moments, forget the olden glory of _Penshurst_, about six miles N.W. of
the gay resort,--Penshurst, as Mr. Britton terms it, "the memorable, the
once splendid, but now sadly dilapidated mansion of the Sydneys," or as
Charlotte Smith sung with touching simplicity, in 1788:

Upon this spot,
Ye towers sublime, deserted now and drear,
Ye woods deep sighing to the hollow blast!
The musing wand'rer loves to linger near,
While History points to all your glories past.

Yet, how can we enumerate the ancient fame of Penshurst in this brief
memoir; from Sir John de Poulteney, who first embattled the mansion in
the reign of Edward II:, to Sir John Shelley Sydney, the present
proprietor of the estate; or how can we here describe the mansion,
wherein that pains-taking investigator, Mr. Carter, in 1805, recognised
the architectural characteristics of the reigns of Henry II., Richard
III., Henry VIII., Elizabeth, James I. and George I. and III. But we
must observe, "it is presumed, that whilst residing here, Henry VIII.
became acquainted with Anne Boleyn, then living with her father at Hever
Castle, in this neighbourhood." Among the more glorious events of the
place, is the birth of the amiable Sir Philip Sydney here, Nov. 29,
1554, as Spencer dignified him, "the president of nobleness and
chivalrie;" the celebrated _Algernon_; and his daughter, the Saccharissa
of Waller. In this romantic retreat, Sydney probably framed his
_Arcadia_; here he may have sung

O sweet woods, the delight of solitariness!
O how much do I like your solitariness.