“The hall being so lofty as to seem shorter than it should be, and than it really is, one of the late owners, to remedy this defect, had a painted perspective placed at one end—a most unsuitable expedient in so great and simple a scene; but the drawings of knights in armour, larger than life, between the windows, are well done. Several very rudely carved wooden images, now whitened and probably brought from some other part of the house, are placed in front of the gallery, as if looking over the railing. “Mrs. Perry, the grandmother of the present Mr. Sydney, who changed his name from Shelley, was a niece of Sydney, Earl of Leicester, and co-heiress with her sister, Lady Howard, of the Penshurst estates. The old housekeeper, who attended us, lamented much that Mr. Sydney did not now live here, but hoped to see him return. She had been all her life on the spot, and told us what fine times she remembered when _Lady_ Perry used to drive to the gate in a coach and six, and come down with such ‘a sight of servants.’ All the tenants used to come to meet her, and ‘_we girls_’ (the speaker was a grandmother) used to stand all in a row to meet her. Such noble liveries! and then the poor woman shook her head, and bustled about, with emotion. The bells were a ringing all day, and there were such goings on. ‘Was she _Lady_ Perry?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ rather sharply, as if astonished that we could doubt it. ‘Was she a _Lady_ by birth?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ more sharply, ‘she _was_ a Lady indeed.’ She led us down a modernized winding staircase into a small hall in the chief part of the mansion, opening into the garden. We passed a fine Gothic window, that gives light to it, having painted shields of arms; among them Queen Elizabeth’s. From the great dining-parlour, a staircase leads past many rooms lined with oak panels, worm-eaten; among them the nursery, which the housekeeper pointed out, with a strong regret of _old times_—not those of Sir Philip Sydney, but of Lady Perry. And there were the children’s playthings; there they were all—with some sighs. As I humoured her, she began, in the midst of her regrets, to apologize for her dress, and to lament that she had not had time to appear better. ‘Do the stairs near the nursery lead to the top of the turret?’—‘I don’t know, ma’am, but I’ll see.’ I followed to the small platform, and looked over the battlements upon the wood and the valley. The view was pleasing, but not impressive, or extensive.