Sketches of leafy Warwickshire, rural and urban . their name is legion,for her vigorous English and masterful study of character haverooted themselves deeply in the reading mind—should, when theygo to Warwickshire, never fail to make a call at CheverelManor, otherwise Arbury Hall, near Nuneaton. 94 Leafy Warwickshire It may be of Interest to state here that on the east wallof the south aisle of Chilvers Coten Church (the Sheppertonof George Eliot) is the following memorial tablet :— Sacred tothe memory of Bernard Gilpin Ebdell, ; Forty years resi-dent vicar of this parish ; He died August
Sketches of leafy Warwickshire, rural and urban . their name is legion,for her vigorous English and masterful study of character haverooted themselves deeply in the reading mind—should, when theygo to Warwickshire, never fail to make a call at CheverelManor, otherwise Arbury Hall, near Nuneaton. 94 Leafy Warwickshire It may be of Interest to state here that on the east wallof the south aisle of Chilvers Coten Church (the Sheppertonof George Eliot) is the following memorial tablet :— Sacred tothe memory of Bernard Gilpin Ebdell, ; Forty years resi-dent vicar of this parish ; He died August 6th, 1828, aged 66years ; also of Sarah, wife of Bernard Gilpin Ebdell. She diedNov. 2ist, 1823, aged 49 years. These are the originals ofMr. Gilfil and Caterina. The original of Caterina was Sally Shilton, a colliersdaughter. She possessed a beautiful voice, which brought herunder the notice of Lady Newdigate, Sir Rogers second wife,who had It cultivated. Sally Shilton was brought up at ArburyHall, and married the Rev. Mr. Ebdell in 3n t^t ^ooteU)fif of ^art)(^oxnt: A RURAL SKETCH. 3n tbe jfooteteps of Ibawtboinet A RURAL SKETCH. HERE are not many workers in the literary bee-hive whokeep, or like to keep, so close to the hive as Dr. Johnsondid. He loved Fleet Street more than a country field ; andthe wonder is whence he got his literary honey—sticking, ashe did, to the grime, and smoke, and brick of a colossal city. But the fine old savage, in his tramp from Lichfield toLondon, with his friend, Davy Garrick, doubtless gathered enoughcountry honey to last him his lifetime; and London, in his dayand generation, was not quite the bricked-in prison that it nowappears. Like the bee, in one sense, he had laid up a goodly storeof literary sweets ; and when the winter came—the winter of hislife—he could draw those cosy shutters, of which Cowper speaks,and pull his chair up nearer the fire, having no need to goout-of-doors for fresh supplies. But, unlike the bee in an
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