Such interest as the Sackvilles have lies, I think, in their being so representative. From generation to generation they might stand, fully equipped, as portraits from English history. Unless they are to be considered in this light they lose their purport; they merely share, as Byron wrote to one of their number:
... with titled crowds the common lot,
In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot ...
The mouldering ’scutcheon, or the herald’s roll,
That well-emblazoned but neglected scroll,
Where lords, unhonoured, in the tomb may find
One spot, to leave a worthless name behind:
There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults
That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults:
A race with old armorial lists o’erspread