The modern Residence was built in 1752 upon the site of Broadlane Hall, the seat of the Ravenscrofts, an old house of wood and plaster, which came into Sir John Glynne’s possession by his marriage with Honora Conway, daughter of Henry Conway and Honora Ravenscroft. Originally a square brick house, it was afterwards in 1809 extended by the addition of the Library on the West side and of the Kitchen and other offices on the East; the whole being cased in stone and castellated. The entrance was now turned from the S. to the N. front the turnpike road, which passed in front of the house and along the Moat to the Village, having been diverted in 1804 and the present Flower-garden constructed with the old Thorn-tree in the centre. Quite recently has been added the block at the N.W. angle of the house, containing Mr. Gladstone’s Study, or, as he calls it, the ‘Temple of Peace.’

The most striking feature about this room is that (to use the phrase of a writer in Harper’s Magazine) it is built about with bookcases. Instead of being ranged along the wall in the usual way, they stand out into the room at right angles, each wide enough to hold a double row facing either way. Intervals are left sufficient to give access to the books, and Mr. Gladstone prides himself upon the economy of space obtained by this arrangement. His Library numbers near 20,000 volumes, many of which have overflowed into adjoining rooms, where they are similarly stored. Of this number Theology claims a large proportion; Homer, Dante, and Shakespeare also have their respective departments, and any resident visitor is at liberty, on entering his or her name in a book kept for the purpose, to borrow any volume at pleasure. Three writing-tables are seen. At one Mr. Gladstone sits when busy in political work and correspondence; the second is reserved for literary and especially, Homeric studies; the third is Mrs. Gladstone’s. “It is,” remarked Mr. Gladstone to the writer above mentioned, with a wistful glance at the table where ‘Vaticanism’ and ‘Juventus Mundi’ were written, “A long time since I sat there.” About the room are to be seen busts and photographs of old friends and colleagues Sidney Herbert, the Duke of Newcastle, Canning, Tennyson, Lord Richard Cavendish, and others, while in the corners lurk numerous walking sticks and axes.

Adjoining Mr. Gladstone’s room is the Library of the house a well-proportioned and comfortable room, well stored with books, prominent among which topography and ecclesiology testify to the predelictions of the late owner, Sir Stephen Glynne. There are some good family portraits and other pictures, among which are specimens of Sir Peter Lely, Snyders, and a very fine likeness of Sir Kenelm Digby by Vandyke. There is a fine picture by Millais of Mr. Gladstone and his grandson, painted in 1889, and another good portrait of him by the late F. Holl; also a much-admired likeness of Mrs. Gladstone by Herkomer.

Shading the windows of Mr. Gladstone’s Study is a singular circle of limes of some 20 feet in diameter, which goes by the name of Sir John Glynne’s Dressing-Room. Mounting the slope towards the old castle is the Broad Walk, terminating in an artificial amphitheatre at the top, made by Sir John Glynne to give employment in a time of distress. The grounds abound in fine trees, and in rhododendrons which in spring form masses of bloom.

In 1819, Prince Leopold, the late King of the Belgians, visited the Castle; and the small wooden door on the south side of the Ruins is still called after him. The Visitors’ Book at the Lodge also records, in autograph, the names of Her Gracious Majesty, as Princess Victoria, and her mother, the Duchess of Kent, in or about the year 1833.

In the palmy days of the Royal British Bowmen the Castle was the frequent scene of bow-meetings; the peculiar green costumes and feathers worn by both the ladies and gentlemen competitors contributing to the picturesque effect of these gatherings. Simultaneously with one of these Archery Meetings, in the year, we believe, 1835, was held a Fancy Bazaar, commemorated in some admirable lines by Mr. R. E. Warburton of Arley Hall, which will be read with pleasure in connection with more recent bazaars held in the same place.

While tents are pitched in Hawarden’s peaceful vale,
And harmless shafts the platted targe assail;
While now the bow (the archers more intent
On making love than making war) is bent;
Beneath those towers, where erst their fathers drew
In deadly conflict bows of tougher yew;
Lo! Charity, a native of the skies,
Whose smile betrays her through a vain disguise,
Mounts the steep hill, and ‘neath th’ o’erhanging wall,
The canvass stretch’d in triumph, plants her stall;
In gay profusion o’er the counter pours
Her glittering wares and ranges all her stores.

Beneath the magic of her touch behold
Transformed at once the warlike aims of old!
The mighty falchion to a penknife shrinks,
The mailed meshes from the purse’s links;
The sturdy lance a bodkin now appears,
A bunch of tooth-picks once a hundred spears;
A painted toy behold the keen-edged axe!
See men of iron turned to dolls of wax!

The once broad shield contracted now in span
Raised as a screen or fluttered as a fan;
The gleaming helm a hollow thimble proves,
And weighty gauntlets dwindle into gloves.
The plumes that winged the arrow through the sky,
Waft to and fro the shuttlecock on high;
Two trusty swords are into scissors cross’d,
And dinted breastplates are in corsets lost;
While dungeon chains to gentler use consigned,
Now silken laces, tighten stays behind.

Approach! nor weapons more destructive fear,
Where’er ye turn, than pins and needles here.
While hobbling Age along the pathway crawls,
By aid of crutch to scale the Castle’s walls:
With eager steps advance, ye generous youths,
Draw purses all, and strip the loaded booths.
Bear each away some trophy from the steep,
Take each a keepsake ere ye quit the keep!
Come, every stranger, every guest draw nigh!
No peril waits you save from beauty’s eye.

Hard by the Castle and across the yard will be found Mrs. Gladstone’s Orphanage, containing from 20 to 30 boys. Close by is a little Home of Rest established by Mrs. Gladstone, for old and infirm women. The house in which the orphans are lodged is called Diglane, and was formerly the residence of the Crachley family. It was sold to Sir John Glynne in 1749.

The Park is about 250 acres in extent, to which have to be added the Bilberry Wood and Warren Plantations. It is divided into two parts by a ravine passing immediately under the old Castle and traversing its entire length. The further side is called the Deer Park, inclosed and stocked by Sir John Glynne in 1739. Its banks and glades, richly timbered, and overgrown with bracken, afford from various points beautiful views over the plain of Chester, with the bold projections of the Frodsham and Peckforton hills. Along the bottom of the hollow flows Broughton brook. Two Waterfalls occur in its course through the Park: the lower is called the Ladies’ Fall: near the upper one stood a Mill, now removed, the erection of which is commemorated by a large stone, bearing the following inscription:

“Trust in God for Bread, and to the King for Justice, Protection and Peace. This Mill was built A.D. 1767 By Sir John Glynne, Bart., Lord of this Manor: Charles Howard Millwright. Wheat was at this year 9s. and Barley at 5d. a Bushel. Luxury was at a great height, and Charity extensive, but the pool were starving, riotous, and hanged.”

Between this spot and the “Old Lane,” a sandy gully, lined with old beeches, and once the road to Wrexham now tenanted by rabbits are two large oaks, 17 and 18 feet in circumference respectively. Another tree, a beautiful specimen of the fagus pendula, or feathering beech, a great favourite with Mr. Gladstone, deserves attention. It stands a few yards from the iron railing near the moat of the old Castle, and measures 17f in. round. The sycamores at Hawarden are particularly fine. Nor should the visitor omit seeing the noble grove of beeches at the Ladies’ Fall.

The road which descends the steep hill under the Old Castle and crosses the brook, leads up through the Park to the Bilberry Wood. Twenty minutes’ walk through the wood brings one to the “Top Lodge” (1.75 miles from the Castle). From this point either the walk may be continued through the further plantations to the pretty Church of St. John’s at Penymynydd, or, if necessary Broughton Hall Station, 2.5 miles distant, may be gained direct. The inclosures and the plantations on this portion of the estate, called the Warren, were made in 1798, and command some very fine views. The high road through Pentrobin and Tinkersdale offers a pleasant return route to Hawarden.

Everyone has heard of Mr. Gladstone’s prowess as a woodcutter, and to some it may even have been matter of surprise to see no scantiness of trees in the Park at Hawarden. It is true that he attacks trees with the same vigour as he attacks abuses in the body politic, but he attacks them on the same principle they are blemishes and not ornaments. No one more scrupulously respects a sound and shapely tree than Mr. Gladstone; and if he is prone to condemn those that show signs of decay, he is always ready to listen to any plea that may be advanced on their behalf by other members of the family. In this, as in other matters, doubtful points will of course arise; but there can be no question that a policy of inert conservatism is an entire mistake. Besides the natural growth and decay of trees, a hundred other causes are ever at work to affect their structure and appearance; and the facts of the landscape, thus continually altering, afford sufficient occupation for the eye and hand of the woodman. It was late in life that Mr. Gladstone took to woodcutting. Tried first as an experiment, it answered so admirably the object of getting the most complete exercise in a short time that, though somewhat slackened of late, it has never been abandoned. His procedure is characteristic. No exercise is taken in the morning, save the daily walk to morning service but between 3 and 4 in the afternoon he sallies forth, axe on shoulder, accompanied by one or more of his sons. The scene of action reached, there is no pottering; the work begins at once, and is carried on with unflagging energy. Blow follows blow, delivered with that skill which his favourite author reminds us is of more value to the woodman than strength, together with a force and energy that soon tells its tale on the tree

Virgil OEn II. 626

“It still keeps nodding to its doom,
Still bows its head and shakes its plume,
Till, by degrees o’ercome, one groan
It heaves, and on the hill lies prone.”

Conington’s Translation.

At the advanced age he has now attained, it can hardly be expected that Mr. Gladstone can very frequently indulge in what has been his favourite recreation for the past twenty-five years. The present winter however saw the fall of at least one large tree, in which he took a full share a Spanish chestnut, measuring 10ft. at the top of the face, and those who were present can testify to the undiminished vigour with which the axe was wielded on that occasion.