The Natural History of Selborne — Text and Context
Edition facts
This digital edition of The Natural History of Selborne — Text and Context is described by source-level measurements including 89,659 words, 6 hr 30 min estimated reading time, and 117 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 31.4 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Natural history -- England -- Selborne -- Early works to 1800,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.
How this score is calculated
- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
music of the woods. The yellowhammer no doubt persists with more steadiness than any other; but the woodlark, the wren, the red-breast, the swallow, the white-throat, the goldfinch, the common linnet, are all undoubted instances of the truth of what I advance.
If this severe season does not interrupt the regularity of the summer migrations, the black-cap will be here in two or three days. I wish it was in my power to procure you one of those songsters; but I am no birdcatcher; and so little used to birds in a cage, that I fear if I had one it would soon die for want of skill in feeding.
Was your reed-sparrow, which you kept in a cage, the thick-billed reed-sparrow of the Zoology, p. 320; or was it the less reed-sparrow of Ray, the sedge-bird of Mr. Pennant’s last publication, p. 16?
As to the matter of long-billed birds growing fatter in moderate frosts, I have no doubt within myself what should be the reason. The thriving at those times appears to me to arise altogether from the gentle check which the cold throws upon insensible perspiration. The case is just the same with blackbirds, etc.; and farmers and warreners observe, the first, that their hogs fat more kindly at such times, and the latter that the rabbits are never in such good case as in a gentle frost. But when frosts are severe, and of long continuance, the case is soon altered; for then a want of food soon overbalances the repletion occasioned by a checked perspiration. I have observed, moreover, that some human constitutions are more inclined to plumpness in winter than in summer.
When birds come to suffer by severe frost, I find that the first that fail and die are the redwing-fieldfares, and then the song-thrushes.
You wonder, with good reason, that the hedge-sparrows, etc., can be induced to sit at all on the egg of the cuckoo without being scandalized at the vast disproportioned size of the supposititious egg; but the brute creation, I suppose, have very little idea of size, colour, or number. For the common hen, I know, when the fury of incubation is on her, will sit on a single shapeless stone instead of a nest full of eggs that have been withdrawn: and, moreover, a hen-turkey, in the same circumstances, would sit on in the empty nest till she perished with hunger.
I think the matter might easily be determined whether a cuckoo lays one or two eggs, or more, in a season, by opening a female during the laying-time. If more than one was come down out of the ovary, and advanced to a good size, doubtless then she would that spring lay more than one.
I will endeavour to get a hen, and to examine.
Your supposition that there may be some natural obstruction in singing birds while they are mute, and that when this is removed the song recommences is new and bold; I wish you could discover some good grounds for this suspicion.
I was glad you were pleased with my specimen of the caprimulgus, or fern-owl; you were, I find, acquainted with the bird before.
When we meet, I shall be glad to have some conversation with you concerning the proposal you make of my drawing up an account of the animals in this neighbourhood. Your partiality towards my small abilities persuades you, I fear, that I am able to do more than is in my power: for it is no small undertaking for a man unsupported and alone to begin a natural history from his own autopsia! Though there is endless room for observation in the field of nature, which is boundless, yet investigation (where a man endeavours to be sure of his facts) can make but slow progress; and all that one could collect in many years would go into a very narrow compass.
Some extracts from your ingenious ‘Investigations of the difference between the present temperature of the air in Italy,’ etc., have fallen in my way, and gave me great satisfaction: they have removed the objections that always rose in my mind whenever I came to the passages which you quote. Surely the judicious Virgil, when writing a didactic poem for the region of Italy, could never think of describing freezing rivers, unless such severity of weather pretty frequently occurred!
P.S. Swallows appear amidst snows and frost.
To The Honourable Daines Barrington
Selborne, May 21, 1770.
The severity and turbulence of last month so interrupted the regular progress of summer migration, that some of the birds do but just begin to show themselves, and others are apparently thinner than usual; as the white-throat, the black-cap, the red-start, the fly-catcher. I well remember that after the very severe spring in the year 1739-40 summer birds of passage were very scarce. They come probably hither with a south-east wind, or when it blows between those points; but in that unfavourable year the winds blowed the whole spring and summer through from the opposite quarters. And yet amidst all these disadvantages two swallows, as I mentioned in my last, appeared this year as early as the eleventh of April amidst frost and snow; but they withdrew again for a time.
I am not pleased to find that some people seem so little satisfied with Scopoli’s new publication;* there is room to expect great things from the hands of that man, who is a good naturalist: and one would think that an history of the birds of so distant and southern a region as Carniola would be new and interesting. I could wish to see that work, and hope to get it sent down. Dr. Scopoli is physician to the wretches that work in the quicksilver mines of that district.
* This work he calls his Annus Primus Historico-Naturalis.
When you talked of keeping a reed-sparrow, and giving it seeds, I could not help wondering; because the reed-sparrow which I mentioned to you (passer arundinaceus minor Raii) is a soft-billed bird; and most probably migrates hence before winter; whereas the bird you kept (passer torquatus Raii) abides all the year, and is a thick-billed bird. I question whether the latter be much of a songster; but in this matter I want to be better informed. The former has a variety of hurrying notes, and sings all night. Some part of the song of the former, I suspect, is attributed to the latter. We have plenty of the soft-billed sort; which Mr. Pennant had entirely left out of his British Zoology, till I reminded him of his omission. See British Zoology last published, p. 16.**
** See Letter XXV to Mr. Pennant.
I have somewhat to advance on the different manners in which different birds fly and walk; but as this is a subject that I have not enough considered, and is of such a nature as not to be contained in a small space, I shall say nothing farther about it at present.*
* See Letter XLIII to Mr. Barrington.
No doubt the reason why the sex of birds in their first plumage is so difficult to be distinguished is, as you say, ‘because they are not to pair and discharge their parental functions till the ensuing spring.’ As colours seem to be the chief external sexual distinction in many birds, these colours do not take place till sexual attachments begin to obtain. And the case is the same in quadrupeds; among whom, in their younger days, the sexes differ but little: but, as they advance to maturity, horns and shaggy manes, beards and brawny necks, etc., etc., strongly discriminate the male from the female. We may instance still farther in our own species, where a beard and stronger features are usually characteristic of the male sex: but this sexual diversity does not take place in earlier life; for a beautiful youth shall be so like a beautiful girl that the difference shall not be discernible:
Quem si puellarum insereres choro, Mire sagaces falleret hospites Discrimen obscurum, solutis Crinibus, ambiguoque vultu.—HOR.
To The Honourable Daines Barrington
Ringmer, near Lewes, Oct. 8, 1770.
I am glad to hear that Kuckalm is to furnish you with the birds of Jamaica; a sight of the hirundines of that hot and distant island would be great entertainment to me.
The Anni of Scopoli are now in my possession; and I have read the Annus Primus with satisfaction: for though some parts of this work are exceptionable, and he may advance some mistaken observations; yet the ornithology of so distant a country as Carniola is very curious. Men that undertake only one district are much more likely to advance natural knowledge than those that grasp at more than they can possibly be acquainted with: every kingdom, every province, should have its own monographer.
The reason perhaps why he mentions nothing of Ray’s Ornithology may be the extreme poverty and distance of his country, into which the works of our great naturalist may have never yet found their way. You have doubts, I know, whether this Ornithology is genuine, and really the work of Scopoli: as to myself, I think I discover strong tokens of authenticity; the style corresponds with that of his Entomology: and his characters of his Ordines and Genera are many of them new, expressive, and masterly. He has ventured to alter some of the Linnaean genera with sufficient show of reason.
It might perhaps be mere accident that you saw so many swifts and no swallows at Staines; because, in my long observations of those birds, I never could discover the least degree of rivalry or hostility between the species.
Ray remarks that birds of the gallinae order, as cocks and hens, partridges, and pheasants, etc., are pulveratrices, such as dust themselves, using that method of cleansing their feathers, and ridding themselves of their vermin. As far as I can observe, many birds that dust themselves never wash: and I once thought that those birds that wash themselves would never dust; but here I find myself mistaken; for common house-sparrows are great pulveratrices, being frequency seen grovelling and wallowing in dusty roads; and yet they are great washers. Does not the skylark dust?
Query.—Might not Mahomet and his followers take one method of purification from these pulveratrices? because I find from travellers of credit, that if a strict Mussulman is journeying in a sandy desert where no water is to be found, at stated hours he strips off his clothes, and most scrupulously rubs his body over with sand or dust.
A countryman told me he had found a young fern-owl in the nest of a small bird on the ground; and that it was fed by the little bird. I went to see this extraordinary phenomenon, and found that it was a young cuckoo hatched in the nest of a titlark; it was become vastly too big for its nest, appearing
… in tenui re Majores pennas nido extendisse …
and was very fierce and pugnacious, pursuing my finger, as I teased it, for many feet from the nest, and sparring and buffeting with its wings like a game-cock. The dupe of a dam appeared at a distance, hovering about with meat in its mouth, and expressing the greatest solicitude.
In July I saw several cuckoos skimming over a large pond; and found, after some observation, that they were feeding on the libellulae, or dragon-flies; some of which they caught as they settled on the weeds, and some as they were on the wing. Notwithstanding what Linnaeus says, I cannot be induced to believe that they are birds of prey.
This district affords some birds that are hardly ever heard of at Selborne. In the first place considerable flocks of cross-beaks (loxiae curvirostrae) have appeared this summer in the pine-groves belonging to this house; the water-ousel is said to haunt the mouth of the Lewes river, near Newhaven; and the Cornish chough builds, I know, all along the chalky cliffs of the Sussex shore.
I was greatly pleased to see little parties of ring-ousels (my newly-discovered migrators) scattered, at intervals, all along the Sussex-downs from Chichester to Lewes. Let them come from whence they will, it looks very auspicious that they are cantoned along the coast in order to pass the channel when severe weather advances. They visit us again in April, as it should seem, in their return; and are not to be found in the dead of winter. It is remarkable that they are very tame, and seem to have no manner of apprehensions of danger from a person with a gun. There are bustards on the wide downs near Brighthelmstone. No doubt you are acquainted with the Sussex-downs: the prospects and rides round Lewes are most lovely!
As I rode along near the coast I kept a very sharp lookout in the lanes and woods, hoping I might, at this time of the year, have discovered some of the summer short-winged birds of passage crowding towards the coast in order for their departure: but it was very extraordinary that I never saw a red-start, white-throat, black-cap, uncrested wren, fly-catcher, etc. And I remember to have made the same remark in former years, as I usually come to this place annually about this time. The birds most common along the coast at present are the stone-chatters, whin-chats, buntings, linnets, some few wheatears, titlarks, etc. Swallows and house-martins abound yet, induced to prolong their stay by this soft, still, dry season.
A land-tortoise, which has been kept for thirty years in a little walled court belonging to the house where I now am visiting, retires under ground about the middle of November, and comes forth again about the middle of April. When it first appears in the spring it discovers very little inclination towards food; but in the height of summer grows voracious: and then as the summer declines its appetite declines; so that for the last six weeks in autumn it hardly eats at all. Milky plants, such as lettuces, dandelions, sow-thistles, are its favourite dish. In a neighbouring village one was kept till by tradition it was supposed to be an hundred years old. An instance of vast longevity in such a poor reptile!
To The Honourable Daines Barrington
Selborne, Dec. 20, 1770.
The birds that I took for aberdavines were reed-sparrows (passeres torquati).
There are doubtless many home internal migrations within this kingdom that want to be better understood: witness those vast flocks of hen chaffinches that appear with us in the winter without hardly any cocks among them. Now was there a due proportion of each sex, it should seem very improbable that any one district should produce such numbers of these little birds; and much more when only half of the species appears: therefore we may conclude that the fringillae caelebes, for some good purposes, have a peculiar migration of their own in which the sexes part. Nor should it seem so wonderful that the intercourse of sexes in this species of birds should be interrupted in winter; since in many animals, and particularly in bucks and does, the sexes herd separately, except at the season when commerce is necessary for the continuance of the breed. For this matter of the chaffinches see Fauna Suecica, p. 85, and Systema Naturae, p. 318. I see every winter vast flights of hen chaffinches, but none of cocks.
Your method of accounting for the periodical motions of the British singing birds, or birds of flight, is a very probable one; since the matter of food is a great regulator of the actions and proceedings of the brute creation: there is but one that can be set in competition with it, and that is love. But I cannot quite acquiesce with you in one circumstance when you advance that, ‘when they have thus feasted, they again separate into small parties of five or six, and get the best fare they can within a certain district, having no inducement to go in quest of fresh-turned earth.’ Now if you mean that the business of congregating is quite at an end from the conclusion of wheat-sowing to the season of barley and oats, it is not the case with us; for larks and chaffinches, and particularly linnets, flock and congregate as much in the very dead of winter as when the husbandman is busy with his ploughs and harrows.
Sure there can be no doubt but that woodcocks and fieldfares leave us in the spring, in order to cross the seas, and to retire to some districts more suitable to the purpose of breeding. That the former pair before they retire, and that the hens are forward with egg, I myself, when I was a sportsman, have often experienced. It cannot indeed be denied but that now and then we hear of a woodcock’s nest, or young birds, discovered in some part or other of this island: but then they are always mentioned as rarities, and somewhat out of the common course of things: but as to redwings and fieldfares, no sportsman or naturalist has ever yet, that I could hear, pretended to have found the nest or young of those species in any part of these kingdoms. And I the more admire at this instance as extraordinary, since, to all appearance, the same food in summer as well as in winter might support them here which maintains their congeners, the blackbirds and thrushes, did they choose to stay the summer through. From hence it appears that it is not food alone which determines some species of birds with regard to their stay or departure. Fieldfares and redwings disappear sooner or later according as the warm weather comes on earlier or later. For I well remember, after that dreadful winter of 1739-40, that cold north-east winds continued to blow on through April and May, and that these kinds of birds (what few remained of them) did not depart as usual, but were seen lingering about till the beginning of June.
The best authority that we can have for the nidification of the birds above-mentioned in any district, is the testimony of faunists that have written professedly the natural history of particular countries. Now, as to the fieldfare, Linnaeus, in his Fauna Suecica, says of it that ‘maximis in arboribus nidificat’; and of the redwing he says, in the same place, that ‘nidificat in mediis arbusculis, sive sepibus: ova sex caeruleo-viridia maculis nigris variis.’ Hence we may be assured that fieldfares and redwings breed in Sweden. Scopoli says, in his Annus Primus, of the woodcock, that ‘nupta ad nos venit circa aequinoctium vernale’; meaning in Tirol, of which he is a native. And afterwards he adds ‘nidificat in paludibus alpinis: ova ponit, 3-5.’ It does not appear from Kramer that woodcocks breed at all in Austria: but he says ‘Avis haec septentrionalium provinciarum aestivo tempore incola est; ubi plerumque nidificat. Appropinquante hyeme australiores provincias petit: hinc circa plenilunium mensis Octobris plerumque Austriam transmigrat. Tunc rursus circa plenilunium potissimum mensis Martii per Austriam matrimonio juncta ad septentrionales provincias redit.’ For the whole passage (which I have abridged) see Elenchus, etc., p. 351. This seems to be a full proof of the migration of woodcocks; though little is proved concerning the place of breeding.
P.S. There fell in the county of Rutland, in three weeks of this present very wet weather, seven inches and an half of rain, which is more than has fallen in any three weeks for these thirty years past in that part of the world. A mean quantity in that county one year is twenty inches and an half.
To The Honourable Daines Barrington
Fyfield, near Andover, Feb. 12, 1771.
You are, I know, no great friend to migration; and the well attested accounts from various parts of the kingdom seem to justify you in your suspicions, that at least many of the swallow kind do not leave us in the winter, but lay themselves up like insects and bats, in a torpid state, to slumber away the more uncomfortable months till the return of the sun and fine weather awakens them.
Gilbert White's The Natural History of Selborne opens not with a preface but with a poem, an 'Invitation to Selborne' that immediately establishes the work's dual character: it is both a precise naturalist's record and a personal, even affectionate, portrait of a place. The poem's language—'Wildly majestic,' 'unfinish'd farm,' 'pensile, nest-like bower'—reveals a writer who sees landscape as something to be shaped by taste and imagination, yet the letters that follow are grounded in patient, empirical observation. White's authorial voice moves between the measured tone of a correspondent and the intimate eye of a lifelong resident, noting the habits of birds, the turn of seasons, and the small dramas of animal life with a mixture of scientific curiosity and quiet wonder.
The Letter as a Form of Natural History
White structures his observations as a series of letters to two correspondents, Thomas Pennant and Daines Barrington. This epistolary frame shapes the work's voice: the prose is conversational yet precise, as if White is thinking aloud on paper. In one letter, he describes timing a white owl's hunting with his watch, noting that 'about an hour before sunset (for then the mice begin to run) they sally forth.' The detail is typical—White often records the exact hour, the weather, the behavior. The letter form allows him to shift between anecdote and analysis, as when he recounts a field mouse leaping from a hotbed with young clinging to her teats, then reflects on the 'monstrous perversion' of maternal instinct in some animals. This blend of narrative and reflection gives the work its distinctive texture: science mediated through personal correspondence.
Diction of Deliberate Observation
White's word choices reveal a mind attuned to both the common and the curious. He describes a willow-wren's nest hidden under 'a large bundle of long green moss, as it were, carelessly thrown over the nest, in order to dodge the eye of any impertinent intruder.' The phrase 'dodge the eye' is colloquial yet exact, capturing the bird's apparent cunning. Elsewhere, he calls the discovery that teals breed in the south of England 'a great stroke in natural history'—the word 'stroke' suggesting both a blow and a coup, a small triumph of knowledge. His vocabulary is often plain ('flappers' for young ducks, 'hotbed' for a garden frame) but never careless; each term is chosen to convey precise meaning. When he describes parent birds 'hovering over the nest all the hotter hours, while with wings expanded, and mouths gaping for breath,' the physical detail is rendered in language that is both scientific and empathetic.
Dialogue with the Reader and with Nature
White frequently addresses his correspondent directly, creating a sense of shared inquiry. He writes 'I am, etc.' at the close of many letters, a formula that underscores the ongoing, unfinished nature of his project. His observations often include the reader in the act of discovery: 'A farther instance I once saw of notable sagacity in a willow-wren.' The word 'sagacity' attributes intelligence to the bird, a choice that reflects White's willingness to see purpose in animal behavior. He also notes his own limitations, as when he leaves a question about maternal instinct 'to abler philosophers than myself to determine.' This modesty is not false; it is part of a method that values careful description over grand theory. The dialogue extends to the landscape itself: White's letters are filled with the sounds of 'village bells' and 'rushing forests,' and he often positions himself on an 'eminence' to watch owls 'beat the fields over like a setting-dog.'
Recurring Details of Place and Season
White's Selborne is a place of specific, recurring features: the 'beech-grown hill,' the 'ruin'd convent,' the 'pond on the verge of Wolmer-forest.' These locations anchor his observations in a known geography. He notes the same pair of white owls breeding 'under the eaves of this church' year after year, and his letters track the seasonal rhythms of bird migration, nesting, and feeding. The 'hot sunny season' that threatens a brood of flycatchers, the 'shady time' that leads a pair to build on a naked bough—these details root the natural history in the particular weather and microclimate of Selborne. White's method is cumulative: he returns to the same places and species, building a portrait of a living landscape through repeated, patient attention. The reader comes to know Selborne almost as White does, through the accretion of small, precise observations.
White's letters reward a slow, attentive reading. The work is not a systematic treatise but a collection of moments, each one a window into a mind that finds significance in the ordinary. Readers may wish to follow a single species or location through the letters, noting how White's observations accumulate over seasons and years. The pleasure of The Natural History of Selborne lies not in grand conclusions but in the texture of its details—the exact hour an owl hunts, the way a wren hides its nest, the sudden leap of a mouse from a hotbed. It is a book that teaches its own kind of attention.
There’s a particular ache in reading White’s letters—knowing those swifts and hedgerows are still there, yet utterly changed. That same quiet ache surfaced while rereading The White Mr. Longfellow (from Literary Friends and Acquaintance) — A Closer Reading, where a man’s gentle routines feel preserved in amber, observed with a fondness that almost forgets he’s gone. Just a wistful pause, nothing more.
James Ramirez
2 weeks agoCarter Wright
1 month agoDaniel Anderson
1 month agoGrayson Baker
2 weeks ago-
Lisa Lisa Gallagher - 1 month ago
{'review_type': 'positive', 'content': "Gilbert White's 'The Natural History of Selborne' is a timeless masterpiece that captures the essence of 18th-century natural observation. His detailed letters on birds, plants, and local wildlife are not only scientifically valuable but also beautifully written, offering a serene escape into rural England. This edition is perfect for nature lovers and historians alike, providing a delightful glimpse into the world through the eyes of a true pioneering naturalist. Absolutely enchanting and thoroughly recommended."} -
Dakota Mcdonald - 1 month ago
{'review_type': 'neutral', 'content': "White's meticulous observations of Selborne's wildlife are genuinely fascinating, offering a unique window into 18th-century natural history. However, the epistolary format can feel repetitive and lacks a guided structure, making it a bit dense for casual readers. Still, if you enjoy historical nature writing, this is a valuable piece."} -
Nancy Danielle Young - 1 week ago
{'review_type': 'negative', 'content': "While 'The Natural History of Selborne' is historically significant, modern readers may find it tedious. The letters are rambling and full of arcane minutiae, with no clear narrative or scientific framework. The dated language and lack of illustrations make it challenging to engage with, even for dedicated naturalists. Better as a historical artifact than as an enjoyable read."}
What was your reading experience?
Capture what you thought, learned, and would like to remember.
Scarlett Brown
3 weeks ago