angry
words to his father's secretary: "Mr. Molyneux, if ever I know you to
do so much as read any letter I write to my father, without his
commandment or my consent, I will thrust my dagger into you. And trust
to it, for I speak it in earnest." But the spirit of generosity and
self-sacrifice, which we are also accustomed to associate with mediaeval
knighthood, was realized in the famous scene on the battle-field before
Zutphen. With good natural talents and an untiring industry, Sir
Philip acquired a knowledge of science, of languages, and of
literature, which gave him a reputation abroad as well as at home. The
learned Languet relinquished his regular duties without prospect of
pecuniary reward "to be a nurse of knowledge to this hopeful young
gentleman."[68] The regrets of the universities at Sidney's death
filled three volumes with academic eulogies. But a better testimony
than these volumes to the general admiration for Sidney's talents, and
to his position as a patron of literature, is to be found in the
beautiful lines in which Spenser lamented his benefactor, and in two
sentences by poor Tom Nash[69], who knew but too well the value of what
he and his fellow-laborers had lost: "Gentle Sir Philip Sidney, thou
knewest what belonged to a scholar; thou knewest what pains, what toil,
what travel conduct to perfection; well could'st thou give every virtue
his encouragement, every art his due, every writer his desert, cause
none more virtuous, witty, or learned than thyself. But thou art dead
in thy grave, and has left too few successors of thy glory, too few to
cherish the sons of the Muses, or water those budding hopes with their
plenty, which thy bounty erst planted." The public manifestations of
grief at Sidney's death, and the rivalry of two nations for the
possession of his remains, seem to have proceeded rather from the fame
of his personal virtues than from the accomplishment of great
achievements. It was recorded on the tomb of the learned Dr. Thornton
that he had been "the tutor of Sir Philip Sidney," and Lord Brooke
caused the inscription to be placed over his own grave: "Fulke
Greville, servant to Queen Elizabeth, counsellor to King James, and
friend to Sir Philip Sidney."

The work of a man who belonged so thoroughly to his own time, and who
united in himself talents and virtues so remarkable could hardly fail
to be of historical interest. Such is the value now belonging to the
"Arcadia"--a work unrivalle