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The Natural History of Selborne

by Gilbert White

INVITATION TO SELBORNE.

See, Selborne spreads her boldest beauties round
The varied valley, and the mountain ground,
Wildly majestic ! What is all the pride,
Of flats, with loads of ornaments supplied ?--
Unpleasing, tasteless, impotent expense,
Compared with Nature's rude magnificenee.

Arise, my stranger, to these wild scenes haste;
The unfinish'd farm awaits your forming taste:
Plan the pavilion, airy, light, and true;
Through the high arch call in the length'ning view;
Expand the forest sloping up the hill;
Swell to a lake the scant, penurious rill;
Extend the vista; raise the castle mound
In antique taste, with turrets ivy-crown'd:
O'er the gay lawn the flow'ry shrub dispread,
Or with the blending garden mix the mead;
Bid China's pale, fantastic fence delight;
Or with the mimic statue trap the sight.

Oft on some evening, sunny, soft, and still,
The Muse shall lead thee to the beech-grown hill,
To spend in tea the cool, refreshing hour,
Where nods in air the pensile, nest-like bower;
Or where the hermit hangs the straw-clad cell,
Emerging gently from the leafy dell,
By fancy plann'd; as once th' inventive maid
Met the hoar sage amid the secret shade:
Romantic spot ! from whence in prospect lies
Whate'er of landscape charms our feasting eyes'--
The pointed spire, the hall, the pasture plain,
The russet fallow, or the golden grain,
The breezy lake that sheds a gleaming light,
Till all the fading picture fail the sight.

Each to his task; all different ways retire:
Cull the dry stick; call forth the seeds of fire;
Deep fix the kettle's props, a forky row,
Or give with fanning hat the breeze to blow.

Whence is this taste, the furnish'd hall forgot,
To feast in gardens, or th' unhandy grot ?
Or novelty with some new charms surprises,
Or from our very shifts some joy arises.
Hark, while below the village bells ring round,
Echo, sweet nymph, returns the soften'd sound;
But if gusts rise, the rushing forests roar,
Like the tide tumbling on the pebbly shore.

Adown the vale, in lone, sequester'd nook,
Where skirting woods imbrown the dimpling brook,
The ruin'd convent lies: here wont to dwell
The lazy canon midst his cloister'd cell,
While Papal darkness brooded o'er the land,
Ere Reformation made her glorious stand:
Still oft at eve belated shepherd swains
See the cowl'd spectre skim the folded plains.

To the high Temple would my stranger go,
The mountain-brow commands the woods below:
In Jewry first this order found a name,
When madding Croisades set the world in flame;
When western climes, urged on by pope and priest
Pour'd forth their minions o'er the deluged East:
Luxurious knights, ill suited to defy
To mortal fight Turcestan chivalry.

Nor be the parsonage by the Muse forgot --
The partial bard admires his native spot;
Smit with its beauties, loved, as yet a child,
Unconscious why, its capes, grotesque and wild.
High on a mound th' exalted gardens stand,
Beneath, deep valleys, scoop'd by Nature's hand.
A Cobham here, exulting in his art,
Might blend the general's with the gardener's part;
Might fortify with all the martial trade
Of rampart, bastion, fosse, and palisade;
Might plant the mortar with wide threat'ning bore,
Or bid the mimic cannon seem to roar:

Now climb the steep, drop now your eye belong
Where round the blooming village orchards grow;
There, like a picture, lies my lowly seat,
A rural, shelter'd, unobserved retreat.

Me far above the rest Selbornian scenes,
The pendent forests, and the mountain greens,
Strike with delight; there spreads the distant view,
That gradual fades till sunk in misty blue:
Here Nature hangs her slopy woods to sight,
Rills purl between and dart a quivering light.

SELBORNE HANGER.

A WINTER PIECE, TO THE MISS B*****S

The bard, who sang so late in blithest strain
Selbornian prospects, and the rural reign,
Now suits his plaintive pipe to sadden'd tone,
While the blank swains the changeful year bemoan.

How fallen the glories of these fading scenes !
The dusky beech resigns his vernal greens;
The yellow maple mourns in sickly hue,
And russet woodlands crowd the dark'ning view.

Dim, clust'ring fogs involve the country round,
The valley and the blended mountain ground
Sink in confusion; but with tempest-wing
Should Boreas from his northern barrier spring,
The rushing woods with deaf'ning clamour roar,
Like the sea tumbling on the pebbly shore.
When spouting rains descend in torrent tides,
See the torn zigzag weep its channel'd sides:
Winter exerts its rage; heavy and slow,
From the keen east rolls on the treasured snow;
Sunk with its weight the bending boughs are seen,
And one bright deluge whelms the works of men.
Amidst this savage landscape, bleak and bare,
Hangs the chill hermitage in middle air;
Its haunts forsaken, and its feasts forgot,
A leaf-strown, lonely, desolated cot !
Is this the scene that late with rapture rang,
Where Delphy danced, and gentle Anna sang ?
With fairy step where Harriet tripp'd so late,
And, on her stump reclined, the musing Kitty sate ?

Return, dear nymphs; prevent the purple spring,
Ere the soft nightingale essays to sing;
Ere the first swallow sweeps the fresh'ning plain,
Ere love-sick turtles breathe their amorous pain;
Let festive glee th' enliven'd village raise,
Pan's blameless reign, and patriarchal days;
With pastoral dance the smitten swain surprise,
And bring all Arcady before our eyes.

Return, blithe maidens; with you bring along
Free, native humour; all the charms of song;
The feeling heart, and unaffected ease;
Each nameless grace, and ev'ry power to please.

Nov. 1, 1763.

ON THE RAINBOW.

" Look upon the Rainbow, and praise him that made it: very
beautiful is it in the brightness thereof."-- Eccles., xliii. 11.

On morning or on evening cloud impress'd,
Bent in vast curve, the watery meteor shines
Delightfully, to th' levell'd sun opposed:
Lovely refraction ! while the vivid brede
In listed colours glows, th' unconscious swain,
With vacant eye, gazes on the divine
Phenomenon, gleaming o'er the illumined fields,
Or runs to catch the treasures which it sheds.

Not so the sage: inspired with pious awe,
He hails the federal arch ; and looking up,
Adores that God, whose fingers form'd this bow
Magnificent, compassing heaven about
With a resplendent verge, " Thou mad'st the cloud,
" Maker omnipotent, and thou the bow;
" And by that covenant graciously hast sworn
" Never to drown the world again: henceforth,
" Till time shall be no more, in ceaseless round,
" Season shall follow season: day to night,
" Summer to winter, harvest to seed time,
" Heat shall to cold in regular array
" Succeed. " -- Heav'n taught, so sang the Hebrew bard.

A HARVEST SCENE.

Waked by the gentle gleamings of the morn,
Soon clad, the reaper, provident of want,
Hies cheerful-hearted to the ripen'd field:
Nor hastes alone: attendant by his side
His faithful wife, sole partner of his cares,
Bears on her breast the sleeping babe; behind,
With steps unequal, trips her infant train;
Thrice happy pair, in love and labour join'd !

All day they ply their task; with mutual chat,
Beguiling each the sultry, tedious hours.
Around them falls in rows the sever'd corn,
Or the shocks rise in regular array.

But when high noon invites to short repast,
Beneath the shade of sheltering thorn they sit,
Divide the simple meal, and drain the cask:
The swinging cradle lulls the whimpering babe
Meantime; while growling round, if at the tread
Of hasty passenger alarm'd, as of their store
Protective, stalks the cur with bristling back,
To guard the scanty scrip and russet frock.

ON THE DARK, STILL, DRY, WARM WEATHER.

OCCASIONALLY HAPPENING IN THE WINTER MONTHS.

Th' imprison'd winds slumber within their caves,
Fast bound: the fickle vane, emblem of change,
Wavers no more, long settling to a point.

All Nature nodding seems composed: thick steams,
From land, from flood up-drawn, dimming the day,
" Like a dark ceiling stand: " slow through the air
Gossamer floats, or, stretch'd from blade to blade,
The wavy net-work whitens all the field.

Push'd by the weightier atmosphere, up springs
The ponderous mercury, from scale to scale
Mounting, amidst the Torricellian tube.

While high in air, and poised upon his wings,
Unseen, the soft, enamour'd woodlark runs
Through all his maze of melody; the brake,
Loud with the blackbird's bolder note, resounds.

Sooth'd by the genial warmth, the cawing rook
Anticipates the spring, selects her mate,
Haunts her tall nest-trees, and with sedulous care
Repairs her wicker eyrie, tempest-torn.

The ploughman inly smiles to see upturn
His mellow globe, best pledge of future crop:
With glee the gardener eyes his smoking beds;
E'en pining sickness feels a short relief

The happy schoolboy brings transported forth
His long-forgotten scourge, and giddy gig:
O'er the white paths he whirls the rolling hoop,
Or triumphs in the dusty fields of taw.

Not so the museful sage:--abroad he walks
Contemplative, if haply he may find
What cause controls the tempest's rage, or whence,
Amidst the savage season, Winter smiles.

For days, for weeks, prevails the placid calm.
At length some drops prelude a change: the sun
With ray refracted, bursts the parting gloom,
When all the chequer'd sky is one bright glare.

Mutters the wind at eve; th' horizon round
With angry aspect scowls: down rush the showers,
And float the deluged paths, and miry fields.

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE

In a series of letters addressed to THOMAS PENNANT, ESQ. and
The Hon. DAINES BARRINGTON

Advertisement

The Author of the following Letters takes the liberty, with all
proper deference, of laying before the public his idea of parochial
history, which, he thinks, ought to consist of natural productions
and occurrences as well as antiquities. He is also of opinion that if
stationary men would pay some attention to the districts on which
they reside, and would publish their thoughts respecting the objects
that surround them, from such materials might be drawn the most
complete county-histories, which are still wanting in several parts
of this kingdom, and in particular in the county of Southampton.

And here he seizes the first opportunity, though a late one, of
returning his most grateful acknowledgments to the reverend the
President and the reverend and worthy the Fellows of Magdalen
College in the University of Oxford, for their liberal behaviour in
permitting their archives to be searched by a member of their own
society, so far as the evidences therein contained might respect the
parish and priory of Selborne. To that gentleman also, and his
assistant, whose labours and attention could only be equalled by
the very kind manner in which they were bestowed, many and great
obligations are also due.

Of the authenticity of the documents above-mentioned there can be
no doubt, since they consist of the identical deeds and records that
were removed to the College from the Priory at the time of its
dissolution; and, being carefully copied on the spot, may be
depended on as genuine; and, never having been made public
before, may gratify the curiosity of the antiquary, as well as
establish the credit of the history.

If the writer should at all appear to have induced any of his leaders
to pay a more ready attention to the wonders of the Creation, too
frequently overlooked as common occurrences; or if he should by
any means, through his researches, have lent an helping hand
towards the enlargement of the boundaries of historical and
topographical knowledge; or if he should have thrown some small
light upon ancient customs and manners, and especially on those
that were monastic, his purpose will be fully answered. But if he
should not have been successful in any of these his intentions, yet
there remains this consolation behind--that these his pursuits, by
keeping the body and mind employed, have, under Providence,
contributed to much health and cheerfulness of spirits, even to old
age:--and, what still adds to his happiness, have led him to the
knowledge of a circle of gentlemen whose intelligent
communications, as they have afforded him much pleasing
information, so, could he flatter himself with a continuation of
them, would they ever be deemed a matter of singular satisfaction
and improvement.

Gil. White.
Selborne, January 1st, 1788.

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE

LETTERS to THOMAS PENNANT, ESQ.

Letter I
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire

The parish of Selborne lies in the extreme eastern corner of the
county of Hampshire, bordering on the county of Sussex, and not
far from the county of Surrey; is about fifty miles south-west of
London, in latitude 51, and near midway between the towns of
Alton and Peters field. Being very large and extensive, it abuts on
twelve parishes, two of which are in Sussex, viz., Trotton and
Rogate. If you begin from the south and proceed westward, the
adjacent parishes are Emshot, Newton Valence, Faringdon,
Harteley Mauduit, Great Ward le ham, Kingsley, Hedleigh,
Bramshot, Trotton, Rogate, Lysse, and Greatham. The soils of this
district are almost as various and diversified as the views and
aspects. The high part to the south-west consists of a vast hill of
chalk, rising three hundred feet above the village; and is divided
into a sheep down, the high wood, and a long hanging wood called
the Hanger. The covert of this eminence is altogether beech, the
most lovely of all forest trees, whether we consider its smooth rind
or bark, its glossy foliage, or graceful pendulous boughs. The
down, or sheep-walk, is a pleasing park-like spot, of about one
mile by half that space, jutting out on the verge of the hill-country,
where it begins to break down into the plains, and commanding a
very engaging view, being an assemblage of hill, dale, wood-lands,
heath, and water. The prospect is bounded to the south-east and
east by the vast range of mountains called the Susses-downs, by
Guild-down near Guildford, and by the Downs round Dorking, and
Ryegate in Surrey, to the north-east, which altogether, with the
country beyond Alton and Farnham, form a noble and extensive
outline.

At the foot of this hill, one stage or step from the uplands, lies the
village, which consists of one single straggling street, three-
quarters of a mile in length, in a sheltered vale, and running
parallel with the Hanger. The houses are divided from the hill by a
vein of stiff clay (good wheat-land), yet stand on a rock of white
stone, little in appearance removed from chalk; but seems so far
from being calcareous, that it endures extreme heat. Yet that the
freestone still preserves somewhat that is analogous to chalk, is
plain from the beeches which descend as low as those rocks
extend, and no farther, and thrive as well on them, where the
ground is steep, as on the chalks.

The cart-way of the village divides, in a remarkable manner, two
very incongruous soils. To the south-west is a rank-clay, that
requires the labour of years to render it mellow; while the gardens
to the north-east, and small enclosures behind, consist of a warm,
forward, crumbling mould, called black malm, which seems highly
saturated with vegetable and animal manure; and these may
perhaps have been the original site of the town; while the wood
and coverts might extend down to the opposite bank.

At each end of the village, which runs from south-east to north-
west, arises a small rivulet: that at the north-west end frequently
fails; but the other is a fine perennial spring, little influenced by
drought or wet seasons, called Well-head.* This breaks out of
some high grounds joining to Core Hill, a noble chalk promontory,
remarkable for sending forth two streams into two different seas.
The one to the south becomes a branch of the Arun, running to
Arundel, and so falling into the British Channel: the other to the
north. The Selborne stream makes one branch of the Wey; and
meeting the Black-down stream at Hedleigh, and the Alton and
Farnham stream at Tilford-bridge, swells into a considerable river,
navigable at Godalming; from whence it passes to Guildford, and
so into the Thames at Weybridge; and thus at the Nore into the
German Ocean.
(* This spring produced, September 14, 1781, after a severe hot
summer, and a preceding dry spring and winter, nine gallons of
water in a minute, which is five hundred and forty in an hour, and
twelve thousand nine hundred and sixty, or two hundred and
sixteen hogsheads, in twenty-four hours, or one natural day. At this
time many of the wells failed, and all the ponds in the vales were
dry.)

Our wells, at an average, run to about sixty-three feet, and when
sunk to that depth seldom fail; but produce a fine limpid water, soft
to the taste, and much commended by those who drink the pure
element, but which does not lather well with soap.

To the north-west, north and east of the village, is a range of fair
enclosures, consisting of what is called a white malm, a sort of
rotten or rubble stone, which, when turned up to the frost and rain,
moulders to pieces, and becomes manure to itself.**
(** This soil produces good wheat and clover.)

Still on to the north-east, and a step lower, is a kind of white land,
neither chalk nor clay, neither fit for pasture nor for the plough, yet
kindly for hops, which root deep into the freestone, and have their
poles and wood for charcoal growing just at hand. This white soil
produces the brightest hops.

As the parish still inclines down towards Wolmer-forest, at the
juncture of the clays and sand the soil becomes a wet, sandy loam,
remarkable for timber, and infamous for roads. The oaks of
Temple and Blackmoor stand high in the estimation of purveyors,
and have furnished much naval timber; while the trees on the
freestone grow large, but are what workmen call shakey, and so
brittle as often to fall to pieces in sawing. Beyond the sandy loam
the soil becomes an hungry lean sand, till it mingles with the
forest; and will produce little without the assistance of lime and
turnips.

Letter II
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire

In the court of Norton-farmhouse, a manor farm to the north-west
of the village, on the white maims, stood within these twenty years
a broad-leaved elm, or wych hazel, ulmus folio latissimo scabro of
Ray, which, though it had lost a considerable leading bough in the
great storm in the year 1703, equal to a moderate tree, yet, when
felled, contained eight loads of timber; and, being too bulky for a
carriage, was sawn off at seven feet above the butt, where it
measured near eight feet in the diameter. This elm I mention to
show to what a bulk planted elms may attain; as this tree must
certainly have been such from its situation.

In the centre of the village, and near the church, is a square piece
of ground surrounded by houses, 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 in 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: and planted this tree must certainly
have been, as will appear from what will be said farther concerning
this area, when we enter on the antiquities of Selborne.

On the Blackmoor estate there is a small wood called Losel's, of a
few acres, that was lately furnished with a set of oaks of a peculiar
growth and great value; they were tall and taper lice firs, but
standing near together had very small heads, only a little brush
without any large limbs. About twenty years ago the bridge at the
Toy, near Hampton-court, being much decayed, some trees were
wanted for the repairs that were fifty feet long without bough, and
would measure twelve inches diameter at the little end. Twenty
such trees did a purveyor find in this little wood, with this
advantage, that many of them answered the description at sixty
feet. These trees were sold for twenty pounds apiece.

In the centre of this grove there stood an oak, which, though
shapely and tall on the whole, bulged out into a large excrescence
about the middle of the stem. On this a pair of ravens had fixed
their residence for such a series of years, that the oak was
distinguished by the title of the Raven-tree. Many were the
attempts of the neighbouring youths to get at this eyry: the
difficulty whetted their inclinations, and each was ambitious of
surmounting the arduous task. But, when they arrived at the
swelling, it jutted out so in their way, and was so far beyond their
grasp, that the most daring lads were awed, and acknowledged the
undertaking to be too hazardous. So the ravens built on, nest upon
nest, in perfect security, till the fatal day arrived in which the wood
was to be levelled. It was in the month of February, when those
birds usually sit. The saw was applied to the butt, the wedges were
inserted into the opening, the woods echoed to the heavy blows of
the beetle or mallet, the tree nodded to its fall; but still the dam sat
on. At last, when it gave way, the bird was flung from her nest;
and, though her parental affection deserved a better fate, was
whipped down by the twigs, which brought her dead to the ground.

Letter III
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire

The fossil-shells of this district, and sorts of stone, such as have
fallen within my observation, must not be passed over in silence.
And first I must mention, as a great curiosity, a specimen that was
ploughed up in the chalky fields, near the side of the down, and
given to me for the singularity of its appearance, which, to an
incurious eye, seems like a petrified fish of about four inches long,
the cardo passing for an head and mouth. It is in reality a bivalve of
the Linnaean genus of Mytilus, and the species of Crista Galli;
called by Lister, Rastellum; by Rumphius, Ostreum plicatum
minus; by D'Argenville, Auris Porci, s. Crista Galli, and by those
who make collections cock's comb. Though I applied to several
such in London, I could never meet with an entire specimen; nor
could I ever find in books any engraving from a perfect one. In the
superb museum at Leicester-house, permission was given me to
examine for this article; and though I was disappointed as to the
fossil, I was highly gratified with the sight of several of the shells
themselves in high preservation. This bivalve is only known to
inhabit the Indian Ocean, where it fixes itself to a zoophyte, known
by the name Gorgonia. The curious foldings of the suture, the one
into the other, the alternate flutings or grooves, and the curved
form of my specimen being much easier expressed by the pencil
than by words, I have caused it to be drawn and engraved.

Cornua Ammonis are very common about this village. As we were
cutting an inclining path up the Hanger, the labourers found them
frequently on that steep, just under the soil, in the chalk, and of a
considerable size. In the lane above Well-head, in the way to
Emshot, they abound in the bank, in a darkish sort of marl; and are
usually very small and soft: but in Clay's Pond, a little farther on, at
the end of the pit, where the soil is dug out for manure, I have
occasionally observed them of large dimensions, perhaps fourteen
or sixteen inches in diameter. But as these did not consist of firm
stone, but were formed of a kind of terra lapidosa, or hardened
clay, as soon as they were exposed to the rains and frost they
mouldered away. These seemed as if they were a very recent
production. In the chalk-pit, at the north-west end of the Hanger,
large nautili are sometimes observed.

In the very thickest strata of our freestone, and at considerable
depths, well-diggers often find large scallops or pectines, having
both shells deeply striated, and ridged and furrowed alternately.
They are highly impregnated with, if not wholly composed of, the
stone of the quarry.

Letter IV
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire

As in a former letter the freestone of this place has been only
mentioned incidentally, I shall here become more particular.

This stone is in great request for hearth-stones and the beds of
ovens: and in lining of lime-kilns it turns to good account; for the
workmen use sandy loam instead of mortar; the sand of which
fluxes* and runs by the intense heat, and so cases over the whole
face of the kiln with a strong vitrified, coat like glass, that it is well
preserved from injuries of weather, and endures thirty or forty
years. When chiseled smooth, it makes elegant fronts for houses,
equal in colour and grain to the Bath stone; and superior in one
respect, that, when seasoned, it does not scale. Decent chimney-
pieces are worked from it of much closer and finer grain than
Portland; and rooms are floored with it; but it proves rather too soft
for this purpose. It is a freestone, cutting in all directions; yet has
something of a grain parallel with the horizon, and therefore should
not be surbedded, but laid in the same position as it grows in the
quarry.** On the ground abroad this firestone will not succeed for
pavements, because, probably, some degree of saltness prevailing
within it, the rain tears the slabs to pieces.*** Though this stone is
too hard to be acted on by vinegar, yet both the white part, and
even the blue rag, ferments strongly in mineral acids. Though the
white stone will not bear wet, yet in every quarry at intervals there
are thin strata of blue rag, which resist rain and frost; and are
excellent for pitching of stables, paths, and courts, and for building
of dry walls against banks, a valuable species of fencing, much in
use in this village, and for mending of roads. This rag is rugged and
stubborn, and will not hew to a smooth face; but is very durable:
yet, as these strata are shallow and lie deep, large quantities cannot
be procured but at considerable expense. Among the blue rags turn
up some blocks tinged with a stain of yellow or rust colour, which
seem to be nearly as lasting as the blue; and every now and then
balls of a friable substance, like rust of iron, called rust balls.
(* There may probably be also in the chalk itself that is burnt for
lime a proportion of sand: for few chalks are so pure as to have
none.)
(** To surbed stone is to set it edgewise, contrary to the posture it
had in the quarry, says Dr. Plot, Oxfordsh., p. 77. But surbedding
does not succeed in our dry walls; neither do we use it so in ovens,
though he says it is best for Teynton stone.)
(*** 'Firestone is full of salts, and has no sulphur: must be close
grained, and have no interstices. Nothing supports fire like salts;
saltstone perishes exposed to wet and frost.' Plot's Staff., p. 152.)

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