IN THE COUNTRY OF GILBERT WHITE. 187 
closely the knowledge I had already gained, and to be more 
ready to make similar observations in future. 
I will now propose a few subjects that we might take as a 
beginning. Has any one of us ever selected some special bud 
on a tree in early spring, and carefully watched its course 
through the whole summer and autumn, and taken note of each 
stage of its progress — how many leaves it grew and how quickly, 
and whether it developed into a twig or only to one leaf and 
flower ; or did we ever take a little weed, and watch its life 
history till winter, how many leaves and flowers it grew, and 
when it began to put out its branches ; or have we ever followed 
the course of a bee from flower to flower, and perhaps traced 
it eventually to its hive or nest ? Perhaps some few of us may 
have done such things, but not many I think ; and to know a 
little, well, about one plant or insect will add to the pleasure 
and interest we feel in all of them. Perhaps better subjects than 
these may be suggested by your readers, l)ut I am sure that 
■on such lines as this we might found a useful development of 
amateur study of natural history. 
Letitia M. Dixon. 
IN THE COUNTRY OF GILBERT WHITE.- 
Ghosts of great men in London town 
Confuse the brains of such as dream. 
But here betwixt this hanging down 
And this great moorland, waste and brown. 
One only reigns supreme. 
In Wolmer Forest, old and wide. 
Along each sandy pine-girt glade 
And lonesome heather-bordered ride, 
A gentle presence haunts your side, 
A gracious reverend shade. 
And as you pass by Blackmoor grim 
And stand at gaze on Temple height, 
Methinks the fancy grows less dim ; 
Methinks you really talk with him 
Who once was Gilbert White ! 
For yonder lies his own true love. 
His little Selborne, dreaming still : 
The shapely “ Hanger” towers above. 
Girt with its beautiful beech grove. 
Like some old Grecian hill ! 
From The Speaker, June 17, 1S93. 
