The Natural History of Selborne
by Gilbert White
INVITATION TO SELBORNE.
See, Selborne spreads her boldest beauties round
The varied valley, and the mountain ground,
Wildly majestic ! What is all the pride,
Of flats, with loads of ornaments supplied ?—
Unpleasing, tasteless, impotent expense,
Compared with Nature’s rude magnificenee.
Arise, my stranger, to these wild scenes haste;
The unfinish’d farm awaits your forming taste:
Plan the pavilion, airy, light, and true;
Through the high arch call in the length’ning view;
Expand the forest sloping up the hill;
Swell to a lake the scant, penurious rill;
Extend the vista; raise the castle mound
In antique taste, with turrets ivy-crown’d:
O’er the gay lawn the flow’ry shrub dispread,
Or with the blending garden mix the mead;
Bid China’s pale, fantastic fence delight;
Or with the mimic statue trap the sight.
Oft on some evening, sunny, soft, and still,
The Muse shall lead thee to the beech-grown hill,
To spend in tea the cool, refreshing hour,
Where nods in air the pensile, nest-like bower;
Or where the hermit hangs the straw-clad cell,
Emerging gently from the leafy dell,
By fancy plann’d; as once th’ inventive maid
Met the hoar sage amid the secret shade:
Romantic spot ! from whence in prospect lies
Whate’er of landscape charms our feasting eyes’—
The pointed spire, the hall, the pasture plain,
The russet fallow, or the golden grain,
The breezy lake that sheds a gleaming light,
Till all the fading picture fail the sight.
Each to his task; all different ways retire:
Cull the dry stick; call forth the seeds of fire;
Deep fix the kettle’s props, a forky row,
Or give with fanning hat the breeze to blow.
Whence is this taste, the furnish’d hall forgot,
To feast in gardens, or th’ unhandy grot ?
Or novelty with some new charms surprises,
Or from our very shifts some joy arises.
Hark, while below the village bells ring round,
Echo, sweet nymph, returns the soften’d sound;
But if gusts rise, the rushing forests roar,
Like the tide tumbling on the pebbly shore.
Adown the vale, in lone, sequester’d nook,
Where skirting woods imbrown the dimpling brook,
The ruin’d convent lies: here wont to dwell
The lazy canon midst his cloister’d cell,
While Papal darkness brooded o’er the land,
Ere Reformation made her glorious stand:
Still oft at eve belated shepherd swains
See the cowl’d spectre skim the folded plains.
To the high Temple would my stranger go,
The mountain-brow commands the woods below:
In Jewry first this order found a name,
When madding Croisades set the world in flame;
When western climes, urged on by pope and priest
Pour’d forth their minions o’er the deluged East:
Luxurious knights, ill suited to defy
To mortal fight Turcestan chivalry.
Nor be the parsonage by the Muse forgot —
The partial bard admires his native spot;
Smit with its beauties, loved, as yet a child,
Unconscious why, its capes, grotesque and wild.
High on a mound th’ exalted gardens stand,
Beneath, deep valleys, scoop’d by Nature’s hand.
A Cobham here, exulting in his art,
Might blend the general’s with the gardener’s part;
Might fortify with all the martial trade
Of rampart, bastion, fosse, and palisade;
Might plant the mortar with wide threat’ning bore,
Or bid the mimic cannon seem to roar:
Now climb the steep, drop now your eye belong
Where round the blooming village orchards grow;
There, like a picture, lies my lowly seat,
A rural, shelter’d, unobserved retreat.
Me far above the rest Selbornian scenes,
The pendent forests, and the mountain greens,
Strike with delight; there spreads the distant view,
That gradual fades till sunk in misty blue:
Here Nature hangs her slopy woods to sight,
Rills purl between and dart a quivering light.
SELBORNE HANGER.
A WINTER PIECE, TO THE MISS B*****S
The bard, who sang so late in blithest strain
Selbornian prospects, and the rural reign,
Now suits his plaintive pipe to sadden’d tone,
While the blank swains the changeful year bemoan.
How fallen the glories of these fading scenes !
The dusky beech resigns his vernal greens;
The yellow maple mourns in sickly hue,
And russet woodlands crowd the dark’ning view.
Dim, clust’ring fogs involve the country round,
The valley and the blended mountain ground
Sink in confusion; but with tempest-wing
Should Boreas from his northern barrier spring,
The rushing woods with deaf’ning clamour roar,
Like the sea tumbling on the pebbly shore.
When spouting rains descend in torrent tides,
See the torn zigzag weep its channel’d sides:
Winter exerts its rage; heavy and slow,
From the keen east rolls on the treasured snow;
Sunk with its weight the bending boughs are seen,
And one bright deluge whelms the works of men.
Amidst this savage landscape, bleak and bare,
Hangs the chill hermitage in middle air;
Its haunts forsaken, and its feasts forgot,
A leaf-strown, lonely, desolated cot !
Is this the scene that late with rapture rang,
Where Delphy danced, and gentle Anna sang ?
With fairy step where Harriet tripp’d so late,
And, on her stump reclined, the musing Kitty sate ?
Return, dear nymphs; prevent the purple spring,
Ere the soft nightingale essays to sing;
Ere the first swallow sweeps the fresh’ning plain,
Ere love-sick turtles breathe their amorous pain;
Let festive glee th’ enliven’d village raise,
Pan’s blameless reign, and patriarchal days;
With pastoral dance the smitten swain surprise,
And bring all Arcady before our eyes.
Return, blithe maidens; with you bring along
Free, native humour; all the charms of song;
The feeling heart, and unaffected ease;
Each nameless grace, and ev’ry power to please.
_Nov_. 1, 1763.
ON THE RAINBOW.
“Look upon the Rainbow, and praise him that made it: very beautiful is
it in the brightness thereof.”—_Eccles_., xliii. 11.
On morning or on evening cloud impress’d,
Bent in vast curve, the watery meteor shines
Delightfully, to th’ levell’d sun opposed:
Lovely refraction ! while the vivid brede
In listed colours glows, th’ unconscious swain,
With vacant eye, gazes on the divine
Phenomenon, gleaming o’er the illumined fields,
Or runs to catch the treasures which it sheds.
Not so the sage: inspired with pious awe,
He hails the federal arch ; and looking up,
Adores that God, whose fingers form’d this bow
Magnificent, compassing heaven about
With a resplendent verge, “Thou mad’st the cloud,
“Maker omnipotent, and thou the bow;
“And by that covenant graciously hast sworn
“Never to drown the world again: henceforth,
“Till time shall be no more, in ceaseless round,
“Season shall follow season: day to night,
“Summer to winter, harvest to seed time,
“Heat shall to cold in regular array
“Succeed.”—Heav’n taught, so sang the Hebrew bard.
A HARVEST SCENE.
Waked by the gentle gleamings of the morn,
Soon clad, the reaper, provident of want,
Hies cheerful-hearted to the ripen’d field:
Nor hastes alone: attendant by his side
His faithful wife, sole partner of his cares,
Bears on her breast the sleeping babe; behind,
With steps unequal, trips her infant train;
Thrice happy pair, in love and labour join’d !
All day they ply their task; with mutual chat,
Beguiling each the sultry, tedious hours.
Around them falls in rows the sever’d corn,
Or the shocks rise in regular array.
But when high noon invites to short repast,
Beneath the shade of sheltering thorn they sit,
Divide the simple meal, and drain the cask:
The swinging cradle lulls the whimpering babe
Meantime; while growling round, if at the tread
Of hasty passenger alarm’d, as of their store
Protective, stalks the cur with bristling back,
To guard the scanty scrip and russet frock.
ON THE DARK, STILL, DRY, WARM WEATHER.
OCCASIONALLY HAPPENING IN THE WINTER MONTHS.
Th’ imprison’d winds slumber within their caves,
Fast bound: the fickle vane, emblem of change,
Wavers no more, long settling to a point.
All Nature nodding seems composed: thick steams,
From land, from flood up-drawn, dimming the day,
“Like a dark ceiling stand:” slow through the air
Gossamer floats, or, stretch’d from blade to blade,
The wavy net-work whitens all the field.
Push’d by the weightier atmosphere, up springs
The ponderous mercury, from scale to scale
Mounting, amidst the Torricellian tube.
While high in air, and poised upon his wings,
Unseen, the soft, enamour’d woodlark runs
Through all his maze of melody; the brake,
Loud with the blackbird’s bolder note, resounds.
Sooth’d by the genial warmth, the cawing rook
Anticipates the spring, selects her mate,
Haunts her tall nest-trees, and with sedulous care
Repairs her wicker eyrie, tempest-torn.
The ploughman inly smiles to see upturn
His mellow globe, best pledge of future crop:
With glee the gardener eyes his smoking beds;
E’en pining sickness feels a short relief
The happy schoolboy brings transported forth
His long-forgotten scourge, and giddy gig:
O’er the white paths he whirls the rolling hoop,
Or triumphs in the dusty fields of taw.
Not so the museful sage:—abroad he walks
Contemplative, if haply he may find
What cause controls the tempest’s rage, or whence,
Amidst the savage season, Winter smiles.
For days, for weeks, prevails the placid calm.
At length some drops prelude a change: the sun
With ray refracted, bursts the parting gloom,
When all the chequer’d sky is one bright glare.
Mutters the wind at eve; th’ horizon round
With angry aspect scowls: down rush the showers,
And float the deluged paths, and miry fields.
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE
In a series of letters addressed to
THOMAS PENNANT, ESQ.
and
The Hon. DAINES BARRINGTON
ADVERTISEMENT
The Author of the following Letters takes the liberty, with all proper
deference, of laying before the public his idea of parochial history,
which, he thinks, ought to consist of natural productions and
occurrences as well as antiquities. He is also of opinion that if
stationary men would pay some attention to the districts on which they
reside, and would publish their thoughts respecting the objects that
surround them, from such materials might be drawn the most complete
county-histories, which are still wanting in several parts of this
kingdom, and in particular in the county of Southampton.
And here he seizes the first opportunity, though a late one, of
returning his most grateful acknowledgments to the reverend the
President and the reverend and worthy the Fellows of Magdalen College
in the University of Oxford, for their liberal behaviour in permitting
their archives to be searched by a member of their own society, so far
as the evidences therein contained might respect the parish and priory
of Selborne. To that gentleman also, and his assistant, whose labours
and attention could only be equalled by the very kind manner in which
they were bestowed, many and great obligations are also due.
Of the authenticity of the documents above-mentioned there can be no
doubt, since they consist of the identical deeds and records that were
removed to the College from the Priory at the time of its dissolution;
and, being carefully copied on the spot, may be depended on as genuine;
and, never having been made public before, may gratify the curiosity of
the antiquary, as well as establish the credit of the history.
If the writer should at all appear to have induced any of his readers
to pay a more ready attention to the wonders of the Creation, too
frequently overlooked as common occurrences; or if he should by any
means, through his researches, have lent an helping hand towards the
enlargement of the boundaries of historical and topographical
knowledge; or if he should have thrown some small light upon ancient
customs and manners, and especially on those that were monastic, his
purpose will be fully answered. But if he should not have been
successful in any of these his intentions, yet there remains this
consolation behind—that these his pursuits, by keeping the body and
mind employed, have, under Providence, contributed to much health and
cheerfulness of spirits, even to old age:—and, what still adds to his
happiness, have led him to the knowledge of a circle of gentlemen whose
intelligent communications, as they have afforded him much pleasing
information, so, could he flatter himself with a continuation of them,
would they ever be deemed a matter of singular satisfaction and
improvement.
GIL. WHITE.
Selborne,
January 1st, 1788.
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE
LETTERS to THOMAS PENNANT, ESQ.
Letter I
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
The parish of Selborne lies in the extreme eastern corner of the county
of Hampshire, bordering on the county of Sussex, and not far from the
county of Surrey; is about fifty miles south-west of London, in
latitude 51, and near midway between the towns of Alton and
Petersfield. Being very large and extensive, it abuts on twelve
parishes, two of which are in Sussex, viz., Trotton and Rogate. If you
begin from the south and proceed westward, the adjacent parishes are
Emshot, Newton Valence, Faringdon, Harteley Mauduit, Great Ward le Ham,
Kingsley, Hedleigh, Bramshot, Trotton, Rogate, Lysse, and Greatham. The
soils of this district are almost as various and diversified as the
views and aspects. The high part to the south-west consists of a vast
hill of chalk, rising three hundred feet above the village; and is
divided into a sheep down, the high wood, and a long hanging wood
called the Hanger. The covert of this eminence is altogether beech, the
most lovely of all forest trees, whether we consider its smooth rind or
bark, its glossy foliage, or graceful pendulous boughs. The down, or
sheep-walk, is a pleasing park-like spot, of about one mile by half
that space, jutting out on the verge of the hill-country, where it
begins to break down into the plains, and commanding a very engaging
view, being an assemblage of hill, dale, wood-lands, heath, and water.
The prospect is bounded to the south-east and east by the vast range of
mountains called the Susses-downs, by Guild-down near Guildford, and by
the Downs round Dorking, and Ryegate in Surrey, to the north-east,
which altogether, with the country beyond Alton and Farnham, form a
noble and extensive outline.
At the foot of this hill, one stage or step from the uplands, lies the
village, which consists of one single straggling street, three-quarters
of a mile in length, in a sheltered vale, and running parallel with the
Hanger. The houses are divided from the hill by a vein of stiff clay
(good wheat-land), yet stand on a rock of white stone, little in
appearance removed from chalk; but seems so far from being calcareous,
that it endures extreme heat. Yet that the freestone still preserves
somewhat that is analogous to chalk, is plain from the beeches which
descend as low as those rocks extend, and no farther, and thrive as
well on them, where the ground is steep, as on the chalks.
The cart-way of the village divides, in a remarkable manner, two very
incongruous soils. To the south-west is a rank-clay, that requires the
labour of years to render it mellow; while the gardens to the
north-east, and small enclosures behind, consist of a warm, forward,
crumbling mould, called black malm, which seems highly saturated with
vegetable and animal manure; and these may perhaps have been the
original site of the town; while the wood and coverts might extend down
to the opposite bank.
At each end of the village, which runs from south-east to north-west,
arises a small rivulet: that at the north-west end frequently fails;
but the other is a fine perennial spring, little influenced by drought
or wet seasons, called Well-head.* This breaks out of some high grounds
joining to Core Hill, a noble chalk promontory, remarkable for sending
forth two streams into two different seas. The one to the south becomes
a branch of the Arun, running to Arundel, and so falling into the
British Channel: the other to the north. The Selborne stream makes one
branch of the Wey; and meeting the Black-down stream at Hedleigh, and
the Alton and Farnham stream at Tilford-bridge, swells into a
considerable river, navigable at Godalming; from whence it passes to
Guildford, and so into the Thames at Weybridge; and thus at the Nore
into the German Ocean.
* This spring produced, September 14, 1781, after a severe hot summer,
and a preceding dry spring and winter, nine gallons of water in a
minute, which is five hundred and forty in an hour, and twelve thousand
nine hundred and sixty, or two hundred and sixteen hogsheads, in
twenty-four hours, or one natural day. At this time many of the wells
failed, and all the ponds in the vales were dry.
Our wells, at an average, run to about sixty-three feet, and when sunk
to that depth seldom fail; but produce a fine limpid water, soft to the
taste, and much commended by those who drink the pure element, but
which does not lather well with soap.
To the north-west, north and east of the village, is a range of fair
enclosures, consisting of what is called a white malm, a sort of rotten
or rubble stone, which, when turned up to the frost and rain, moulders
to pieces, and becomes manure to itself.*
* This soil produces good wheat and clover.
Still on to the north-east, and a step lower, is a kind of white land,
neither chalk nor clay, neither fit for pasture nor for the plough, yet
kindly for hops, which root deep into the freestone, and have their
poles and wood for charcoal growing just at hand. This white soil
produces the brightest hops.
As the parish still inclines down towards Wolmer-forest, at the
juncture of the clays and sand the soil becomes a wet, sandy loam,
remarkable for timber, and infamous for roads. The oaks of Temple and
Blackmoor stand high in the estimation of purveyors, and have furnished
much naval timber; while the trees on the freestone grow large, but are
what workmen call shakey, and so brittle as often to fall to pieces in
sawing. Beyond the sandy loam the soil becomes an hungry lean sand,
till it mingles with the forest; and will produce little without the
assistance of lime and turnips.
Letter II
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
In the court of Norton-farmhouse, a manor farm to the north-west of the
village, on the white maims, stood within these twenty years a
broad-leaved elm, or wych hazel, ulmus folio latissimo scabro of Ray,
which, though it had lost a considerable leading bough in the great
storm in the year 1703, equal to a moderate tree, yet, when felled,
contained eight loads of timber; and, being too bulky for a carriage,
was sawn off at seven feet above the butt, where it measured near eight
feet in the diameter. This elm I mention to show to what a bulk planted
elms may attain; as this tree must certainly have been such from its
situation.
In the centre of the village, 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 sat in grave debate, while the latter
frolicked and danced before them. Long might it have stood, had not the
amazing tempest in 1703 overturned it at once, to the infinite regret
of the inhabitants, and the vicar, who bestowed several pounds in
setting it in its place again; but all his care could not avail; the
tree sprouted for a time, then withered and died. This oak I mention to
show to what a bulk planted oaks also may arrive: and planted this tree
must certainly have been, as will appear from what will be said farther
concerning this area, when we enter on the antiquities of Selborne.
On the Blackmoor estate there is a small wood called Losel’s, of a few
acres, that was lately furnished with a set of oaks of a peculiar
growth and great value; they were tall and taper like firs, but
standing near together had very small heads, only a little brush
without any large limbs. About twenty years ago the bridge at the Toy,
near Hampton-court, being much decayed, some trees were wanted for the
repairs that were fifty feet long without bough, and would measure
twelve inches diameter at the little end. Twenty such trees did a
purveyor find in this little wood, with this advantage, that many of
them answered the description at sixty feet. These trees were sold for
twenty pounds apiece.
In the centre of this grove there stood an oak, which, though shapely
and tall on the whole, bulged out into a large excrescence about the
middle of the stem. On this a pair of ravens had fixed their residence
for such a series of years, that the oak was distinguished by the title
of the Raven-tree. Many were the attempts of the neighbouring youths to
get at this eyry: the difficulty whetted their inclinations, and each
was ambitious of surmounting the arduous task. But, when they arrived
at the swelling, it jutted out so in their way, and was so far beyond
their grasp, that the most daring lads were awed, and acknowledged the
undertaking to be too hazardous. So the ravens built on, nest upon
nest, in perfect security, till the fatal day arrived in which the wood
was to be levelled. It was in the month of February, when those birds
usually sit. The saw was applied to the butt, the wedges were inserted
into the opening, the woods echoed to the heavy blows of the beetle or
mallet, the tree nodded to its fall; but still the dam sat on. At last,
when it gave way, the bird was flung from her nest; and, though her
parental affection deserved a better fate, was whipped down by the
twigs, which brought her dead to the ground.
Letter III
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
The fossil-shells of this district, and sorts of stone, such as have
fallen within my observation, must not be passed over in silence. And
first I must mention, as a great curiosity, a specimen that was
ploughed up in the chalky fields, near the side of the down, and given
to me for the singularity of its appearance, which, to an incurious
eye, seems like a petrified fish of about four inches long, the cardo
passing for an head and mouth. It is in reality a bivalve of the
Linnaean genus of Mytilus, and the species of Crista Galli; called by
Lister, Rastellum; by Rumphius, Ostreum plicatum minus; by
D’Argenville, Auris Porci, s. Crista Galli, and by those who make
collections cock’s comb. Though I applied to several such in London, I
could never meet with an entire specimen; nor could I ever find in
books any engraving from a perfect one. In the superb museum at
Leicester-house, permission was given me to examine for this article;
and though I was disappointed as to the fossil, I was highly gratified
with the sight of several of the shells themselves in high
preservation. This bivalve is only known to inhabit the Indian Ocean,
where it fixes itself to a zoophyte, known by the name Gorgonia. The
curious foldings of the suture, the one into the other, the alternate
flutings or grooves, and the curved form of my specimen being much
easier expressed by the pencil than by words, I have caused it to be
drawn and engraved.
Cornua Ammonis are very common about this village. As we were cutting
an inclining path up the Hanger, the labourers found them frequently on
that steep, just under the soil, in the chalk, and of a considerable
size. In the lane above Well-head, in the way to Emshot, they abound in
the bank, in a darkish sort of marl; and are usually very small and
soft: but in Clay’s Pond, a little farther on, at the end of the pit,
where the soil is dug out for manure, I have occasionally observed them
of large dimensions, perhaps fourteen or sixteen inches in diameter.
But as these did not consist of firm stone, but were formed of a kind
of terra lapidosa, or hardened clay, as soon as they were exposed to
the rains and frost they mouldered away. These seemed as if they were a
very recent production. In the chalk-pit, at the north-west end of the
Hanger, large nautili are sometimes observed.
In the very thickest strata of our freestone, and at considerable
depths, well-diggers often find large scallops or pectines, having both
shells deeply striated, and ridged and furrowed alternately. They are
highly impregnated with, if not wholly composed of, the stone of the
quarry.
Letter IV
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
As in a former letter the freestone of this place has been only
mentioned incidentally, I shall here become more particular.
This stone is in great request for hearth-stones and the beds of ovens:
and in lining of lime-kilns it turns to good account; for the workmen
use sandy loam instead of mortar; the sand of which fluxes* and runs by
the intense heat, and so cases over the whole face of the kiln with a
strong vitrified coat like glass, that it is well preserved from
injuries of weather, and endures thirty or forty years. When chiseled
smooth, it makes elegant fronts for houses, equal in colour and grain
to the Bath stone; and superior in one respect, that, when seasoned, it
does not scale. Decent chimney-pieces are worked from it of much closer
and finer grain than Portland; and rooms are floored with it; but it
proves rather too soft for this purpose. It is a freestone, cutting in
all directions; yet has something of a grain parallel with the horizon,
and therefore should not be surbedded, but laid in the same position as
it grows in the quarry.** On the ground abroad this firestone will not
succeed for pavements, because, probably, some degree of saltness
prevailing within it, the rain tears the slabs to pieces.*** Though
this stone is too hard to be acted on by vinegar, yet both the white
part, and even the blue rag, ferments strongly in mineral acids. Though
the white stone will not bear wet, yet in every quarry at intervals
there are thin strata of blue rag, which resist rain and frost; and are
excellent for pitching of stables, paths, and courts, and for building
of dry walls against banks, a valuable species of fencing, much in use
in this village, and for mending of roads. This rag is rugged and
stubborn, and will not hew to a smooth face; but is very durable: yet,
as these strata are shallow and lie deep, large quantities cannot be
procured but at considerable expense. Among the blue rags turn up some
blocks tinged with a stain of yellow or rust colour, which seem to be
nearly as lasting as the blue; and every now and then balls of a
friable substance, like rust of iron, called rust balls.
* There may probably be also in the chalk itself that is burnt for lime
a proportion of sand: for few chalks are so pure as to have none.
** To surbed stone is to set it edgewise, contrary to the posture it
had in the quarry, says Dr. Plot, Oxfordsh., p. 77. But surbedding does
not succeed in our dry walls; neither do we use it so in ovens, though
he says it is best for Teynton stone.
*** ‘Firestone is full of salts, and has no sulphur: must be close
grained, and have no interstices. Nothing supports fire like salts;
saltstone perishes exposed to wet and frost.’ Plot’s Staff., p. 152.
In Wolmer-forest I see but one sort of stone, called by the workmen
sand, or forest-stone. This is generally of the colour of rusty iron,
and might probably be worked as iron ore; is very hard and heavy, and
of a firm, compact texture, and composed of a small roundish
crystalline grit, cemented together by a brown, terrene, ferruginous
matter; will not cut without difficulty, nor easily strike fire with
steel. Being often found in broad flat pieces, it makes good pavement
for paths about houses, never becoming slippery in frost or rain; is
excellent for dry walls, and is sometimes used in buildings. In many
parts of that waste it lies scattered on the surface of the ground; but
is dug on Weaver’s-down, a vast hill on the eastern verge of that
forest, where the pits are shallow, and the stratum thin. This stone is
imperishable.
From a notion of rendering their work the more elegant, and giving it a
finish, masons chip this stone into small fragments about the size of
the head of a large nail; and then stick the pieces into the wet mortar
along the joints of their freestone walls: this embellishment carries
an odd appearance, and has occasioned strangers sometimes to ask us
pleasantly, ‘whether we fastened our walls together with tenpenny
nails.’
Letter V
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
Among the singularities of this place the two rocky hollow lanes, the
one to Alton, and the other to the forest, deserve our attention. These
roads, running through the malm lands, are, by the traffic of ages,
and the fretting of water, worn down through the first stratum of our
freestone, and partly through the second; so that they look more like
water-courses than roads; and are bedded with naked rag for furlongs
together. In many places they are reduced sixteen or eighteen feet
beneath the level of the fields; and after floods, and in frosts,
exhibit very grotesque and wild appearances, from the tangled roots
that are twisted among the strata, and from the torrents rushing down
their broken sides; and especially when those cascades are frozen into
icicles, hanging in all the fanciful shapes of frost-work. These rugged
gloomy scenes affright the ladies when they peep down into them from
the paths above, and make timid horsemen shudder while they ride along
them; but delight the naturalist with their various botany, and
particularly with their curious filices with which they abound.
The manor of Selborne, was it strictly looked after, with its kindly
aspects, and all its sloping coverts, would swarm with game; even now
hares, partridges, and pheasants abound; and in old days woodcocks were
as plentiful. There are few quails, because they more affect open
fields than enclosures; after harvest some few landrails are seen.
The parish of Selborne, by taking in so much of the forest, is a vast
district. Those who tread the bounds are employed part of three days in
the business, and are of opinion that the outline, in all its curves
and indentings, does not comprise less than thirty miles.
The village stands in a sheltered spot, secured by the Hanger from the
strong westerly winds. The air is soft, but rather moist from the
effluvia of so many trees; yet perfectly healthy and free from agues.
The quantity of rain that falls on it is very considerable, as may be
supposed in so woody and mountainous a district. As my experience in
measuring the water is but of short date, I am not qualified to give
the mean quantity.* I only know that:
Inch. Hund.
From May 1, 1779, to the end of the year, there fell 28 37!
From Jan. 1, 1780, to Jan. 1, 1781, there fell 27 32
From Jan. 1, 1781, to Jan. 1, 1782, there fell 30 71
From Jan. 1, 1782, to Jan. 1, 1783, there fell 50 26!
From Jan. 1, 1783, to Jan. 1, 1784, there fell 33 71
From Jan. 1, 1784, to Jan. 1, 1785, there fell 33 80
From Jan. 1, 1785, to Jan. 1, 1786, there fell 31 55
From Jan. 1, 1786, to Jan. 1, 1787, there fell 39 57
* A very intelligent gentleman assures me (and he speaks from upwards
of forty years’ experience) that the mean rain of any plate cannot be
ascertained till a person has measured it for a very long period. ‘If I
had only measured the rain,’ says he, ‘for the four first years from
1740 to 1743, I should have said the mean rain at Lyndon was 16 and a
half inches for the year, if from 1740 to 1750, 18 and a half inches.
The mean rain before 1763 was 20 and a quarter, from 1763 and since, 25
and a half; from 1770 to 1780, 26. If only 1773, 1774 and 1775 had been
measured, Lyndon mean rain would have been called 32 inches.’
The village of Selborne, and large hamlet of Oak-hanger, with the
single farms, and many scattered houses along the verge of the forest,
contain upwards of six hundred and seventy inhabitants.* We abound with
poor; many of whom are sober and industrious, and live comfortably in
good stone or brick cottages, which are glazed, and have chambers above
stairs: mud buildings we have none. Besides the employment from
husbandry the men work in hop gardens, of which we have many; and fell
and bark timber. In the spring and summer the women weed the corn; and
enjoy a second harvest in September by hop-picking. Formerly, in the
dead months they availed themselves greatly by spinning wool, for
making of barragons, a genteel corded stuff, much in vogue at that time
for summer wear; and chiefly manufactured at Alton, a neighbouring
town, by some of the people called Quakers: but from circumstances this
trade is at an end.** The inhabitants enjoy a good share of health and
longevity: and the parish swarms with children.
* A state of the parish of Selborne, taken October 4, 1783.
The number of tenements or families, 136.
The number of inhabitants in the street is … 313
In the rest of the parish … 363
Total, 676; near five inhabitants to each tenement.
In the time of the Rev. Gilbert White, vicar, who died in 1727–8, the
number of inhabitants was computed at about 500.)
Average of baptisms for 60 years.
From 1720 to 1729, both years inclusive Males 6,9 Females
6,0 12,9
From 1730 to 1739, both years inclusive Males 8,2 Females
7,1 15,3
From 1740 to 1749, inclusive Males 9,2 Females 6,6 15,8
From 1750 to 1759, inclusive Males 7,6 Females 8,1 15,7
From 1760 to 1769, inclusive Males 9,1 Females 8,9 18,0
From 1770 to 1779, inclusive Males 10,5 Females 9,8 20
3
Total baptisms of Males 515
Females 465 980
Total of baptisms from 1720 to 1779, both inclusive, 60 years
980.
Average of burials for 60 years.
From 1720 to 1729, both years inclusive Males 4,8 Females
5,1 9,9
From 1730 to 1739, both years inclusive Males 4,8 Females
5,8 10,6
From 1740 to 1749, inclusive Males 4,6 Females 3,8 8,4
From 1750 to 1759, inclusive Males 4,9 Females 5,1 10,0
From 1760 to 1769, inclusive Males 6,9 Females 6,5 13,4
From 1770 to 1779, inclusive Males 5,5 Females 6,2 11,7
Total of burials of Males 315
Females 325 640
Total of burials from 1720 to 1779 both inclusive, 60 years 640.
Baptisms exceed burials by more them one-third.
Baptisms of Males exceed Females by one-tenth, or one in ten.
Burials of Females exceed Males by one in thirty.
It appears that a child, born and bred in this parish, has an equal
chance to live above forty years.
Twins thirteen times, many of whom dying young have lessened the chance
for life.
Chances for life in men and women appear to be equal.
A TABLE of the Baptisms, Burials, and Marriages, from January 2, 1761,
to December 25, 1780, in the Parish of Selborne.
Baptisms.
1761 Males 8 Females 10 Total 18 1762 7 8
15 1763 8 10 18 1764 11 9 20 1765 12 6
18 1766 9 13 22 1767 14 5 19 1768 7 6
13 1769 9 14 23 1770 10 13 23 1771 10 6
16 1772 11 10 21 1773 8 5 13 1774 6 13
19 1775 20 7 27 1776 11 10 21 1777 8 13
21 1778 7 13 20 1779 14 8 22 1780 8 9
17 198 188 386
Burials.
1761 Males 2 Females 4 Total 6 1762 10 10
20 1763 3 4 7 1764 10 8 18 1765 9 7
16 1766 10 6 16 1767 6 5 11 1768 2 5
7 1769 6 5 11 1770 4 7 11 1771 3 4 7
1772 6 10 16 1773 7 5 12 1774 2 8 10
1775 13 8 21 1776 4 6 10 1777 7 2
9 1778 3 9 12 1779 5 6 11 1780 11 4
15 123 123 246
Marriages.
1761 3 1762 6 1763 7 1764 6 1765 6 1766 4 1767
2 1768 6 1769 2 1770 3 1771 4 1772 3 1773 3
1774 1 1775 6 1776 6 1777 4 1778 5 1779 0 1780
3 83
During this period of twenty years the births of Males exceeded those
of Females 10.
The burials of each sex were equal.
And the births exceeded the deaths 140.
** Since the passage above was written, I am happy in being able to say
that the spinning employment is a little revived, to the no small
comfort of the industrious housewife.
Letter VI
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
Should I omit to describe with some exactness the forest of Wolmer, of
which three-fifths perhaps lie in this parish, my account of Selborne
would be very imperfect, as it is a district abounding with many
curious productions, both animal and vegetable; and has often afforded
me much entertainment both as a sportsman and as a naturalist.
The royal forest of Wolmer is a tract of land of about seven miles in
length, by two and a half in breadth, running nearly from north to
south, and is abutted on, to begin to the south, and so to proceed
eastward, by the parishes of Greatham, Lysse, Rogate, and Trotton, in
the county of Sussex; by Bramshot, Hedleigh, and Kingsley. This royalty
consists entirely of sand covered with heath and fern; but is somewhat
diversified with hills and dales, without having one standing tree in
the whole extent. In the bottoms, where the waters stagnate, are many
bogs, which formerly abounded with subterraneous trees; though Dr. Plot
says positively,* that ‘there never were any fallen trees hidden in the
mosses of the southern counties.’ But he was mistaken: for I myself
have seen cottages on the verge of this wild district, whose timbers
consisted of a black hard wood, looking like oak, which the owners
assured me they procured from the bogs by probing the soil with spits,
or some such instruments: but the peat is so much cut out, and the
moors have been so well examined, that none has been found of late.**
Besides the oak, I have also been shown pieces of fossil-wood of a
paler colour, and softer nature, which the inhabitants called fir: but,
upon a nice examination, and trial by fire, I could discover nothing
resinous in them; and therefore rather suppose that they were parts of
a willow or alder, or some such aquatic tree.
* See his Hist. of Staffordshire.
** Old people have assured me, that on a winter’s morning they have
discovered these trees in the bogs, by the hoar frost, which lay longer
over the space where they were concealed, than on the surrounding
morass. Nor does this seem to be a fanciful notion, but consistent with
true philosophy. Dr. Hales saith, ‘That the warmth of the earth, at
some depth under ground, has an influence in promoting a thaw, as well
as the change of the weather from a freezing to a thawing state, is
manifest, from this observation, viz. Nov. 29, 1731, a little snow
having fallen in the night, it was, by eleven the next morning, mostly
melted away on the surface of the earth, except in several places in
Bushy Park, where there were drains dug and covered with earth, on
which the snow continued to lie, whether those drains were full of
water or dry; as also where elm-pipes lay under ground: a plain proof
this, that those drains intercepted the warmth of the earth from
ascending from greater depths below them: for the snow lay where the
drain had more than four feet depth of earth over it. It continued also
to lie on thatch, tiles, and the tops of walls.’ See Hales’s
Haemastatics, p. 360. Quaere.— Might not such observations be reduced
to domestic use, by promoting the discovery of old obliterated drains
and wells about houses; and in Roman stations and camps lead to the
finding of pavements, baths and graves, and other hidden relics of
curious antiquity?
This lonely domain is a very agreeable haunt for many sorts of wild
fowls, which not only frequent it in the winter, but breed there in the
summer; such as lapwings, snipes, wild-ducks, and, as I have discovered
within these few years, teals. Partridges in vast plenty are bred in
good seasons on the verge of this forest, into which they love to make
excursions: and in particular, in the dry summer of 1740 and 1741, and
some years after, they swarmed to such a degree, that parties of
unreasonable sportsmen killed twenty and sometimes thirty brace in a
day.
But there was a nobler species of game in this forest, now extinct,
which I have heard old people say abounded much before shooting flying
became so common, and that was the heath-cock, black-game, or grouse.
When I was a little boy I recollect one coming now and then to my
father’s table. The last pack remembered was killed about thirty-five
years ago; and within these ten years one solitary greyhen was sprung
by some beagles in beating for a hare. The sportsmen cried out, ‘A hen
pheasant’; but a gentleman present, who had often seen grouse in the
north of England, assured me that it was a greyhen.
Nor does the loss of our black game prove the only gap in the Fauna
Selborniensis; for another beautiful link in the chain of beings is
wanting, I mean the red deer, which toward the beginning of this
century amounted to about five hundred head, and made a stately
appearance. There is an old keeper, now alive, named Adams, whose
great-grandfather (mentioned in a perambulation taken in 1635),
grandfather, father, and self, enjoyed the head keepership of
Wolmer-forest in succession for more than an hundred years. This person
assures me, that his father has often told him, that Queen Anne, as she
was journeying on the Portsmouth road, did not think the forest of
Wolmer beneath her royal regard. For she came out of the great road at
Lippock, which is just by, and reposing herself on a bank smoothed for
that purpose, lying about half a mile to the east of Wolmer-pond, and
still called Queen’s-bank, saw with great complacency and satisfaction
the whole herd of red deer brought by the keepers along the vale before
her, consisting then of about five hundred head. A sight this, worthy
the attention of the greatest sovereign! But he further adds that, by
means of the Waltham blacks, or, to use his own expression, as soon as
they began blacking, they were reduced to about fifty head, and so
continued decreasing till the time of the late Duke of Cumberland. It
is now more than thirty years ago that his highness sent down an
huntsman, and six yeoman-prickers, in scarlet jackets laced with gold,
attended by the stag-hounds; ordering them to take every deer in this
forest alive, and convey them in carts to Windsor. In the course of the
summer they caught every stag, some of which showed extraordinary
diversion; but, in the following winter, when the hinds were also
carried off, such fine chases were exhibited as served the country
people for matter of talk and wonder for years afterwards. I saw myself
one of the yeoman-prickers single out a stag from the herd, and must
confess that it was the most curious feat of activity I ever beheld,
superior to anything in Mr. Astley’s riding-school. The exertions made
by the horse and deer much exceeded all my expectations; though the
former greatly excelled the latter in speed. When the devoted deer was
separated from his companions, they gave him, by their watches, law, as
they called it, for twenty minutes; when, sounding their horns, the
stop-dogs were permitted to pursue, and a most gallant scene ensued.
Letter VII
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
Though large herds of deer do much harm to the neighbourhood, yet the
injury to the morals of the people is of more moment than the loss of
their crops. The temptation is irresistible; for most men are sportsmen
by constitution: and there is such an inherent spirit for hunting in
human nature, as scarce any inhibitions can restrain. Hence, towards
the beginning of this century, all this country was wild about
deer-stealing. Unless he was a hunter, as they affected to call
themselves, no young person was allowed to be possessed of manhood or
gallantry. The Waltham blacks at length committed such enormities, that
government was forced to interfere with that severe and sanguinary act
called the Black Act,* which now comprehends more felonies than any law
that ever was framed before. And, therefore, a late bishop of
Winchester, when urged to re-stock Waltham-chase,** refused, from a
motive worthy of a prelate, replying that ‘it had done mischief enough
already.’
* Statute 9 Geo. I. c. 22.
** This chase remains unstocked to this day; the bishop was Dr. Hoadly.
Our old race of deer-stealers are hardly extinct yet: it was but a
little while ago that, over their ale, they used to recount the
exploits of their youth; such as watching the pregnant hind to her
lair, and, when the calf was dropped, paring its feet with a penknife
to the quick to prevent its escape, till it was large and fat enough to
be killed; the shooting at one of their neighbours with a bullet in a
turnip-field by moonshine, mistaking him for a deer; and the losing a
dog in the following extraordinary manner: Some fellows, suspecting
that a calf new-fallen was deposited in a certain spot of thick fern,
went, with a lurcher, to surprise it; when the parent hind rushed out
of the brake, and, taking a vast spring with all her feet close
together, pitched upon the neck of the dog, and broke it short in two.
Another temptation to idleness and sporting was a number of rabbits,
which possessed all the hillocks and dry places: but these being
inconvenient to the huntsmen, on account of their burrows, when they
came to take away the deer, they permitted the country people to
destroy them all.
Such forests and wastes, when their allurements to irregularities are
removed, are of considerable service to neighbourhoods that verge upon
them, by furnishing them with peat and turf for their firing; with fuel
for the burning their lime; and with ashes for their grasses; and by
maintaining their geese and their stock of young cattle at little or no
expense.
The manor farm of the parish of Greatham has an admitted claim, I see
(by an old record taken from the Tower of London), of turning all live
stock on the forest at proper seasons, bidentibus exceptis.* The
reason, I presume, why sheep** are excluded, is, because, being such
close grazers, they would pick out all the finest grasses, and hinder
the deer from thriving.
* For the privilege the owner of that estate used to pay to the king
annually seven bushels of oats.
** In the Holt, where a full stock of fallow-deer has been kept up till
lately, no sheep are admitted to this day.
Though (by statute 4 and 5 W. and Mary, c. 23) ‘to burn on any waste,
between Candlemas and Midsummer, any grig, ling, heath and furze, goss
or fern, is punishable with whipping and confinement in the house of
correction’; yet, in this forest, about March or April, according to
the dryness of the season, such vast heath-fires are lighted up, that
they often get to a masterless head, and, catching the hedges, have
sometimes been communicated to the underwoods, woods, and coppices,
where great damage has ensued. The plea for these burnings is, that,
when the old coat of heath, etc., is consumed, young will sprout up,
and afford much tender browse for cattle; but, where there is large old
furze, the fire, following the roots, consumes the very ground; so that
for hundreds of acres nothing is to be seen but smother and desolation,
the whole circuit round looking like the cinders of a volcano; and the
soil being quite exhausted, no traces of vegetation are to be found for
years. These conflagrations, as they take place usually with a
north-east or east wind, much annoy this village with their smoke, and
often alarm the country; and, once in particular, I remember that a
gentleman, who lives beyond Andover, coming to my house, when he got on
the downs between that town and Winchester, at twenty-five miles
distance, was surprised much with smoke and a hot smell of fire; and
concluded that Alresford was in flames; but, when he came to that town,
he then had apprehensions for the next village, and so on to the end of
his journey.
On two of the most conspicuous eminences of this forest, stand two
arbours or bowers, made of the boughs of oaks; the one called
Waldon-lodge, the other Brimstone-lodge: these the keepers renew
annually on the feast of St. Barnabas, taking the old materials for a
perquisite. The farm called Blackmoor, in this parish, is obliged to
find the posts and brush-wood for the former; while the farms at
Greatham, in rotation, furnish for the latter; and are all enjoined to
cut and deliver the materials at the spot. This custom I mention,
because I look upon it to be of very remote antiquity.
Letter VIII
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire
On the verge of the forest, as it is now circumscribed, are three
considerable lakes, two in Oakhanger, of which I have nothing
particular to say; and one called Bin’s or Bean’s Pond, which is worthy
the attention of a naturalist or a sportsman. For, being crowded at the
upper end with willows, and with the carex cespitosa,* it affords such
a safe and pleasing shelter to wild-ducks, teals, snipes, etc., that
they breed there. In the winter this covert is also frequented by
foxes, and sometimes by pheasants; and the bogs produce many curious
plants. [For which consult Letter XLI to Mr. Barrington.]