From Chepstow it is only a short journey to Raglan, whose ruined castle impressed us in many ways as the most beautiful we saw in Britain.  It was far different from the rude fortress at Chepstow.  In its best days it combined a military stronghold with the conveniences 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.”