AN APPRECIATION OF GILBERT WHITE 25 
from Marsham to White, I was enabled to publish in the Transac- 
tions of the Norfolk and Noru'ich Naturalists the complete series, 
consisting of twenty letters extending over the years 1790-1793 
with the addition of some valuable notes by Professor Newton. 
These letters were reprinted by Professor Bell in his edition of 
the “Natural History of Selborne ” (1877), ii., pp. 243-303, 
where they may be read by your members, and they will amply 
repay perusal. 
How highly White valued his correspondent may be judged 
by the expression, “ O, that I had known you forty years ago,” 
and the closing letter of the correspondence dated June 15, 1793, 
is probably the last this worthy man ever wrote, for he died 
on June 26, only eleven days after. 
Marsham died on September 4, 1797. 
Norwich, Thomas Southwell. 
January 18, 1904. 
AN OLD APPRECIATION OF GILBERT WHITE. 
CONTRIBUTOR kindly sends the following extract 
from The Mirror of 1840 ' — 
BlackivoocTs Magazine, No. ccxcix., September, 1840. 
[The memory of Gilbert White has long hallowed the spot on which “ the 
days of the years of his pilgrimage ” were holily passed ; and no traveller to 
Selborne but is filled with chaste delight on visiting the haunts of the reverend 
philosopher. Blackwood has a most pleasing paper this month upon the subject, 
entitled, “ K Visit to Selborne,” thoroughly imbued with good and gentle 
sentiments.] 
Harmony of Souls. 
I know not how, sitting on a stile, calmly gazing upon a quiet little village, 
and listening to the murmuring of an insignificant brook, in the twilight of an 
April evening, can fill the heart of man even to overflowing with a soft and 
balmy dreaminess — a gentle ecsiacy — a passive pleasure, which one cannot refer 
to any exercise of the imagination, for the imagination is not at work — nor to 
reflection, for in such cases there is no turning of the mind inward upon itself. 
Whether it is the realisation of the dreams of our fancy in the contemplation of 
a spot whose ideal picture long had occupied our mind, or whether some long- 
forgotten remembrance of the scenes — scenes, perchance, like this — of out early 
boyhood, or of our youthful loves, comes welling up in the breast, filling the eyes 
with not unpleasurable tears ; or whether, which is, perhaps, as likely as anything 
else, in the beholding a place where peace itself might dwell, the peace of Nature 
descends like dew, and fills the heart of the beholder with that peace which the 
world cannot give. Tne analysis of these delicious sensations I leave to the 
masters of the human heart, Sterne or Mackenzie. It is sufficient for me to be 
enabled to enjoy them. 
Venerable Oak at the Plestor. 
In the centre of the village (Selborne) 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 
