with every vice without any redeeming virtue, as the prototype of the most exalted creation of his fancy,— as the original of his poetic Prince Arthur. Be it also remembered, that the same Universities which so highly complimented the memory of Sidney, published volumes equally bulky, complimentary and learned, when a child was born to that profligate and worthless Earl. A second adventitious cause was the gallant manner in which Sir Philip Sidney met his fate,—a death worthy of the noblest hero of antiquity. After fighting bravely in defence of his friend and comrade, when placed on a litter to be borne from the field of battle, mangled and faint with loss of blood, he requested drink; water was brought to him, and he was about to raise it to his lips, when his attention was directed to a dying soldier, who eyed the refreshing beverage with an earnest and supplicating look. The appeal was not made in vain ; the noble Sidney refused the yet untasted draught, and directed it to be given to his more unfortunate brother in arms, with the memorable expression-" thy necessities are greater than mine.” This is perhaps one of the finest traits of magnanimity to be found in the history of human nature. A third, and very powerful cause, may be found in the partiality and the power of surviving friends and relations. The first memoir ever published of Sir Philip Sidney, was from the pen of his most intimate friend, Sir Fulke Greville, and the nature of this memoir may be presumed from the circumstance that the writer considered the friendship of Sidney as the greatest honour he had obtained during a long and successful life; of which he was so proud that he caused it to be recorded on his monument. The Earl of Leicester was at the zenith of his power when his nephew died; he was attached to his accomplished relative, and received with pleasure and satisfaction every thing that tended to do honour to his memory, or exalt his reputation. The widow of Sidney* afterwards married the powerful Earl of Essex; she also cherished the memory of her gallant husband, and to her Spenser addressed his elegy on his death. But perhaps more is to be attributed to the exertions of his. sister, the Countess of Pembroke, than to all the others combined. She inherited her brother's talents and disposition, and was the depository of his literary efforts. Learned herself, she aspired to be the patroness of learned men, and during a long life she was continually surrounded by men of talent, who paid their court most effectually to her by extolling the virtues and extending the fame of her beloved brother. In fine, the character of Sir Philip Sidney, divested of romance may be summed up as follows-He derived from nature a handsome person, an engaging address, а generous and noble disposition; he acquired from cultivation all the elegant accomplishments of his day, a proficiency in languages, and a talent for poetry. Introduced at court with every advantage during a female reign, he obtained a distinguished place as a courtier. He paid his respectful addresses to the Queen, he figured in the tiltyard, he gallanted with the ladies, he patronised the poets, he received with pleasure and duly noticed the addresses and the works of the learned. Ambitious also, and proud of his birth *The daughter of Secretary Walsingham, one of the most powerful of Queen Elizabeth's ministers. * is suffi but his That and connexions, his disposition was probably impetuous and prone to take offence, a frame of mind not incompatible, as Shakspeare has assured us, with gentle manners. He was a dutiful son, an affectionate brother, a firm friend, a devoted partizan, and without doubt a delightful companion. That he was brave, ciently proved by the last action of his life, military talents were never fairly put to the test. he eagerly sought to be employed as a Statesman, is also upon record, but it is equally certain that he was not employed. In his attatchment to the sex he was unfortunate, but he had himself only to blame; he sacrificed at the shrine of ambition the richest treasure bestowed upon our nature, the heart of a lovely and accomplished woman, and he suffered the punishment of his unhappy choice. This incident, as he himself has assured us, tinged the remainder of his life with melancholy, led him into a criminal and a hopeless pursuit, increased his irritability of temper, and produced frequent abstractions of mind; but it also gave occasion to his composing the only literary work that will descend to posterity, and by the influence of example confirmed him in the love of virtue and noble actions. In a word, Sir Philip Sidney was an accomplished, and upon the whole, a virtuous man, but there are no proofs of his possessing consummate abilities, or extraordinary genius in any department; men fully his equals, have not been wanting at any "They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, period of time, but ages may pass on before another is born possessing all his advantages, The principal production of Sir Philip Sidney's pen, is the Arcadia, a romance, in five books. This work after having been the subject of hyperbolical praise for a century and half, is now neglected and forgotten. A late writer on the subject of English style, has drawn the following character of it: "Sir Philip Sidney's literary productions are unfortunately remarkable for little else than their feebleness, tautology, and conceit. They however contain no phrases that are not genuine English; no sesquipedalia verba, and few inversions or deviations from the idiom of the language. Coldness, and puerility of concep tion, and with few exceptions, a total want of energy and compression in the style, are the defects which have hurried the Arcadia into oblivion."* In looking over the pages of the Arcadia, the critical reader should keep in mind that it bears the title of the Countess of Pembroke's work, and that it is said to have received some final touches from the pen of that noble lady. The original, Sir Philip Sidney himself informs us, was written hastily on loose "sheets of paper," most of it in his sister's presence, and the rest in detached parts, sent to her as soon as they were composed. There are reasons to suppose, from internal evidence, that portions of this romance, more particularly some of the numerous specimens of poetry, were written on various occasions, and worked into the tissue of the story afterwards, by the author or publisher, as opportunity offered. After all, the tale is * Essays, &c. by Dr. Drake, vol. 2, p. 9. † Dedication of the Arcadia to Lay Pembroke. brought to a hasty termination, and an additional book has been added to it by another writer. What portions of the work are to be attributed to the pen of the Countess, cannot now be ascertained, but the hand of a lady is visible throughout, more particularly in the minutiæ of dress and costume. There are sufficient reasons to presume that the whole was made up by Lady Pembroke, not merely from the loose sheets, but also from the common place books of her deceased brother. It is not an easy task to select from such a work as the Arcadia, a short extract which fairly exhibits the character of the writer. In the Arcadia are found tales of love and of chivalry, delineations of character, speeches frequently long and elaborate, descriptions of natural scenery, and of knightly combats. This may serve as an excuse for the length of the following specimen, which is sufficiently detached from the tissue of the narrative to be intelligible, and embraces all the usual topics of the author. From the second book of the Arcadia. "As I passed through a land, each side whereof was so bordered both with high timber trees, and copses of far more humble growth, that it might easily bring a solitary mind to look for no other companions, than the wild burgesses of the forest, I heard certain cries, which coming by pauses to mine ears from within the wood of the right hand, made me well assured by the greatness of the cry, it was the voice of a man, though it were a very unmanlike voice, so to cry. But making my ears my guide, I left not many trees behind me, before I saw at the bottom of one of them a gentleman, bound with many garters hand and foot, so as well he |