GILBERT WHITE AGAIN 169 



book that lives has these things, and it has that 

 same plus vitality, the secret of which cannot be ex- 

 plored. The sensational, intemperate books set the 

 world on fire for a day, and then end in ashes and 

 forgetfulness. 



White's book diffuses a sort of rural England at- 

 mosphere through the mind. It is not the work of 

 a city man who went down into the country to write 

 it up, but of a born countryman, — one who had in 

 the very texture of his mind the flavor of rural things. 

 Then it is the growth of a particular locality. Let 

 a man stick his staff into the ground anywhere and 

 say, " This is home,'' and describe things from 

 that point of view, or as they stand related to that 

 spot, — the weather, the fauna, the flora, — and his 

 account shall have an interest to us it could not 

 have if not thus located and defined. This is one 

 secret of White's charm. His work has a home air, 

 a certain privacy and particularity. The great world is 

 afar off ; Selborne is as snug and secluded as a chim- 

 ney corner ; we get an authentic glimpse into the 

 real life of one man there ; we see him going about 

 intent, lovingly intent, upon every phase of nature 

 about him. We get glimpses into humble cottages 

 and into the ways and doings of the people ; we see 

 the bacon drying in the chimneys ; we see the poor 

 gathering in Wolmer Forest the sticks and twigs 

 dropped by the rooks in building their nests ; we 

 see them claiming the " lop and top " when the 

 big trees are cut. Indeed, the human touches, the 

 human figures here and there in White's pages, add 



