“As we drew near, the woods began to thin; and an old latticed wooden gate showed one entrance into a park, now in ruins, for the grass is tall, scanty, and intermingled with taller fern. No deer appeared on the rusty lawns, or under the scattered trees, or decaying groves, of this once rich domain. Penshurst lies in a small valley of its own, that hangs upon the ridge of hills which form the southern boundary of the grand valley overlooked from Riverhill. All its heights are hung with its own woods, which shut out every distant prospect from the house, except from the turrets; and even from these, at least from the one I climbed, the view is not extensive; but it is a pleasing scene, with here and there an intermingled spire and ancient mansion. After following for a considerable time the paling of this extensive park, an elderly woman admitted us to it through the chief gate, and the ancient mansion immediately appeared over a rough lawn, surrounded with groves. The house is much in the style of Knole, but more irregular, and not of half the size. It is of brick and rough stone, with now a tower, and now a turret; high lozenge chimneys, an embattled wall, and, above all, the long peaked roof of the great hall. In the court, over the arched portal, is a row of five shields of the family arms, in stone. The great hall is on the opposite side: it is grand, but gloomy, showing the dark rafters of the roof; the tall, pointed windows below shed but a subdued light on the pavement, which is of brick. The rafters have been blackened by the fires of two centuries, lighted on the centre of the pavement, where the bricks, raised half a foot, form a small octagon, on which, perhaps, Sir Philip Sydney and the knights his companions have often stood round the blazing fagots, piled upon the same iron dogs, of enormous size, that still remain there. I think I see, in glimpses, the strong blaze of the wood flashing on their visages. The armour of Sir Philip himself, with helm (the vizor closed), stands at the back of an obscure gallery, and close beneath a high window, whose small frames admit a blunted, melancholy light. It stands like a spectre in arms, watching over the scene it once inhabited; and is admirably placed to touch the imagination, but not to gratify curiosity, its distance being considerable. A partial light, thrown more strongly on the head, would give it very fine effect. It is best seen from one of the doors, that open from the raised step at the upper end of the hall, where the high table stood.