itality, so he has not
left unsung the praises of Penshurst. Where is the circle which shall
again combine so many claims to our admiration and respect? What age shall
presume to vaunt itself for genius or for virtue above the age of Sydney
and of Spenser?

Later times have added to the social and literary lustre of Penshurst. It
has been still farther illustrated by the talents and fame of Algernon
Sydney, whose name never fails to awaken the sympathies of every friend of
liberty for his honorable labors and unhappy fate. It has numbered among
its guests and its eulogists such men as Jonson, Waller, and Southey;
finally, even in our own time it has seen its horizon momently illuminated
by the brief but dazzling splendors of the poet Shelly. This last was of
the lineage of Sydney, and shared the talents and proud integrity, but not
the wisdom and milder virtues of his house. It only remains to say, that
the dwelling and estate of the Sydneys has passed into other hands, but
finds, it would seem, in Lord De Lisle a proprietor not insensible to the
worth nor regardless of the memory of his far-famed predecessors.

Thus the remarks intended, draw to an end. We leave the halls of
Penshurst, and the gates of that venerated mansion close behind us
forever. Even thus did they close ages ago upon him, the light and honor
of that ancient house, who, leaving it in the glow of health, in the pride
of manly beauty, in the aspirations of a high but not a haughty spirit,
was destined never to cross that paternal threshold more. The blessings
that went with him have mouldered on the lips that pronounced them; the
tears that mourned his fall have dried upon the lids from which they
streamed; all who knew and loved, all who watched and wept for Sir Philip
Sydney are silent in the dust to which he himself has long been gathered.
Yet does not his spirit commune with ours as we tread the halls once
familiar with his presence, or gaze upon those all but animated portraits
which Penshurst still numbers among the richest of its treasures? Does
nothing survive here of so much honor, so much courtesy, so much courage,
to elevate us by its example and to inspire us with new hope, ere we turn
again to tread the toilsome mazes of the world? Let the acknowledgments of
all those who with no unworthy or unreflecting spirit have traced these
paths, reply; or rather let the answer embody itself in the words of a
poet, who, while expressing his own sens