United States or Cabo Verde ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
After dinner, when there were no visitors at Hawarden, Mr. Gladstone would quietly sit reading in his library, or conversing with his family. He never used tobacco. Shortly after 10 o'clock he retired to bed and to sleep. He never allowed himself to think and be sleepless. Mr. Bright had a habit of making his speeches after he had retired to bed, which Mr.
Sundays were often spent out of town, at Hawarden and elsewhere, and latterly at Camfield, the house so lately purchased. Both this and his town house were entirely furnished, as he wished each to be complete in itself.
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.
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.
Hawarden activated the intercom, and when a face appeared on the screen ordered, "Give this young man any information he wants." "Do you know a planet named 'Algon' or 'Guddu'?" Hanlon asked. "It's about twelve and a quarter light years distant, right ascension about eighteen hours, declination around plus fifteen degrees. Here's a rough chart of what I could see from there."
"No need for that, Mr Murray," he answered, "no need for that," and plunged back straightway into the talk at Hawarden as if it had taken place only yesterday. There were all manner of amusements provided for Mr Wood-hall's guests, and into one of them at least he plunged with the delighted enthusiasm of a boy.
Out of the many letters Alfred received, this is the one I liked best: HAWARDEN CASTLE, April 27th, 1886. It is a daring and perhaps a selfish thing to speak to you at a moment when your mind and heart are a sanctuary in which God is speaking to you in tones even more than usually penetrating and solemn. Certainly it pertains to few to be chosen to receive such lessons as are being taught you.
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.
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.
And when the master comes, who has the power to portray with absolute fidelity the greatness of these two men, will it be to the disadvantage of the American? The village of Hawarden is in Flintshire, North Wales. It is seven miles from Chester.
Word Of The Day