Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1885-07-24
George EIjot,s BirtbpIace.

Rose G. Kingsley in the Century Magazine
1t is n pleasant, substantial house. built
of warm red brick, with old-fashioned
small-paned easement windows. The
walls are almost hidden by creepers. n
glorious old pear-tree, roses and jesamine,
and over one end tangle of uxurant
ivy. Across the smooth green lawn and
its flower-beds, an old stone vase covered
with golden lichen made Il point of color
beneath the silver stems of u great birch
tree. Outside the light iron fence a group
of sheep were bleating below gnarled
and twisted oak. Behind them rose the
rich purple brown wood we had cone
through and beyond the wood we caught
glimpses of far-away blue distance, swell
ing uplandS, and wide stretching valleys,
with here and there a huge chimney send
ing up a column of black smoke or white
puff of steam. On the house roof pigeons
were cooling forth their satisfaction at the
sunshine, From the yew-tree close by,
concert of small chirping voices told that
spring was coming, while blackbird in
the bushes made violent love to his mate
and wooed her with jovial, rollicking
song.
Within, the house is much in the same
state as in the days of Mary Ann Evanss
girlhood. She went for short time to
school in Nuneaton, coming home from
saturday till Monday but one week, in
spite of her love of learning, the little
maiden's heart failed her, and when the
time came to start for school she had dis
appeared After hours of search she was
at last discovered hiding under the great
four-post mahogany bed, which was shown
us in its original place in the spare room
Upstairs in the roof is a large attic store
room, through which runs the main chin
neystack of the house and any one who
remembers Maggie Tulliver will easily
recognize this as the favorite retreat where
she revenged herself on the much en-
during fetch, grinding and beating the
wooden head against the rough brick of
the great chimneys that made two square
pillows supporting the roof y Mill on
| the Floss.
"The gardens, the fields, every spot
seems familiar to one from some eXqus-
lite and tender touch scattered here and
there throughout the writings of our great
Warwckshire novelist =. Beyond the
Hollows, on green ridge, stands The
, COllege'-the work-house to which poor
Amos Barton walked forth in cape and
boa, with the sleet driving in his face
1--WE wandered back across the rolling
Grass-clad ridge and burrows of the home
stead-through tiny paddock where
three newborn lambs were bleatinE be
siue their mothers, and plump, CLOS ~
fowls hustled To and fro to the sweet, old
fashioned Kitchen garden. y long nut
tree walk runs us WlOlt length, enulnGl II
an old arbur, which with its stone table
recalls to ones mind the summer-hOust
ut LoWick, where Dorothea found Mr.
Casaubon sleeping his last sleep. The
stone dial Of little Mary Anne's childisI
days still stands on the grass plat, ant
from ii couple Of blocks of stone in ON,
corner we looked over the tail, CLOSELY
clipped garden hedge to the Arbury woods
Il mile or two away. where little black
eyed Caterina found Anthony Wybrov
lying dead i'll the rookery of 'Cheyerel
ManOr'n