There are few, if any, more magnificent drives in England than the one through the beautiful Stratford district. It is recorded that two Englishmen once laid a wager as to the finest walk in England. One named the walk from Coventry to Stratford, the other from Stratford to Coventry.
It was a delightful day and both the colonel and George entirely forgot business in their enjoyment of the loveliest country they had ever seen. A drive of two miles, from Leamington and along the banks of the historic Avon, brought them to Warwick Castle which Scott calls "The fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendor uninjured by the tooth of time." It is said that Warwick Castle was never taken by any foe in days gone by.
Our visitors drove over the draw-bridge through a gateway covered with ivy, and still guarded as of old, by an ancient portcullis. In the hall of the castle, pannelled with richly carved oak, are religiously guarded the helmet of Cromwell, the armor of the Black Prince, and many historic relics and art treasures. The drawing-room is finished in cedar. In former days guests were summoned to the great banqueting hall by a blare of trumpets. In the gardens is seen the celebrated white marble Warwick vase from Adrian's villa. Interwoven vines form the handles, and leaves and grapes adorn the margin of the vase. Superb views were had from the castle towers. In the Beauchamp chapel in the old town of Warwick repose the remains of Dudley, Earl of Leicester, one of Queen Elizabeth's favorites. She gave Leicester beautiful Kenilworth Castle, which is five miles distant.
As the carriages drove over the smooth road, beneath the venerable elms and sycamores, artists along the way were sketching. Both Alfonso and Leo tipped their hats, as members of a guild that recognizes art for art's sake, a society that takes cognizance of neither nationality nor sect.
Gertrude and George had read Scott's novel in which he tells of the ancient glories of Kenilworth, which dates back to the twelfth century, and to-day is considered the most beautiful ruin in the world. Ivy mantles the lofty ruined walls; the sun tinges in silver the gray old towers, and sends a flood of golden light through the deep windows of the once magnificent banqueting hall.
For years Kenilworth Castle was a royal residence, and later it was the scene of bloody conflicts between kings and nobles. Today sheep peacefully graze within the ruins and about the grounds. Visitors from all parts of the world look in wonder upon the decay of glories that once dazzled all Europe. Here the earl of Leicester entertained his virgin queen hoping to marry her. As Elizabeth crossed the draw-bridge a song in her praise was sung by a Lady of the Lake on an island floating in the moat. Story writers have never tired of telling of the magnificence of these entertainments that cost the ambitious earl $20,000 per day for nineteen days.
Returning, Warwick Arms Hotel was reached for lunch, after which the party drove eight miles to Stratford-on-Avon, a model town on the classic Avon. Here in Henley Street, in a half-timbered house recently carefully restored, Shakespeare was born. The walls and window panes are covered with the names of visitors, while inside are kept albums for the autographs of kings, queens, of Scott, Byron, Irving, and others. One of the three rooms below is an ancient kitchen, where by the big open chimney the poet often sat. Climbing a winding, wooden stairway, George and Gertrude in the lead, our Harrisville friends entered the old-fashioned chamber, where, it is said, on St. George's Day, April 19, 1564, William Shakespeare was born. A bust of the poet stands on the table.
"We know little of his mother," said Gertrude, "except that she had a beautiful name, Mary Arden. If it is true, as a rule, that all great men have had great mothers, Mary Arden must have been a very superior woman."
"The reverse, Gertrude, must be equally true," said George, "that all great women must have had great fathers."
Gertrude who had made a special study of Shakespeare and his works did much of the talking. She said, "All that is definitely known of the life of the great poet can be put on half a page. It is thought that William was the son of a well-to-do farmer who lost his property. William, not above work, assisted his father as butcher, then taught school, and later served as a lawyer's clerk. When he was eighteen, like most young people, he fell in love."