Bear-and-ragged-staff in the Leicester arms, is still standing. Probably the one cut down, was what Ben Jonson calls "the Ladies' Oak."

Amongst the many tributes of respect to Penshurst, none are so graphic and complete as that of Ben Jonson. This is to the life. You see in every line that the stout old dramatist had walked over the ground, and beheld the house and the people which he describes. We shall have speedy reason to recur to this description to shew how true to the fact it is.

Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show
Of touch, or marble; nor canst boast a row
Of polished pillars, or a roofe of gold :
Thou hast no lantherne whereof tales are told;
Or stayre, or courts; but standst an ancient pile,
And these grudged at, art reverenced the while.
Thou joyst in better markes, of soyle, of ayre,

Of wood, of water: therein thou are faire.
Thou hast thy walkes for health as well as sport;
Thy Mount to which the Dryads do resort,

Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made,
Beneath the broad beech and the chestnut shade.

That taller tree, which of a nut was set

At his great birth where all the Muses met.
There, in the writhed bark are cut the names
Of many a sylvane token with his flames.
And thence the ruddy Satyres oft provoke

The lighter Fawnes to reach thy Ladies' Oake.

Thy copps, too, named of Gamage, thou hast there,

That never fails to serve thee seasoned deere,
When thou wouldst feast, or exercise thy friends.
The lower land, that to the river bends,
Thy sheepe, thy bullocks, kine and calves do feed ;
The middle ground thy mares and horses breed.
Each banke doth yield thee coneys; and the topps,
Fertile of wood, Ashore and Sidney's copps,

Thy painted partrich lyes in every field,
And for thy messe is willing to be killed;
And if the high-swoln Medway faile thy dish,
Thou hast thy ponds that pay thee tribute fish;
Fat, aged carps, that runne into thy net,

And pikes, now weary their owne kinde to eat,
As loth the second draught, or cast to stay,
Officiously, at first, themselves betray.
Bright eels that emulate them, leape on land
Before the fisher, or into his hand.

Thou hast thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers,
Fresh as the ayre, and new as are the hours.
The early cherry with the later plum,

Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come.
The blushing apricot and woolly peach

Hang on thy walls that every child may reach.

And though thy walls be of the country stone,

They're reared with no man's ruin, no man's grone.

There's none that dwell about them wish them downe; But all come in, the farmer and the clowne,

And no one empty-handed, to salute

Thy lord and lady though they have no suite.

Some bring a capon, some a rural cake,

Some nuts, some apples; some that think they make
The better cheeses, bring 'hem; or else send
By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend
This way to husbands; and whose baskets beare
An emblem of themselves in plum or peare.

But what can this (more than express their love)

Adde to thy free provisions, far above

The need of such? whose liberal boord doth flow
With all that hospitalitie doth know!

Where comes no guest but is allowed to eate

Without his feare, and of thy lord's owne meate;

Where the same beere, and breade, and self-same wine

That is his Lordship's shall be also mine.

And I not faine to sit (as some this day

At great men's tables) and yet dine away.

Here no man tells my cups; nor standing by,
A waiter doth my gluttony envy:

But gives me what I call, and lets me eate;
He knows below, he shall find plentie of meate.
Thy tables hoard not up for the nexte day,
Nor when I take my lodging need I pray

For fire, or lights, or livorie; all is there,

As if thou, then, wert mine, or I reigned here.
There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay.
This found King James when hunting late this way,
With his brave sonne the prince; they saw thy fires
Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires
Of thy Penates had been set on flame

To entertaine them, or the country came

With all their zeale to warme their welcome here.

What great (I will not saye but) sodayne cheare
Didst thou then make 'hem! and what praise was heaped

On thy goode lady then! who, therein, reaped

The just reward of her high housewifry;

To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh
When she was farre; and not a roome but drest
As if it had expected such a guest!

These, Penshurst, are thy praise; and yet not all.
Thy lady's noble, fruitfull, chaste withall.
His children, thy great lord may call his owne;

A fortune in this age but rarely knowne.
They are and have been taught religion; thence
Their gentler spirits have sucked innocence.
Each morn and even they are taught to pray,
With the whole household, and may, every day,
Reade, in their vertuous parents' noble parts
The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts.

Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee
With other edifices, when they see

Those proud, ambitious heaps, and nothing else,
May say, their lords have built, but thy lord dwells.

BEN JONSON.-The Forrest, ii.

The one

The house now presents two principal fronts. facing westward, formerly looked into a court, called the President's Court, because the greater part of it was built by Sir Henry Sidney, the father of Sir Philip, and Lord President of the Council established in the Marches of Wales. The court is now thrown open, and converted into a lawn surrounded by a sunk fence, and overlooking a quiet valley of perhaps a mile in length, terminated by woody hills of great rural beauty. This court will eventually be laid out in a flower garden; Lord de L'Isle having fitted up the suite of rooms in this, and the north front, for the family use, including dining and drawing rooms, library, and other rooms, which have been done under the superintendence of Mr. Rebecca, of Piccadilly, in the very best taste; exhibiting, at once, a striking unity with the general character of the old pile, and yet possessing all the elegance and convenience required by modern habits. Oak wainscoting has been introduced, yet not in such heaviness and profusion as to take away from that sense of finish and of comfort that we now look for in a place of family abode; and the ceilings, with their cornices and compartments, partake of the same character. They display true keeping and good sense. You meet with none of that extravagance and broken-up-ness of design which offend you in many attempts to restore the ancient mansion, and to adapt it to present uses. You do not, as you advance, find yourself at this moment in a Chinese room, in the next in an Egyptian, and then in an Italian or a French one. All is English, and English of the right date, which is rarer

C

still. The ornaments are taken from the family arms; and while they continually remind you that you are in the abode of the Sidneys and the Leicesters, you are also reminded by the freshness of all the finishings, that you are there too in the days of their polished descendants.

This front, as well as the northern one, is of great length. It is of several dates and styles of architecture. The façade is of two stories, and battlemented. The centre division, which is of recent erection, has large windows of triple arches, with armorial shields between the upper and lower stories. The south end of the façade is of an ancient date, with smaller mullioned windows; the northern portion with windows of a similar character to those in the centre, but less and plainer. Over this façade shews itself the tall gable of the ancient banqueting hall which stands in the inner court. At each end of this façade projects a wing, with its various towers of various bulk and height; some square, of stone, others octagon, of brick, with a great diversity of tall, worked chimneys, which, with steep roofs, and the mixture of brick-work and stonework all through the front, give a mottled, but yet very venerable aspect to it.

The north and principal front, facing up the park, has been restored by its noble possessor, and presents a battlemented range of stone buildings of various projections, towers, turrets, and turreted chimneys, which, when the windows are put in, which is not yet fully done, will have few superiors amongst the castellated mansions of England.