IX 



GILBERT WHITE AGAIN 



/^NE of the few books which I can return to 

 ^-^ and re-read every six or seven years is Gilbert 

 White's Selborne. It has a perennial charm. It is 

 much like country things themselves. One does not 

 read it with excitement or eager avidity ; it is in a 

 low key ; it touches only upon minor matters ; it is 

 not eloquent, or witty, or profound ; it has only now 

 and then a twinkle of humor or a glint of fancy, 

 and yet it has lived an hundred years and promises 

 to live many hundreds of years more. So many 

 learned and elaborate treatises have sunk beneath 

 the waves upon which this cockle-shell of a book 

 rides so safely and buoyantly ! What is the secret 

 of its longevity ? One can do little more than 

 name its qualities without tracing them to their 

 sources. It is simple and wholesome, like bread, or 

 meat, or milk. Perhaps it is just this same unstrained 

 quality that keeps the book alive. Books that are 

 piquant and exciting like condiments, or cloying 

 like confectionery or pastry, it seems, have much 

 less chance of survival. The secret of longevity of 

 a man — what is it ? Sanity, moderation, regular- 

 ity, and that plus vitality, which is a gift. The 



