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and female, that have been themselves poets, or the admired theme of poets; literary, or the friends of all the literary and learned of their times. They were not merely of the aristocracy of rank, but of the aristocracy of mind; and it is from that cause, and that alone, that their name is embedded like a jewel in the golden frame-work of the language.

Of this distinguished line, the most illustrious and popular was unquestionably Sir Philip. The universal admiration that he won from his cotemporaries is one of the most curious circumstances of the history of those times. The generous and affectionate enthusiasm with which he inspired both his own countrymen and foreigners, has, perhaps, no parallel. The "admirable Crichton" is the only person who occurs to our minds as presenting anything like the same universality of knowledge and accomplishments; but Crichton was a meteor which blazed for a moment, and left only a name of wonder. Sir Philip still continues to be spoken of by all genuine poets and minds of high intellect with much of the same affectionate honour that he received from his own age. "He approaches," says Dr. Aikin, "more nearly to the idea of a perfect man, as well as of a perfect knight, than any character of any age or nation."*

This perfection of character is shewn by these particulars: that from his boyhood he was eager for the acquisition of all possible knowledge,-language, philosophy, poetry, every species of art and science, were devoured by him; yet he did

* Annual Review, p. 919.

not give himself up merely to the pursuit of knowledge; he never became a mere book-worm. He was equally fond of field sports and manly exercises. He was looked up to as the perfect model of a courtier, without the courtier's baseness of adulation. Elizabeth pronounced him the brightest jewel of her crown. He was deemed the very mirror of knighthood. In the camp he was the ardent warrior; he was sent on foreign embassage of high importance, and proved himself a dexterous politician. There was a universality of talent and of taste about him that marked him as a most extraordinary man. His facility of amassing information and putting on accomplishment was marvellous. Yet he never seemed to have any mere worldly ambition. It was the pure love of glory that animated him; and in striving for it, he never for a moment appeared capable of the common jealousies of emulation; on the contrary, he was the friend, and the warm and beloved friend of every one who was himself most distinguished. Sir Fulke Greville, afterwards Lord Brooke, had it inscribed on his monument, as his peculiar glory, that he was THE FRIEND OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. He was the friend of Spenser, Dyer, Raleigh, Ben Jonson, Sir Henry and Sir Edward Wotton, the learned Hurbert Languet, and indeed of all the finest spirits of his age; yet it was, after all, less by the brilliancy of his intellect than by the warmth of his heart, that he won so singularly on the admiration of all men. The grand secret of his unprecedented popularity lay in the nobility of his nature. Nothing could be more delightful than the high, unworldly, and incorruptible

character of his mind. It was this ardent, sunny, unselfish disposition which was so beautiful in all his family relations. His father, Sir Henry Sidney, himself one of the noblest characters in history, says of him, in a letter to his second son, Robert Sidney: "Follow the advice of your most loving brother, who in loving you is comparable with me, or exceedeth me. Imitate his virtues, exercises, studies, and actions. He is a rare ornament of his age; the very formula that all welldisposed young gentlemen of our court do form also their manners and life by. In truth, I speak it without flattery of him, or myself, he hath the most virtues that I ever found in any man."

What a proud testimony from a father to a son! But the same admirable affection constantly displayed itself towards his brother and sister. His letters to his brother Robert are full of the most delightfully gay, yet loving and wise spirit. Writing to him while on his travels, he declared,—what he invariably proved by his conduct,-"There is nothing I spend so pleaseth me as that which is for you. If ever I have ability, you will find it; if not, yet shall not any brother living be better beloved than you of me."

His tender attachment to his sister, the celebrated Countess of Pembroke, is known to all the world. It was to Wilton that he betook himself during his temporary absence from court, on account of his difference with the insolent Earl of Oxford, to write his Arcadia. It was to her that he dedicated it, and more than dedicated it, calling it "Pembroke's Arcadia."

It was to her that he sent it, sheet by sheet, when he was not present with her to read it to her; living in her approbation of it, and seeking no other fame from it, for it was not published till after his death.

Such were the noble and endearing qualities that made Sir Philip Sidney the idol of his times in foreign countries as much as in his own; that induced Poland to offer him its crown; that covered his hearse with the laments of all the learned and poetical amongst his cotemporaries-three volumes of such funereal tributes in various languages being published on the occasion of his death; the two great English universities striving which should outdo the other in the number and intensity of its "melodious tears."

The evidences of Sir Philip Sidney's genius which have come down to us are to be found in his Arcadia; his Astrophel and Stella; his Defence of Poesy; his Sonnets and Songs: and there have not been wanting those who assert that they do not bear out by their merit the enthusiastic encomiums of his cotemporaries. Lord Orford has pronounced the Arcadia “a tedious, lamentable, pedantic, pastoral romance;" and Hume, Tytler, and others, have echoed the opinion.

How many are there of our own age who are prepared by actual perusal to sanction or disallow of this dictum ? How many have read that poem of which every one speaks as a matter of knowledge-Spenser's Faery Queen? How many, even, have waded through Paradise Lost? Every poetical spirit which has qualified itself to give an answer, must declare that

the literary relics of Sir Philip Sidney,-writings thrown off rapidly in the midst of many pursuits and many distracting attentions, and before death at the early age of thirty-two,must pronounce them well worthy of his fame.

His poetry and prose too have all the marks of stiffness, and affected point of that period; but every page of his composition abounds with sober and with brilliant thoughts. His sonnets are delightful testimonies to the inward beauty and tenderness of the man. Many readers have been made familiar with the fine opening of one of his sonnets, by Wordsworth introducing it as the opening of one of his :

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky,
How silently, and with how sad a face!

and every real lover of poetry, if he opens the volume of Sir Philip Sidney, will find much that will equally delight him, and generate within him trains of high and sober thought.

But, in my opinion, it is the Arcadia which must stand as the best image of his "inner man." Whoever reads it, should read it with reference to the spirit of the age, and turn relentlessly over all the pastoral episodes, and he will then find a volume full of stirring interest, striking invention, and that living tone of high, pure, heroic spirit, which scorned everything base; which is, in truth, the grand characteristic of Sidney; a spirit which stands up by the low and cunning knowingness of our own day, like one of the statues of Greece by the wigged and sworded objects of modern sculpture.

Such passages as the Prayer of Pamela are amongst the

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