All Chicagoans, most excursionists to their World's Fair, recall with mingled emotions the turreted and crenellated brownstone "castle" abutting on lower Lake Shore Drive. The two acres of pleasaunce surrounding it confirm the impression of burlesque medievalism, of an architect strong in his delusion that a parapet here, a battlement there, comprise the ancient dignity of Kenilworth, Warwick, Elsinore, Tintagel.
Despite its atrocious style, its incongruity in a bracket of sheer apartment houses, those familiar with the castle's tradition regard it affectionately, reverently. For here live the Potter Palmers.
With a horse,...
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