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Rev. Gilbert White (1720-1793) and The Natural History of Selborne Find!

I wondered whether this was yet another of those "Not quite a find" books, but then considered how I knew of this work. My first introduction was as a teenaged fan of the romantic suspense novels of Mary Stewart; the heroine of her first novel, "Madam, Will You Talk" was named Charity Selborne and another character makes reference to Gilbert White. Charity considers:

" ... not many thirteen-year-olds, I thought, would be so carelesssly familar with Gilbert White's letters from his little Hampshire villlage, which go under the title of The Natural History of Selborne. I had been right about the intelligence. I only knew the book myself because one is apt to be familiar with most of the contexts in which one's name appears."

And although I had heard of it, I certainly hadn't picked it up until the past few weeks, thanks to unearthing a copy in the local history section of Chandler's Ford library, tucked amongst the histories of Southampton in wartime and Eastleigh railway depot. In fact, the book was originally titled "The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne, in the County of Southampton" but the latter part of the book -- a parish history -- was less popular than the letters on natural history; even Thomas White, Gilbert's brother,  was less enthusiastic about this when writing a review for the Gentleman's Magazine!

The natural history selection was based on a series of letters that White wrote to Daines Barrington, a lawyer, antiquary, and naturalist, and Thomas Pennant, a well-known zoologist. They were based upon a journal that White kept of observations on the animals, flora, and in particular birds of his native Selborne. He was apparently the first person to identify the harvest mouse as a separate species -- and preserved specimens of it in brandy. He chose to limit himself to fairly local matters, providing both description and history. For example:

"In the centre of the village and near the church, is a square piece of ground surrounded by homes, and vulgarly called The Plestor. In the midst of this spot stood, in old times, a vast oak, with a short squat body, and huge horizontal arms extending almost to the extremity of the area. This venerable tree, surrounded with stone steps, and seats above them, was the delight of old and young, and a place of much resort in summer evenings; where the former sat in grave debate, while the latter frolicked and danced before them. Long might it have stood, had not the amazing tempest of 1703 overturned it at once, to the infinite regret of the inhabitants, and the vicar, who bestowed several pounds in setting it in its place again; but all his care could not avail; the tree sprouted for a time, then withered and died. This oak I mention to show to what a bulk planted oaks also may arrive ..."

Time for another literary trail, I think.

 

30 September 2009 from Rachel the editor

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