paula Peyraud
The Paula Peyraud Collection: Samuel Johnson & Women Writers in Georgian Society. An Auction Report by Maureen E. Mulvihill as published in Eighteenth-Century Studies, Fall 2009, with 8 images and a list of selected buyers, prices & new locations of the Peyraud properties.
A pdf of the published report may be downloaded here: http://www.ilab.org/download.php?object=documentation&id=81
‘DARK LADY’ OF RARE BOOK COLLECTORS, PAULA FENTRESS PEYRAUD (CHAPPAQUA, NY, 1947 ~ 2008). Peyraud Collection Auction, May 2009, Bloomsbury Auctions N.Y. 483 Lots (books, manuscripts, images). Sales total: $1.6 million, including premium. Photograph, Margie Van Dyke. Bookplate from Peyraud copy of Frances Burney’s Cecilia, (lot 218, buyer McGill University). Bookplate bears inscribed initials (“FCP - EKP”), being the collector’s grandparents Frank C. Peyraud & Elizabeth Krysler Peyraud, both visual artists (see “Peyraud,” Benezit, vol. 10, 2006 edition).
"GREAT NATURE IS AN ARMY GAY"
Great nature is an army gay, Resistless marching on its way; I hear the bugles clear and sweet, I hear the tread of million feet. Across the plain I see it pour; It tramples down the waving grass; Within the echoing mountain-pass I hear a thousand cannon roar. It swarms within my garden gate; My deepest well it drinketh dry. It doth not rest; it doth not wait; By night and day it sweepeth by; Ceaseless it marcheth by my door; It heeds me not, though I implore. I know not whence it comes, nor where It goes. For me it doth not care - Whether I starve, or eat, or sleep, Or live, or die, or sing, or weep. And now the banners all are bright, Now torn and blackened by the fight. Sometimes its laughter shakes the sky, Sometimes the groans of those who die. Still through the night and through the livelong day The infinite army marches on its remorseless way.Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909]