NOVEMBER 227 



century atmosphere one breathes in these letters, 

 which cover a period roughly of thirty years, from 1760 

 to 1790 — the time of wigs, cocked hats, short breeches 

 and knee-buckles. While a famous divine made the 

 world his parish, White made his parish his world. 

 But for rare visits to Oxford, and at long intervals 

 journeys into Sussex in a post-chaise, he passed his 

 days at Selborne, type of those whose every care a few 

 paternal acres bound, proto-type of the stay-at-home 

 naturalist, who cares not ; t.o roam, because within a 

 mile of home he can find enough of interest to fill a 

 lifetime. What need of Alps with the South Downs 

 at hand, of lakes when he had Frensham Pool ? As the 

 years ran on, everything upon which he set eyes 

 surrounded him with the friendships of a lifetime, and 

 each year eclipsed in interest the last, as he accumulated 

 fresh material for his calendar of the seasons, and 

 worked out in fuller detail the natural history of his 

 loved parish. He was unmarried, and his only occupa- 

 tion appears to have been that of a curious enquirer 

 into nature's ways and special reporter to the seasons, 

 — a life of perfect leisure, yet never dull, how far apart 

 from the strivings of this frenzied age, hermit-like in 

 its aloofness from the stir of cities, remote as ruffs and 

 farthingales, irrecoverable as the dodo. How the 

 mellow-warmth of by-gone summers seems to cling 

 to these pages — the memory of leisurely tea-drinkings 

 on the lawn, prolonged till the nightjar droned from 



