se is due to his conduct in Holland; to the
valor of a knight-errant he added the best virtues of a commander and
counsellor. Leicester himself apprehended that it would be scarcely
possible for him to sustain his high post without the countenance and
assistance of his beloved nephew; and the event showed that he was
right.

His death was worthy of the best parts of his life; he showed himself to
the last devout, courageous, and serene. His wife, the beautiful
daughter of Walsingham; his brother Robert, to whom he had performed the
part rather of an anxious and indulgent parent than of a brother; and
many sorrowing friends, surrounded his bed. Their grief was beyond a
doubt sincere and poignant, as well as that of the many persons of
letters and of worth who gloried in his friendship and flourished by his
bountiful patronage.

On the whole, though justice claims the admission that the character of
Sidney was not entirely free from the faults most incident to his age
and station, and that neither as a writer, a scholar, a soldier, or a
statesman,--in all which characters during the course of his short life
he appeared, and appeared with distinction,--is he yet entitled to the
highest rank; it may however be firmly maintained that, as a _man_, an
accomplished and high-souled man, he had among his contemporary
countrymen neither equal nor competitor. Such was the verdict in his own
times not of flatterers only, or friends, but of England, of Europe;
such is the title of merit under which the historian may enroll him,
with confidence and with complacency, among the illustrious few whose
name and example still serve to kindle in the bosom of youth the
animating glow of virtuous emulation.

Leicester never appears in an amiable light except in connexion with his
nephew, for whom his affection was not only sincere but ardent. A few
extracts from a letter written by him to sir Thomas Heneage, captain of
the queen's guards, giving an account of the action in which Sidney
received his mortal wound, will illustrate this remark, while it records
the gallant exploits of several of his companions in arms.

After relating that sir Philip had gone out with a party to intercept a
convoy of the enemy's, he adds, "Many of our horses were hurt and
killed, among which was my nephew's own. He went and changed to another,
and would needs to the charge again, and once passed those musqueteers,
where he received a sore wound upon his thigh,