niences and artistic
effects of a palace. It is fortunately one of the best-preserved of the
castellated ruins in the Kingdom. Impressive indeed were the two square
towers flanking its great entrance, yet their stern aspect was
softened by the heavy masses of ivy that covered them almost to the top.
The walls, though roofless, were still standing, so that one could gain
a good idea of the original plan of the castle. The fire places, with
elaborate mantels still in place, the bits of fine carvings that clung
to the walls here and there, the grand staircase, a portion of which
still remains, all combined to show that this castle had been planned as
a superb residence as well as a fortress. From the Gwent tower there was
an unobstructed view stretching away in every direction toward the
horizon. The day was perfect, without even a haze to obscure the
distance, and save from Ludlow Castle, I saw nothing to equal the
prospect which lay beneath me when standing on Raglan Tower.

Raglan's active history ended with its surrender August 15, 1646, to the
Parliamentary army under General Fairfax, after a severe siege of more
than two months. It was the last fortress in England to hold out for the
lost cause of King Charles, and a brave record did its gallant defenders
make against an overwhelmingly superior force. The Marquis of Worcester,
though eighty-five years of age, held the castle against the
Cromwellians until starvation forced him to surrender. The old nobleman
was granted honorable terms by his captors, but Parliament did not keep
faith, and he died a year later in the Tower of London. On being told a
few days before his death that his body would be buried in Windsor
Chapel, he cheerfully remarked: "Why, God bless us all, then I shall
have a better castle when I am dead than they took from me when I was
alive."

After the surrender the castle was dismantled by the soldiers, and the
farmers in the vicinity emulated the Parliamentary destroyers in looting
the fine edifice. Seventeen of the stone staircases were taken away
during the interval and the great hall and chapel were seriously
injured. Enough of the massive walls is left to convey a vivid idea of
the olden grandeur of the castle. The motto of the time-worn arms
inscribed over the entrance speaks eloquently of the past, expressing in
Latin the sentiment, "I scorn to change or fear."

A quiet, unpretentious old border town is Hereford, pleasantly located
on the