SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, perhaps the most brilliant ornament of the court of queen Elizabeth, was the son of Sir Henry Sidney, and Mary, eldest daughter of John Dudley, duke of Northumberland. He was born at Penshurst in Kent, on the twenty-ninth of November, 1554, and received his Christian name from king Philip of Spain, who had recently married queen Mary. When in the fourteenth year of his age, he was sent to Christ Church College, Oxford, having previously greatly distinguished himself at the grammar-school of Shrewsbury. From Oxford he removed to Cambridge, and at each university displayed remarkable acuteness of intellect, and great thirst for knowledge. At the age of seventeen, without taking a degree, he relinquished his collegiate studies, and left England to make the tour of the continent. He passed three years abroad, and during his absence travelled through the Netherlands, France, Germany, and Italy; and on his return to England, in 1575, was received by queen Elizabeth with marked and distinguished favor. During the following year the queen sent him to Germany on a mission of condolence to the emperor, upon the death of Maximilian. On his return toward his own country, he took occasion to visit Don John of Austria, viceroy in the Netherlands for the king of Spain, and William prince of Orange; the former of whom was so charmed with his youth, wit, and elegance of manners, that he treated him with more attention and respect than he did the ambassadors of great princes at his court.

While Sidney was thus basking in the sunshine of royal favor at home and abroad, and was the idol of the English nation, he, in 1580, unfortunately allowed the impetuosity of his temper so far to overcome his better judgment, that in consequence of a quarrel with the Earl of Oxford, he relinquished the court, and retired to the seat of his brother-in-law, the Earl of Pembroke. Here, in the shades of Wilton, the Earl's seat, he composed his heroic romance, The Arcadia, and inscribed it to his sister, the Countess. This production was never finished; and, not having been intended for the press, did not appear till after Sir Philip's death. His next work was a tract entitled The Defence of Poesy, the design of which was to repel the objections brought by the Puritans of that age against the poetic art, the possessors of which they contemptuously denominated 'caterpillars of the commonwealth.' This production, though written with the partiality of a poet, is deservedly admired for the beauty of its style, and the general soundness of its reasonings. In 1584, the character of his uncle, the celebrated Earl of Leicester, having been attacked in a publication called Leicester's Commonwealth, Sidney wrote a reply, in which, although the heaviest ac· cusations were passed over in silence, he did not scruple to heap upon his opponent the most opprobrious epithets. This performance of Sir Philip seems to have proved unsatisfactory to Leicester and his friends, as it was not published till toward the middle of the eighteenth century.

Sidney was not formed for repose, and his retirement now becoming irksome to him, he contemplated an expedition with Sir Francis Drake, against the Spanish settlements in America; but this design was frustrated by a

peremptory mandate from the queen. In 1585, such was his reputation abroad, that he was named as one of the candidates for the crown of Poland, at that time vacant; on which occasion Elizabeth again threw obstacles in his way, being afraid' to lose the jewel of her times.' He was not, however, permitted to remain long unemployed; for in the same year the queen, having determined to send assistance to the Protestants of the Netherlands, then groaning beneath the oppressive yoke of the Spaniards, he was appointed governor of Flushing, one of the towns ceded to the English in return for this aid. Soon after, the Earl of Leicester, with an army of six thousand men, went over to the Netherlands, where he was joined by Sir Philip, as guard of the horse. The conduct of the Earl in that war was highly imprudent, and such as to call forth repeated expressions of dissatisfaction from his nephew Sir Philip. The military exploits of the latter were, on the contrary, highly honorable to him; in particular, the taking of the town of Axel, in 1586. His career was destined, however, to be short; for having, in September of the same year, accidentally encountered a detachment of the Spanish army at Zutphen, he received a wound, which, in a few weeks, proved mortal. As he was being carried from the field, a well-known incident occurred by which the generosity of his nature was strongly displayed. Overcome with thirst from excessive bleeding and fatigue, he called for water, which was immediately brought to him; but as he was lifting it to his mouth, a poor soldier happened to be carried by, desperately wounded, who at once fixed his eyes eagerly on the cup. Sir Philip, observing this, instantly delivered the beverage to him, with the simple remark, 'Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.' Sidney's death, which occurred on the nineteenth of October, 1586, at the early age of thirty-two, was deeply and extensively lamented. His bravery and chivalrous magnanimity--his grace and polish of manner-the purity of his morals-his learning and refinement of tasto —had procured for him love and esteem wherever he was known. By the direction of queen Elizabeth, his remains were conveyed to London, and honored with a public funeral in St. Paul's Cathedral.

To Sir Philip Sidney's poetry we have already alluded; but it is chiefly as a prose writer that he maintains and deserves a prominent place in English literature. In judging of his merits, we should bear in mind the early age at which his career was closed. His 'Arcadia,' on which his fame chiefly rests, was so universally read and admired in the reigns of Elizabeth and her successor, that, in 1633, it had reached the eighth edition. This great work, though the changes which have taken place since it was written, in taste, manners, and opinions, may render it unsuited to modern readers, still must be admitted to contain passages of exquisite beauty-useful observations on life and manners--a variety and accurate discrimination of characters-fine sentiments expressed in strong and adequate terms--animated descriptions, equal to any that occur in the ancient or modern poets-sage lessons of morality, and judicious reflections on government and policy. Sidney was, in reality, the best prose writer of the age, and what Cowper felicitously calls

him, a 'warbler of poetic prose.' In personal character, he, like most men of high sensibility and poetical feeling, was strongly inclined to melancholy, and frequently indulged this luxurious feeling to excess. As our extracts from this writer must necessarily be limited, we shall introduce only the following:

DESCRIPTION OF ARCADIA.

There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately trees; humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the refreshing of silver rivers; meadows, enamelled with all sorts of eye-pleasing flowers; thickets, which being lined with most pleasant shade, were witnessed so to, by the cheerful disposition of many well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober security ; while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the dam's comfort; here a shepherd's boy piping, as though he should never be old; there a young shepherdess knitting, and withal singing; and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her hands kept time to her voice-music.

A TEMPEST.

There arose even with the sun a vail of dark clouds before his face, which shortly, like ink poured into water, had blacked over all the face of heaven, preparing, as it were, a mournful stage for a tragedy to be played on. For, forthwith the winds began to speak louder, and, as in a tumultuous kingdom, to think themselves fittest instruments of commandment; and blowing whole storms of hail and rain upon them, they were sooner in danger than they could almost bethink themselves of change. For then the traitorous sea began to swell in pride against the afflicted navy, under which, while the heaven favoured them, it had lain so calmly; making mountains of itself, over which the tossed and tottering ship should climb, to be straight carried down again to a pit of hellish darkness, with such cruel blows against the sides of the ship, that, which way soever it went, was still in his malice, that there was left neither power to stay nor way to escape. And shortly had it so dissevered the loving company, which the day before had tarried together, that most of them never met again, but were swallowed up in his never-satisfied mouth.

PRAISE OF POETRY.

The philosopher showeth you the way, he informeth you of the particularities, as well of the tediousness of the way, as of the pleasant lodging you shall have when your journey is ended, as of the many bye-turnings that may divert you from your way; but this is to no man, but to him that will read him, and read him with attentive studious painfulness, which constant desire whosoever hath in him, hath already passed half the hardness of the way, and therefore is beholden to the philosopher but for the other half. Nay, truly, learned men have learnedly thought, that where once reason hath so much overmastered passion, as that the mind hath a free desire to do well, the inward light each man hath in itself is as good as a philosopher's book; since in nature we know it is well to do well, and what is well and what is evil, although not in the words of art which philosophers bestow upon us; for out of natural conceit the philosophers drew it. But to be moved to do that which we know, or to be moved with the desire to know, 'hoc opus hic labor est'-(this is the grand difficulty.')

Now, therein, of all sciences (I speak still of human, and according to the human conceit) is our poet the monarch. For he doth not only show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice any man to enter into it. Nay, he doth, as if your journey should lie through a fair vineyard, at the very first, give you

a cluster of grapes; that, full of that taste, you may long to pass farther. He beginneth not with obscure definitions; which must blur the margin with interpretations, and load the memory with doubtfulness; but he cometh to you with words set in delightful proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well enchanting skill of music, and with a tale, forsooth, he cometh unto you, with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner; and pretending no more, doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue; even as the child is often brought to take most wholesome things, by hiding them in such other as have a pleasant taste; which, if one should begin to tell them the nature of the aloes or rhubarbarum they should receive, would sooner take their physic at their ears than their mouth. So is it in men, (most of whom are childish in the best things, till they be cradled in their graves.) Glad they will be to hear the tales of Hercules, Achilles, Cyrus, Æneas; and hearing them, must needs hear the right description of wisdom, valour, and justice; which, if they had been barely (that is to say, philosophically) set out, they would swear they be brought to school again.

RICHARD HOOKER was one of the most distinguished, as well as one of the earliest prose writers of this period. He was born of poor but respectable parentage, at Heavy-tree, near Exeter, nr 1554. His parents, in consequence of the limitedness of their circumstances, designed him for a trade, and accordingly placed him in school at Exeter with a view to prepare for his future employment. His schoolmaster, however, soon discerned his extraordinary genius, and prevailed upon his father to continue him at school, assuring him, 'that his natural endowments and learning were both so remarkable, that God would provide him some patron who would free them from any future care or charge over him.' In consequence of this representation of young Hooker's teacher, his uncle, John Hooker, who was chamberlain of Exeter, felt a deep interest in his future destiny; and being well known to Jewell, bishop of Salisbury, he made him a visit, and 'besought him, for charity's sake, to look favorably upon a poor nephew of his, whom nature had fitted for a scholar; but the estate of his parents was so narrow, that they were unable to give him the advantages of learning; and that the bishop, therefore, would become his patron, and prevent him from being a tradesman, for he was a boy of remarkable hopes.' The bishop, having satisfied himself that this representation was just, took the boy under his care, and obtained admission for him into Corpus-Christi College, Oxford.

At the university Hooker studied with great ardor, and equal success, and soon became much respected for his modesty, prudence, and piety. After Jewell's death, he was patronized by Sandys, bishop of London, who sent his son to Oxford, to enjoy the benefit of Hooker's instructions. He had, at the same time, another pupil, George Cranmer, a grand-nephew of the famous archbishop of the same name; and with both these young men he formed an intimate and lasting friendship. In 1579, Hooker's skill in the oriental languages led to his temporary appointment as deputy-professor of Hebrew; and having held this important position for two years, he, at the expiration of that time, entered into holy orders. Soon after he entered

the ministry he had the misfortune to be entrapped into a marriage which proved a constant source of annoyance to him during life. The circumstances of this union, which place, in a strong light, the simple and unsuspecting nature of the man, were as follows:-Having been appointed to preach at St. Paul's Cross, in London, he put up at a house set apart for the reception of the preachers. When he arrived there from Oxford he was wet and weary; but he received so much attention from the hostess, that, according to Walton, in his excess of gratitude, 'he thought himself bound in conscience to believe all that she said. So the good man came to be persuaded by her that he was a man of tender constitution; and that it was best for him to have a wife that might prove a nurse to him-such an one as might both prolong his life and make it more comfortable; and such an one she could and would provide for him, if he thought fit to marry? Hooker, little apt to suspect in others that guile of which he himself was so entirely free, became the dupe of this woman, authorizing her to select a wife for him, and promising to marry whomsoever she should choose. The wife she provided was her own daughter, described by Walton, as 'a silly, clownish woman, and withal a mere Zantippe,' whom, however, he married according to his promise. With this helpmate Hooker led but an uncom fortable life, though, apparently, in a spirit of resignation. When Sandys and Cranmer visited him at a rectory in Buckinghamshire, to which he had been presented in 1584, they found him reading Horace, and tending sheep in the absence of his servant. In his house they received little entertainment, except from his conversation; and this even, Mrs. Hooker did not fail to disturb, by calling him away to rock the cradle, and by exhibiting such other examples of ill manners, as made them glad to depart on the following morning. In taking leave of his former tutor, Cranmer expressed his regret at the smallness of his income, and the uncomfortable state of his domestic affairs; to which the worthy man replied, 'My dear George, if saints have usually a double share in the miseries of this life, I, that am none, ought not to repine at what my wise Creator hath appointed for me, but labour (as indeed 1 do daily) to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in patience and peace.'

On his return to London, Sandys made a strong appeal to his father in behalf of Hooker, the result of which was the appointment of the meek divine, in 1585, to the office of master of the Temple. He, accordingly, removed to London, and commenced his labors as forenoon preacher. At the same period the office of afternoon lecturer at the Temple was filled by Walter Travers, a man of great learning and eloquence, but of high Calvinistical opinions, while the views of Hooker, both in church government and on points of theology, were very moderate. The consequence was, that the doctrines delivered from the pulpit varied in their character, according to the preacher from whom they proceeded. Indeed, the two orators sometimes preached avowedly in opposition to each other--a circumstance which gave occasion to the remark, that 'the forenoon sermons spoke Canterbury,