Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 April 1894 — HAWARDEN CASTLE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HAWARDEN CASTLE.

THE COUNTRY HOUSE OF THE LATE PREMIER. Tka Uttte Welsh VUlag* Where Mr. Gl*dstone Spends His Vecetlons—The Old Castle and the Village Church The Library and the Park. Located tn Wales. The home life of a man like Mr. Gladstone is always Interesting, and In his case the contemplation of his domestic relations becomes all the more pleasant from the fact that he has not only a typical English home, but in that home leads a typical English home life. The personality of this remarkable man has been so long before the public that anything concerning him and his may be con-

sidered as, tn a measure at least, public property, and so it happened that few homes in England, aside from those pertaining to royalty, are better knows than the quiet, retired mansion where the famous ex-Prem-ier has spent most of his leisure time during the last half century. Hawarden has, indeed, become a sort of shrine of the English Liberals, to which they resort to pay their homage to the greatest living man of their nation and In some respects one of the greatest Englishmen who ever lived. The general feeling of the stranger

who sees “Hawarden Castle,“so styled by courtesy, for the first time, is one of disappointment The tourist after seeing the enormous masses of masonry that in Europe are denominated castles, naturally learns to associate the term with towers and bulwarks, with curtain walls and trenches and moats and drawbridges, with a gigantic keep or central edifice, surrounded by a great variety and extent of outworks, all so massive, so -solid, so strongly built that tbe hills themselves seem scarcely more permanent.

What is his surprise, therefore, when, after passing; through a large park, well* kept as is usual with English parks, he comes in sight of a brick house built in somewhat tawdry imitation of. a mediaeval fortress, with , towers that command nothing, with curtain walls that are all windows, and with nothing about it of casteliar appearance but the name. That, however, is not the fault of Mr. Gladstone, nor of the excellent lady who inherited the house from a long line of noble ancestors, but of a builder of the last century, who, having more pride than taste, determined that* his house should be a castle in appearance as well as in name, and so went to work and created the architectural monstrosity now known as Hawarden Gastie. The ancestral home of Mrs. Gladfamily is situated “down in Wales," for it should be understood that in GreiitCßrltain London is -up” and everywhere else is “down." The traveler who would see the house CT. mjkV. a srx j:*®# -

where Mr. Gladstone finds repose from his political labors must start from Chester, an old English frontier town a few miles south of Liverpool. Chester is now a frontier town in the same sense that St. Louis is a frontier post, but in both cases the term once had a lively significance, for

when the Welsh held the mountain districts of their native country against all comers, Chester needed the red sandstone walls that still stand and furnish a pleasant promenade for her people in the afternoons of warm, sunshiny days. The march of modern improvement Is felt

in Chester as elsewhere, but not. to the extent of compelling the citizens to pull down their old walls, and so they remain one of the shows of the city and a great curiosity to tourists, who are to be found at all times walking up and down, on and around them, measuring, their height and thickness, and making reflections more or less nonseftilcal as to the length of time they have stood and the scenes they have witnessed. The tourist, if an Englishman, will take a second-class railway carriage out of Chester; if an American, he will go first-class just for the style of the thing, and ride on the London and Northwestern to a scrubby little town called Saltney, while he will leave the main line and take a branch road to another town called Hope, at which he will wait awhile and then take another branch line to a still less entertaining village known as Buckley, where he will leave the train and prepare to ride or walk, as best suits him, to the village of Hawarden. The distance is about two miles, and when Mr. Cladstone makes the journey and has plenty of time he walks, and the tourist can do no better than follow so distinguished an example. Let it not, however, be understood that when the great Premier goes from London to his country house or vice versa he is subjected to the delays that ordinary travelers find so harassing. The principal use of the railways in Great Britain is to carry “Her Majesty’s mails," but after that one very important part of their duty is the transportation of Her Majesty's Ministers, and whenever one of their number wants to go anywhere In a hurry he simply commands the railroad company to furnish him a special train and send in the bill, all of which is promptly done, especially the bill. Thus, although Mr. Glad-

y ~I "IT ' 1 “ stone’s home is in a remote corner of Wales, he is really but about four hours from the capital, and can be transferred thither in an even shorter time when occasion demands. The neighborhood. of Mr. Gladstone’s residence is one, bt the most romantic districts of Wales. Not far distant is the famous Castle of Conway, founded on a rock by the seaside, a fortress that, during the days of the Welsh ward, proved an effective barrier to the excursions of the hardy mountaineers, who, in spite of the stoutest efforts 6f the Anglo-, Norman kings, could not be completely subdued. At Conway the slaughter of the Welsh bards occurred, a piece of barbarity dictated by the English policy, the Edwards finding that the 1 most decided impediment to English conquest was the national spirit kept alive by the national musicians. Still nearer to the Hawarden residence is the fadaous Fairy Glen, where, according torpopular tradition, the fairies last* tin

ger ed In North Wales, and where, some believe, they may rtill occasionally be seen. A beautiful spot it is, shut in by cliffs, a pretty stream wandering over rugged, mosscovered bowlders, the giant oaks forming an arch overhead, and the rocks on either hand throwing their deep shadows on the pools beneath. There are not many believers in fairies now to be found, even among the credulous Welsh peasantry, but the beauty of such secluded caves as this furnishes a strong temptation to the perpetuation of the belief, and even a denizen of another land, accustomed to the rattle of the railway train, the click of tbe telegraph, and the glare of the electric light, would not, among surroundings such as those of the Fairy Glen, be greatly surprised if the little folk clad in green should come tripping from their caves and begin a dance over the surface of the bowlders.

But the “good people," as the fairies are called in Wales and Ireland, have no local habitation in the neighborhood of the Gladstone house, unless it be in the ruins of tbe old Hawarden Castle, which stand only a few from the more modern home of tw statesman. Hawarden Castle, In its original form, was one of the primitive forts which the ancient Bretons constructed for the purpose of resisting the encroachments of their neighbors, whoever the latter might be. For those were days when everybody had a habit of encroaching on everybody else, whether he had a pretext or not. The fact that one chieftain had something another wanted was sufficient reason for the latter to try to get it The little round towers which the petty chieftains built for their own residences were then to be found on every hilltop in Wales, where scores of them still stand. Hawarden was one of these, though after the Conquest it was replaced by a more pretentious structure, the ruins of which now crown the hill above the Gladstone homestead. The ruins, the park, and at certain times, also, the Gladstone home, are all open to visitors, the only restrictions being that the curiosity seekers shall keep their feet off the grass, their names off the stones of the old castle, and their fingers off the property in the family residence. The house has much to interest the visitor. The various rooms of the mansion abound with pictures and statuary, photographs of Mr. Gladstone himself being numerously displayed in the parlors and in various other rooms. All the members of his immediate family live here with him excepting one son, the rector of the Hawarden Church, who resides in the rectory. The little village church, by the way, is almost

as famous and nearly as old as the crumbling castle. There was a church on the site In the eighth century, when the curious incident occurred of the cross falling and hurting a woman. The people of the town, considering that there was something uncanny about the accident, took the cross and threw it into the sea. It was, ;to their astonishment, howeyer, washed on shore at Chester, where it was seized upon as a very precious relic and set up in the race track, where it or its successor still stands. During the recess of Parliament the church is always thronged with townspeople and visitors, for every day 'Mr. Gladstone is present at morniifg prayers, walking briskly over from the mansion and as briskly back to breakfast after the prayers are ended. On Sundays he sometimes assists in the service by reading portions of it, and to hear the Church of England service read by a premier of Great Britain Is an incident that rarely occurs in the experience of the ordinary individual. The church is a plain, unpretentious little affair, which is kept so purposely by the rector, who discourages even so much style as is Involved in cushioning the pews, believing, as he does, that this creates an invidious distinction among the attendants, so Mr. Gladstone and his family sit on the bare benches One of the most pleasing features of the Hawarden life is the unbounded reverence shown by everybody in the neighborhood for the principal occupant of the Hawarden house. The Welsh are very warmhearted people, and everywhere be goes Mr. Gladstone is treated with a consideration that shows how hearty and sincere is the respect felt for him. Men stand at the wayside and uncover as he walks by; women curtesy in the quaint old Welsh fashion, and every window in the village is filled with heads as the great man passes They have seen him thousands of times, but that fact does not in the least diminish either their interest or their reverence, and, if sure of . nothing else, they are profoundly convinced that there is no greater man on the face of the earth than the master of Hawarden.

HAWARDEN CHURCH.

THE PARK GATE, HAWARDEN.

MR. GLADSTONE'S OFFICIAL RESIDENCE IN LONDON.

A VIEW IN THE VILLAGE.