Richard B. Cook

Mr. Gladstone spent the winter of 1838-9 in Rome. The physicians had recommended travel in the south of Europe for his health and particularly for his eyes, the sight of which had become impaired by hard reading in the preparation of his book. He had given up lamps and read entirely by candle-light with injurious results. He was joined at Rome by his friend, Henry Manning, afterwards Cardinal, and in company they visited Monsignor, afterwards Cardinal, Wiseman, at the English College, on the feast of St. Thomas of Canterbury. They attended solemn mass in honor of that Saint, and the places in the missal were found for them by a young student of the college, named Grant, who afterwards became Bishop of Southwark.

Besides visiting Italy he explored Sicily, and kept a journal of his tour. Sicily is a beautiful and fertile island in the Mediterranean Sea, and is the granary of Rome. His recorded observations show the keenness of his perceptions and the intensity with which he enjoyed the beautiful and wonderful in nature.

Mount Etna, the greatest volcano of Europe, and which rises 10,000 feet above the sea, stirred his soul greatly, and he made an ascent of the mountain at the beginning of the great eruption of 1838. Etna has many points of interest for all classes of scientific men, and not least for the student of arboriculture. It bears at the height of 4000 feet above the level of the sea a wonderful growth—a very large tree—which is claimed by some to be the oldest tree in the world. It is a venerable chestnut, and known as "the father of the forest." It is certainly one of the most remarkable as well as celebrated of trees. It consists not of one vast trunk, but of a cluster of smaller decayed trees or portions of trees growing in a circle, each with a hollow trunk of great antiquity, covered with ferns or ivy, and stretching out a few gnarled branches with scanty foliage. That it is one tree seems to be evident from the growth of the bark only on the outside. It is said that excavations about the roots of the tree showed these various stems to be united at a very small depth below the surface of the ground. It still bears rich foliage and much small fruit, though the heart of the trunk is decayed, and a public road leads through it wide enough for two coaches to drive abreast. Travelers have differed in their measurements of this stupendous growth. Admiral Smyth, who takes the lowest estimate, giving 163 feet, and Brydone giving, as the highest, 204 feet. In the middle of the cavity a hut is built, for the accommodation of those who collect and preserve the chestnuts. One of the Queens of Arragon is reported to have taken shelter in this tree, with her mounted suite of one hundred persons; but, "we may, perhaps, gather from this that mythology is not confined to the lower latitudes."

Further up the mountain is another venerable chestnut, which, with more reason, probably, may be described without fear of contradiction as the largest chestnut tree in the world. It rises from one solid stem to a remarkable height before it branches. At an elevation of two feet from the earth its circumference was found by Brydone to be seventy-six feet. These trees are reputed to have flourished for much more than a thousand years. Their luxuriant growth is attributed in part to the humid atmosphere of the Bosco, elevated above the scorching, arid region of the coast, and in part to the great richness of the soil. The luxuriance of the vegetation on the slopes of Etna attracts the attention of every traveler; and Mr. Gladstone remarked upon this point: "It seems as though the finest of all soils were produced from the most agonizing throes of nature, as the hardiest characters are often reared amidst the severest circumstances. The aspect of this side of Sicily is infinitely more active and the country is cultivated as well as most parts of Italy."

He and his party started on the 30th of October, and found the path nearly uniform from Catania, but the country bore a volcanic aspect at every step. At Nicolosi their rest was disturbed by the distant booming of the mountain. From this point to the Bosco the scenery is described as a dreary region, but the tract of the wood showed some beautiful places resembling an English park, with old oaks and abundant fern. "Here we found flocks browsing; they are much exposed to sheep-stealers, who do not touch travelers, calculating with justice that men do not carry much money to the summit of Etna." The party passed the Casa degli Inglesi, which registered a temperature of 31°, and then continued the ascent on foot for the crater. A magnificent view of sunrise was here obtained.

"Just before we reached the lip of the crater the guide exultingly pointed out what he declared to be ordinarily the greatest sight of the mountain, namely, the shadow of the cone of Etna, drawn with the utmost delicacy by the newly-risen sun, but of gigantic extent; its point at this moment rested on the mountains of Palermo, probably one hundred miles off, and the entire figure was visible, the atmosphere over the mountains having become and continuing perfectly and beautifully transparent, although in the hundreds of valleys which were beneath us, from the east to the west of Sicily, and from the mountains of Messina down to Cape Passaro, there were still abundant vapors waiting for a higher sun to disperse them; but we enjoyed in its perfection this view of the earliest and finest work of the greater light of heaven, in the passage of his beams over this portion of the earth's surface. During the hour we spent on the summit, the vision of the shadow was speedily contracting, and taught us how rapid is the real rise of the sun in the heavens, although its effect is diminished to the eye by a kind of foreshortening."

The writer next describes in vivid and powerful language the scene presented to the view at the very mouth of the crater. A large space, one mile in circumference, which a few days before had been one fathomless pit, from which issued masses of smoke, was now absolutely filled up to within a few feet of the brim all round. A great mass of lava, a portion of the contents of this immense pit, was seen to detach itself by degrees from one behind. "It opened like an orange, and we saw the red-hot fibres stretch in a broader and still broader vein, until the mass had found a support on the new ground it occupied in front; as we came back on our way down this had grown black." A stick put to it took fire immediately. Within a few yards of this lava bed were found pieces of ice, formed on the outside of the stones by Frost, "which here disputes every inch of ground with his fierce rival Fire."

Mr. Gladstone and his fellow-travelers were the first spectators of the great volcanic action of this year. From the highest peak attainable the company gazed upon the splendid prospect to the east spread out before them, embracing the Messina Mountains and the fine kindred outline of the Calabrian coast, described by Virgil in the third book of the Aeneid. Mr. Gladstone graphically describes the eruption which took place and of which he was the enraptured witness. Lava masses of 150 to 200 pounds weight were thrown to a distance of probably a mile and a half; smaller ones to a distance even more remote. The showers were abundant and continuous, and the writer was impressed by the closeness of the descriptions in Virgil with the actual reality of the eruption witnessed by himself. On this point he observes:

"Now how faithfully has Virgil (Ae. iii, 571, et seq.) comprised these particulars, doubtless without exaggeration, in his fine description! First, the thunder-clap, or crack—

'Horrificis juxta tonat Aetna ruinis.'

Secondly, the vibration of the ground to the report—

Thirdly, the sheet of flame—

Fourthly, the smoke—

Fifthly, the fire shower—

Sixthly the column of ash—

And this is within the limits of twelve lines. Modern poetry has its own merits, but the conveyance of information is not, generally speaking, one of them. What would Virgil have thought of authors publishing poems with explanatory notes (to illustrate is a different matter), as if they were so many books of conundrums? Indeed this vice is of very late years."

The entire description, of which this is but an extract, is very effective and animated, and gives with great vividness the first impressions of a mind susceptible to the grand and imposing aspects of nature.

"After Etna," says Mr. Gladstone in his diary, "the temples are certainly the great charm and attraction of Sicily. I do not know whether there is any one among them which, taken alone, exceeds in beauty that of Neptune, at Paestum; but they have the advantage of number and variety, as well as of highly interesting positions. At Segesta the temple is enthroned in a perfect mountain solitude, and it is like a beautiful tomb of its religion, so stately, so entire; while around, but for one solitary house of the keeper, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, to disturb the apparent reign of Silence and of Death.... The temples enshrine a most pure and salutary principle of art, that which connects grandeur of effect with simplicity of detail; and, retaining their beauty and their dignity in their decay, they represent the great man when fallen, as types of that almost highest of human qualities—silent yet not sullen, endurance."

While sojourning at Rome Mr. Gladstone met Lord Macaulay. Writing home from Rome in the same year, Lord Macaulay says: "On Christmas Eve I found Gladstone in the throng, and I accosted him, as we had met, though we had never been introduced to each other. He received my advances with very great empressement indeed, and we had a good deal of pleasant talk." And again he writes: "I enjoyed Italy immensely; far more than I had expected. By-the-by, I met Gladstone at Rome. We talked and walked together in St. Peter's during the best part of an afternoon. He is both a clever and an amiable man."

Among the visitors at Rome the winter that Mr. Gladstone spent in the eternal city were the widow and daughters of Sir Stephen Richard Glynne, of Hawarden Castle, Flintshire, Wales. He had already made the acquaintance of these ladies, having been a friend of Lady Glynne's eldest son at Oxford, and having visited him at Hawarden in 1835. He was thrown much into their society while at Rome, and became engaged to the elder of Lady Glynne's daughters, Catharine Glynne. It is strange to relate that some time before this when Miss Glynne met her future husband at a dinner-party, an English minister sitting next to her had thus drawn her attention to Mr. Gladstone: "Mark that young man; he will yet be Prime Minister of England." Miss Glynne and her sister were known as "the handsome Miss Glynnes."

William E. Gladstone and Catharine Glynne were married July 25, 1839, at Hawarden Castle. At the same time and place Miss Mary Glynne was married to George William, fourth Lord Lyttleton, with whom Mr. Gladstone was on the most intimate terms of friendship until his lordship's untoward and lamented death. The brother of these ladies was Sir Stephen Glynne, the then owner of Hawarden. Mrs. Gladstone was "in her issue heir" of Sir Stephen Glynne, who was ninth and last baronet of that name.

The marriage ceremony has been thus described by an eye-witness:

"For some time past the little town of Hawarden has been in a state of excitement in consequence of the anticipated nuptials of the two sisters of Sir Stephen Glynne, Bart., M.P., who have been engaged for some time past to Lord Lyttelton and to Mr. W. Ewart Gladstone. Thursday last (July 25th) was fixed upon for the ceremony to take place; but in consequence of the Chartists having attacked Lord Lyttelton's mansion in Worcestershire, it was feared that the marriage would be delayed. All anxieties on this subject were put an end to by orders being issued to make ready for the ceremony, and the Hawarden folks lost no time in making due preparations accordingly. The church was elegantly and profusely decorated with laurels, while extremely handsome garlands, composed of the finest flowers, were suspended from the venerable roof. About half-past ten a simultaneous rising of the assembled multitude and the burst of melody from the organ announced that the fair brides had arrived, and all eyes were turned towards the door to witness the bridal cortege. In a few minutes more the party arrived at the communion table and the imposing ceremony commenced. At this period the coup d'oeil was extremely interesting. The bridal party exhibited every elegance of costume; while the dresses of the multitude, lit up by the rays of a brilliant sunlight, filled up the picture. The Rev. the Hon. G. Neville performed the ceremony. At its conclusion the brides visited the rectory, whence they soon afterwards set out—Lord and Lady Lyttelton to their seat in Worcestershire, and Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone on a visit to Sir Richard Brooke, Norton Priory Mansion, in Cheshire. The bridal party having returned to the castle, the good folks of Hawarden filled up the day with rambling over Sir Stephen Glynne's delightful park, to which free access was given to all comers; and towards evening a dance on the green was got up."

It is to be remarked that by his marriage Mr. Gladstone became allied with the house of Grenville, a family of statesmen, which, directly or in its ramifications, had already supplied England with four Prime Ministers. Baron Bunsen, who made his acquaintance that year, writes that he "was delighted with the man who is some day to govern England if his book is not in the way."

Mrs. Gladstone is widely and deservedly known for her many philanthropic enterprises, but even better, perhaps, has proved herself to be a noble and devoted wife and mother. She has cheered by her sympathy her illustrious husband in his defeats as well as in his triumphs, in the many great undertakings of his political career, and been to him all the late Viscountess Beaconsfield was to Mr. Gladstone's Parliamentary rival. As a mother, she nursed and reared all her children, and ever kept them in the maternal eye, carefully watching over and tending them. One of the most interesting buildings at Hawarden is Mrs. Gladstone's orphanage, which stands close to the castle. Here desolate orphans are well cared for, and find, until they are prepared to enter on the conflict and to encounter the cares of life, a happy home.

Mrs. Gladstone, although in many respects an ideal wife, was never able to approach her husband in the methodical and business-like arrangement of her affairs. Shortly after their wedding, the story runs, Mr. Gladstone seriously took in hand the tuition of his handsome young wife in book-keeping, and Mrs. Gladstone applied herself with diligence to the unwelcome task. Some time after she came down in triumph to her husband to display her domestic accounts and her correspondence, all docketed in a fashion which she supposed would excite the admiration of her husband. Mr. Gladstone cast his eye over the results of his wife's labor and exclaimed in despair: "You have done them all wrong, from beginning to end!" His wife, however, has been so invaluable a helpmeet in other ways that it seems somewhat invidious to recall that little incident. She had other work to do, and she wisely left the accounts to her husband and his private secretaries.

The union of Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone has been blessed by eight children, all of whom save two still survive. There were four sons, the eldest, William Henry, was a member of the Legislature, and the second, the Rev. Stephen Edward Gladstone, is rector of Hawarden. The third son is named Henry Neville and the fourth Herbert John Gladstone. The former is engaged in commerce and the latter is the popular member for Leeds. The eldest daughter, Anne, is married to Rev. E.C. Wickham, A.M., headmaster of Wellington College; and the second, Catharine Jessy Gladstone, died in 1850; the third daughter, Mary, is married to Rev. W. Drew, and the fourth, Helen Gladstone, is principal of Newnham College. As Sir John Gladstone had the pleasure of seeing his son William Ewart become a distinguished member of Parliament, so Mr. Gladstone in his turn was able to witness his eldest son take his seat in the British Senate.

It was a sad bereavement when the Gladstones were called upon to part with their little daughter, Catharine Jessy, April 9, 1850, between four and five years old. Her illness was long and painful, and Mr. Gladstone bore his part in the nursing and watching. He was tenderly fond of his little children and the sorrow had therefore a peculiar bitterness. But Mr. Gladstone has since had another sad experience of death entering the family circle. July 4, 1891, the eldest son, William Henry Gladstone, died. The effect upon the aged father was greatly feared, and the world sympathized with the great statesman and father in his sad trial, and with the afflicted family. In a letter dated July 9, the day after the interment, Mr. Gladstone wrote:

"We, in our affliction are deeply sensible of the mercies of God. He gave us for fifty years a most precious son. He has now only hidden him for a very brief space from the sight of our eyes. It seems a violent transition from such thoughts to the arena of political contention, but the transition may be softened by the conviction we profoundly hold that we, in the first and greatest of our present controversies, work for the honor, well-being and future peace of our opponents not less than for our own."

When away from the trammels of office, Mr. Gladstone taught his elder children Italian. All the sons went to Eton and Oxford, and the daughters were educated at home by English, French and German governesses. A close union of affection and sentiment has always been a marked characteristic of this model English family. Marriage and domestic cares, however, made little difference in Mr. Gladstone's mode of life. He was still the diligent student, the constant debater and the copious writer that he had been at Eton, at Oxford and in the Albany.

In the early days of their married life, Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone lived in London with Lady Glynne, at 13 Carlton House Terrace. Later they lived at 6 Carlton Gardens, which was made over to them by Sir John Gladstone; then again at 13 Carlton House Terrace; and when Mr. Gladstone was in office, at the official residence of the Prime Minister, Downing Street. In 1850 Mr. Gladstone succeeded to his patrimony, and in 1856 he bought 11 Carlton House Terrace, which was his London house for twenty years; and he subsequently lived for four years at 73 Harley Street. During the parliamentary recess Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone divided their time between Fasque, Sir John Gladstone's seat in Kincardineshire, and Hawarden Castle, which they shared with Mrs. Gladstone's brother, Sir Stephen Glynne, till in his death in 1874, when it passed into their sole possession. In 1854 Mrs. Gladstone's brother added to the castle a new wing, which he especially dedicated to his illustrious brother-in-law, and which is fondly known as "The Gladstone Wing." And Mr. Gladstone, having only one country house, probably spent as much time at Hawarden as any other minister finds it possible to devote to residence out of London.

Hawarden, usually pronounced Harden, is the name of a large market-town, far removed from the centre and seat of trade and empire, in Flintshire, North Wales, six miles southwest from the singular and ancient city of Chester, of which it may be called a suburb. It is not pretty, but a clean and tolerably well-built place, with some good houses and the usual characteristics of a Welsh village. The public road from Chester to Hawarden, which passes by the magnificent seat of the Duke of Westminster, is not, except for this, interesting to the stranger. There is a pedestrian route along the banks of the river Dee, over the lower ferry and across the meadows. But for the most part the way lies along dreary wastes, unadorned by any of the beautiful landscape scenery so common in Wales. Broughton Hall, its pleasant church and quiet churchyard, belonging to the Hawarden estate, are passed on the way. The village lies at the foot of the Castle, and outside of the gates of Hawarden Park. The parish contains 13,000 acres, and of these the estate of Mr. Gladstone consists of nearly 7000. The road from the village for the most part is dreary, but within the gates the park is as beautiful as it is extensive. Richly wooded, on both sides of its fine drive are charming vistas opening amongst the oaks, limes and elms. On the height to the left of the drive is the ancient Hawarden Castle, for there are two—the old and the new—the latter being the more modern home of the proprietor.

The ancient Castle of Hawarden, situated on an eminence commanding an extensive prospect, is now in ruins. What, however, was left of the old Castle at the beginning of the century stands to-day a monument of the massive work of the early masons. The remnant, which ages of time and the Parliamentary wars and the strange zeal of its first owner under Cromwell for its destruction, allowed to remain, is in a marvelous state of preservation, and the masonry in some places fifteen feet thick. There is a grandeur in the ruin to be enjoyed, as well as a scene of beauty from its towers. The old Castle, like the park itself, is open to the public without restriction. Only two requests are made in the interests of good order. One is that visitors entering the park kindly keep to the gravel walks, while the other is that they do not inscribe their names on the stone-work of the ancient ruin, which request has been unheeded.

This ancient Castle was doubtless a stronghold of the Saxons in very early times, for it was found in the possession of Edwin of Mercia at the Norman Conquest, and was granted by William the Conqueror to his nephew, Hugh Lupus. In later times Prince Llewelyn was Lord of Hawarden, of which he was dispossessed by his brother, David. It was only after Wales was conquered that Hawarden became an English stronghold, held against the Welsh.

The Castle had its vicissitudes, both as to its condition and proprietorship, for many years, even generations. Somewhere between 1267 and 1280 the Castle had been destroyed and rebuilt. It was rebuilt in the time of Edward I or Edward II, and formed one link in the chain by which the Edwards held the Welsh to their loyalty. Its name appears in the doomsday-book, where it is spelled Haordine. It was presented by King Edward to the House of Salisbury. Then the Earls of Derby came into possession, and they entertained within its walls Henry VII in the latter part of the fifteenth century. During the Parliamentary wars it was held at first for the Parliament, and was taken by siege in 1643. The royalists were in possession two years later, and at Christmas time, in 1645, Parliament ordered that the Castle be dismantled, which was effectively done. The latest proprietor of those times was James, Earl of Derby. He was executed and the estates were sold. They were purchased by Sergeant Glynne, Lord Chief Justice of England under Cromwell, from whom in a long line of descent they were inherited, upon the death of the last baronet, Sir Stephen Glynne, in 1874, by the wife of William E. Gladstone. Sergeant Glynne's son, Sir William, the first baronet, when he came into possession, was seized with the unaccountable notion of further destroying the old Castle, and by the end of the seventeenth century very little remained beyond what stands to-day.

Hawarden is supposed to be synonymous with the word Burg-Ardden, Ardin, a fortified mound or hill. It is usually supposed to be an English word, but of Welsh derivation, and is no doubt related to dinas, in Welsh the exact equivalent to the Saxon burg. The Welsh still call it Penarlas, a word the etymology of which points to a period when the lowlands of Saltney were under water, and the Castle looked over a lake. The earlier history of the Castle goes back to the time when it was held by the ancient Britons, and stood firm against Saxon, Dane, or whatever invading foe sought to deprive the people of their heritage in the soil. On the invasion of William, as we have seen, it was in the possession of Edwin, sovereign of Deira. "We find it afterwards," says another account, "in the possession of Roger Fitzvalarine, a son of one of the adventurers who came over with the Conqueror. Then it was held, subordinately, by the Monthault, or Montalt, family, the stewards of the palatinate of Chester. It is remarkable, as we noticed in our story of Hughenden Manor, that as the traditions of that ancient place touched the memory of Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, so do they also in the story of the old Castle of Hawarden. Here Llewelyn, the last native prince of Wales, held a memorable conference with the Earl. With in the walls of Hawarden was signed the treaty of peace between Wales and Cheshire, not long to last; here Llewelyn saw the beautiful daughter of De Montfort, whose memory haunted him so tenderly and so long. Again we find the Castle in the possession of the Montalt family, from whom it descended to the Stanleys, the Earl of Derby.... Here the last native princes of Wales, Llewelyn and David, attempted to grasp their crumbling sceptre, Here no doubt halted Edward I, 'girt with many a baron bold;' here the Tudor prince, Henry VII, of Welsh birth, visited in the later years of the fifteenth century; and this was the occasion upon which it passed into the family whose representatives had proclaimed him monarch on Bosworth field. But when James, Earl of Derby, was beheaded, after the battle of Worcester, in 1651, the estate was purchased under the Sequestration Act by Sergeant Glynne, whose portrait hangs over the mantleshelf of the drawing-room; 'but,' says Mrs. Gladstone, in calling our attention to it, 'he is an ancestor of whom we have no occasion to be and are not proud.'"

This remark of Mrs. Gladstone's may be explained by the following from the pen of a reputable author: "Sergeant Glynne, who flourished (literally flourished) during the seventeenth century, was a most unscrupulous man in those troubled times. He was at first a supporter of Charles I, then got office and preferment under Cromwell, and yet again, like a veritable Vicar of Bray, became a Royalist on the return of Charles II. The Earl of Derby, who was taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester, in 1661, was executed, and his estates forfeited. Of these estates Sergeant Glynne managed to get possession of Hawarden; and though on the Restoration all Royalists' forfeited estates were ordered to be restored, Glynne managed somehow to remain in possession of the property."

It is very probable that Hawarden Castle was no exception to those cruel haunts of feudal tyranny and oppression belonging to the days of its power. Many years ago, when the rubbish was cleared away beneath the Castle ruin, a flight of steps was found, at the foot of which was a door, and a draw-bridge, which crossed a long, deep chasm, neatly faced with freestone; then another door leading to several small rooms, all, probably, places of confinement; and those hollows, now fringed with timber trees, in those days constituted a broad, deep fosse.

The old Hawarden Castle, a curious ruin covered with moss and ivy, like many other ancient piles of stone in historic England, is a reminder of a past and warlike age, when an Englishman's home had to be a castle to protect him and his family from his enemies. But times have changed for the better, and long immunity from internal foes and invading armies has had its peaceful effects upon the lands and the homes of men. As the grounds of Hawarden show the remarkable cultivation produced by long periods of peaceful toil, so the ancient castle has given way for the modern dwelling, a peaceful abode whose only protecting wall is that with which the law surrounds it.

Modern Hawarden Castle is a castle only in name. The new "Castle" has been the home of the Glynns' for generations, and ever since the marriage of Mr. Gladstone and Miss Glynn has been the dwelling of the Gladstones. Mr. Gladstone has greatly improved the Hawarden estate and the castle has not been overlooked. Among the improvements to the castle may be named the additions to the library and the Golden Wedding Porch.

The new Castle was begun in 1752, by Sir John Glynne, who "created a stout, honest, square, red-brick mansion;" which was added to and altered in the Gothic style in 1814. The Glynnes lived in Oxfordshire till early in the eighteenth century, when they built themselves a small house, which was on the site of the present Castle. The new Hawarden Castle stands in front of the massive ruin of the old Castle, which has looked down on the surrounding country for six centuries. A recent writer speaking of the new structure as a sham Castle, with its plaster and stucco, and imitation turrets, says: "It would not have been surprising if the old Castle had, after the manner of Jewish chivalry, torn its hair of thickly entwined ivy, rent its garments of moss and lichen, and fallen down prostrate, determined forever to shut out the sight of the modern monstrosity."

However, the author somewhat relents and thus describes the modern edifice:

"The aspect of the house is very impressive and imposing, as it first suddenly seems to start upon the view after a long carriage-drive through the noble trees, if not immediately near, but breaking and brightening the view on either hand; yet, within and without, the house seems like its mighty master—not pensive but rural; it does not even breathe the spirit of quiet. Its rooms look active and power-compelling, and we could not but feel that they were not indebted to any of the aesthetic inventions and elegancies of furniture for their charm. Thus we have heard of one visitor pathetically exclaiming, 'Not one dado adorns the walls!' Hawarden is called a Castle, but it has not, either in its exterior or interior, the aspect of a Castle. It is a home; it has a noble appearance as it rises on the elevated ground, near the old feudal ruin which it has superseded, and looks over the grand and forest-like park, the grand pieces of broken ground, dells and hollows, and charming woodlands."

The traditional history of Hawarden Church, as well as that of the Castle, travels back to a very remote antiquity, and is the central point of interest to many a tragedy, and some of a very grotesque character. For instance, for many ages the inhabitants of Hawarden were called "Harden Jews," and for this designation we have the following legendary account. In the year 946, during the reign of Cynan ap Elisap Anarawd, King of Gwynedd North, there was a Christian temple at Harden, and a rood-loft, in which was placed an image of the Virgin Mary, with a very large cross in her hands, which was called "holy rood." During a very hot and dry summer the inhabitants prayed much and ardently for rain, but without any effect. Among the rest, Lady Trowst, wife of Sytsyllt, governor of Harden Castle, went also to pray, when, during this exercise, the holy rood fell upon her head and killed her. Such behavior upon the part of this wooden Virgin could be tolerated no longer. A great tumult ensued in consequence, and it was concluded to try the said Virgin for murder, and the jury not only found her guilty of wilful murder, but of inattention in not answering the prayers of innumerable petitioners. The sentence was hanging, but Span, of Mancot, who was one of the jury, opposed this act saying it was best to drown, since it was rain they prayed for. This was fiercely opposed by Corbin, of the gate, who advised that she should be laid on the sands by the river. So, this being done, the tide carried the lady, floating gently, like another lady, Elaine, upon its soft bosom, and placed her near the walls of Caerleon (now Chester), where she was found next day, says the legend, drowned and dead. Here the inhabitants of Caerleon buried her. Upon this occasion, it is said, the river, which had until then been called the Usk, was changed to Rood Die, or Rood Dee. We need not stay here to analyze some things belonging to locality and etymology, which appear to us somewhat anachronistic and contradictory in this ancient and queer legend.

Hawarden Church is a fairly large structure, externally a plain old brick building with a low tower and a dwarf spire, standing in the midst of a large population of graves. There is preserved in the annals of the Church a list of the rectors of Hawarden as far back as 1180.

About forty years ago a fire broke out in the Church, and when all was over, very little was left of the original structure except the walls. It was restored with great expedition, and was re-opened within the same year. The present building is a restoration to the memory of the immediate ancestor, from whom the estate is derived by the present family. It is the centre of hard, earnest work, done for an exceptionally large parish. But the Church population is occasionally recruited from all the ends of the earth.

It is here that the Gladstone family worship on the plain, uncushioned pew, near the lectern and opposite the pulpit. When the estates came into the hands of the Glynnes the living was bestowed upon a member of the family. The Rector is Rev. Stephen Gladstone, second son of the Premier. He is not a great preacher, but he is quietly earnest and instructive. Mr. Gladstone was up early on Sunday mornings and seldom failed to be in his pew at Church. Crowds filled the Church Sunday, morning and evening, week after week, many of them strangers, to see the Prime Minister of England, and behold him leave his pew and, standing at the reading-desk, go through his part of the service—that of reading the lessons for the day, in this obscure village Church. After church Mr. Gladstone went to the rectory with his family, with his cloak only over his shoulders, when the weather required, and as he walked along the path through the churchyard would bow to the crowds that stood on either side uncovered to greet him as he passed by. The two brothers, until recently, lived at the rectory, and the whole family seemed to live in the most beautiful harmony together.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone attribute much of his health to the fact that he will have his Sabbath to himself and his family, undisturbed by any of the agitations of business, the cares of State, or even the recreations of literature and scholastic study. This profound public regard for the day of rest, whether in London or at Hawarden, awakens a feeling of admiration and puts us in mind of his great predecessor in statesmanship, Cecil, Lord Burleigh, who, when he arrived at Theobalds on a Saturday evening would throw off his cloak or chain of office and exclaim, "Lie there and rest, my good lord treasurer."

One of the main points of interest at the home of Mr. Gladstone is the library. There is not a room in Hawarden Castle in which there is not an abundance of books, which are not all collected in the library, but distributed all over the house. Where other people have cabinets for curiosities, china, etc., there are here shelves and cases full of books. In ante-room and bed-room dressing-room and nursery they are found, not by single volumes, but in serried ranks; well-known and useful books. But it is in the library where Mr. Gladstone has collected by years of careful selection, a most valuable and large array of books, from all parts of the world, upon every subject. These books are classified and so arranged as to be of immediate use. All those on one particular subject are grouped together.

Mr. Gladstone was a familiar figure in the book stores, and especially where rare, old books were to be found, and he seldom failed to return home with some book in his pocket. Mrs. Gladstone is said to have gone through his pockets often upon his return home, and sent back many a volume to the book-seller, that had found its way to the pocket of her husband, after a hasty glance at its title. He kept himself informed of all that was going on in the literary, scientific and artistic worlds, receiving each week a parcel of the newest books for his private readings. Every day he looked over several book-sellers's catalogues, and certain subjects were sure of getting an order.

Hawarden library gave every evidence of being for use, and not show. Mr. Gladstone knew what books he had and was familiar with their contents. Some books were in frequent use, but others were not forgotten. He could put his hand on any one he wanted to refer to. At the end of a volume read he would construct an index of his own by which he could find passages to which he wished to refer.

There are few stories that Mr. Gladstone told with greater relish than one concerning Sir Antonio Panizzi, who many years ago visited the library at Hawarden. Looking round the room and at its closely packed shelves, he observed in a patronizing tone, "I see you have got some books here." Nettled at this seemingly slighting allusion to the paucity of his library, Mr. Gladstone asked Panizzi how many volumes he thought were on the shelves. Panizzi replied: "From five to six thousand." Then a loud and exulting laugh rang round the room as Mr. Gladstone answered: "You are wrong by at least two thousand, as there are eight thousand volumes and more before you now." Since then the library has grown rapidly.

The fate of this large library was naturally a matter of much consideration to Mr. Gladstone. It was particularly rich in classical and theological works, so it occured to its owner to form a public library under a trusteeship, for the benefit of students, under the care of the Rector of Hawarden, or some other clergyman. So he caused to be erected at a cost to him of about $5,000, a corrugated iron building on a knoll just outside Hawarden Church. The name of this parish library is "The St. Deiniol's Theological and General Library of Hawarden." In 1891, Mr. Gladstone had deposited about 20,000 volumes upon the shelves in this new building, with his own hands, which books were carried in hand-carts from the castle. Since that time thousands have been added to this valuable collection.

It was a happy thought of Mr. Gladstone to found a theological library in the immediate vicinity of Hawarden; also to have connected with it a hostel where students could be boarded and lodged for six dollars a week and thus be enabled to use the library in the pursuit of their studies. Mr. Gladstone has endowed the institution with $150,000. Rev. H. Drew, the son-in-law of Mr. Gladstone, is warden and librarian.