n months. John Evelyn's Wander-Jahre occupied four years. Andrew Marvell lived abroad in France, Spain, Holland, and Italy from 1642 to 1646, a

of very considerable scientific attainments. In reading Clarendon and Burnet, and whilst turning over Aubrey's delightful gossip, it is imp

nd customs, betokening the keen humorous observer, and the possession of that wide-eyed faculty that takes a pleasure, half contemplative, half the result of an

jest, that by time, travel, and conversation was so polished and made

ed man. Certainly no one ever more fully grasped the sense of the famous sentence given by Wotton

est satirical poem he gives an account of a visit he paid in Rome to the unlucky poetaster Flecknoe, who was not in Rome until 1645. If, therefore, the

th a passion for scribbling and for printing. His exquisit

tation (of idleness), and as others do it to live after they ar

his name passed into a proverb for stupidity, so much so that when Dryden in 1682 was casting about how best to give pain to Shadwell, he

e August

empire and had

rse was owned,

realms of nons

to picture th

ich of all hi

wage immortal

ing on

ne my perfect

ness from his

ne, of all m

nfirmed in fu

e faint meaning

never deviate

riest, whom Marvell visited in his Roman garret i

rub Street" literature, by which in sundry moods 'tis "pleasure to be bound." It describes seeking out the poetaster in his lodging "three staircases high," at the sign of the Pelican, in a ro

ow imagin'd

rial, in a s

orders of my y

artyrdom pr

ail ambition

temper of th

been some pre

ages how I

is so small that the man who comes in last must be the first to go out, they meet a friend of the poet on the stairs, who makes a third at dinne

raises could n

uthor, whom it

verses by so

ade, condemned

ossible!) he

in them than

'd voice did

an upon the

f-points and t

han the atom

et swell'd wit

s room. The faithful friend is in despair. What is he to do

ed him to

poet's anger tu

ing himself at last free from boredom,

sfactory souvenir de voyag

med Church of England. He stood for both King and Parliament. Archbishop Laud he distrusted, and it may well be detested, but good churchmen have often distrusted and even detested their archbishops. Mr. Gladstone had no great regard for Archbishop Tait. Before the Act of Uniformity and the repressive legislation that followed upon its heels had driven English dissent into its final moulds, it was not doctrine

men not devoured by faction-a deplorable event. Twen

ought to have trusted the King with that whole matter. The arms of the Church are prayers and tears, the arms of the subject are patience and petitions. The King himself being of so accurate and piercing a judgment would soon have felt it where it stuck. For m

lican"; and Dryden, who probably knew Marvell, comparing his controversial pamphlets with those of Martin Marprelate, or at all events speaking of Martin Marprelate as "the Marvell of those times."2 A somewhat anti-prelatical note runs through Marvell's writin

lp feeling for Napoleon. Even Clarendon's pedantic soul occasionally vibrates as he writes of Oliver, and compares his reputation in foreign courts with that of his own royal master.

ndatory lines addressed to his "noble friend, Mr. Richard Lovelace, upon his Poems," which appeared with the poems themselves in that year of fate, 1649. "After the murder of the King," says Anthony Wood, "Lovelace was set at liberty, and having by that time consumed all his estate

gallant poet were at their lowest and never to revive, Marvell seizes the o

s have lost th

ds who with mos

hers' fame his

y at the new Presbyterian

censurers

m consistory

ine cast a re

se of Commons for presenting a petition from Kent which prayed for the restoration of the Book of Common

beauteous Ladi

r Lovelace was

haw'd the most

best and them

utiny, though

ly'

o whether he had not been of the po

ke not, I re

e or in his ca

re of glory

envy or my a

en and fairest

finds Judgment,

pages of Lovelace's Lucasta occasionally enlivened the solitude and relieved the distress of the poet whose praises they had once sung with so much vigour. As Marvell was undoubtedly a friendly man, and one who loved to be

regarded as a fine example of the great learning, accomplishments, and high spirits of the age. We can still produce the thirty-three poets, but what young nobleman is there who can boast such erudition as had rewarded the scorned delights and the laborious days of this Lord Hastings? We have at

y prettily and soon introd

ixt the Morning

all arrest the

dead; and we

rs must mourn

the only child and daughter of the house, Mary Fairfax, aged twelve years (born 30th July 1638). This proved to be a great e

arms through

esty of justice than many a real trial both before and after) is one of the best-known stories in English history. There are several versions of it. Having provided herself with a seat in a small gallery in Westminster Hall, just above the heads of the judges, when her husband's name was called out as one of the commissioners, the intrepid lady (no Cavalier's d

ited against him "in the name of the Commons of England assembled, and of the people of England," Lady Fairfax again rose t

s disturbance, went forward and told Lady Fairfax to hold her tongue, sound advice which she appears to have taken. After the Restoration Axtell was put to his trial as a "regicide." His defence, whi

who should begin? Cromwell, who had hurried home from Ireland, Lambert, and Harrison were all keen to strike the first blow. Fairfax felt a scruple, and in those days scruples counted. Was there, he asked, a just cause for an invasion of Scotland? A committee was appointed, consisting of the three warriors above-named with St. John and Whitelock, to confer with the Lord-General and satisfy him of the lawfulness of the undertaking. The six met, and having first prayed-Oliver praying first-they proceeded to a discussion which may be read at length in Whitelock's Memorials, vol. iii. p. 207. The substance of their talk was as follows: Fairfax's scruple proved to be that both they and

to accept the resignation and appoint his successor. This was speedily done, and on the 28th of June 1650 "Oliver Cromwell, Esquire," was appointed Captain-Genera

and only child went back to their Yorkshire home in the midsummer of

rth, whilst shut up in his corridor-carriage with his rug, his pipe, and his novel, passes at no great distance from the house on the way between Selby and York.

ortraits on the walls. The central part of the house was surrounded by a cupola, and clustering chimneys rose in the two wings. A noble park with splendid oak-trees, and containing 300 head of deer, stretched away to the north, while on the south side were the ruins of the old Nunnery, the flower-garden, and the low meadows called ings extending to the banks of the Wharfe. In this flower-garden the General took especial delight. The flowers were planted in mas

of Andrew Marvell blosso

Bodleian, the treasures of which he had protected in troubled times. He loved to handle medals and coins, and knew the points of old engravings. He wrote a history of the Christian Church down to our own ill-conducted Reformation, and composed a complete metrical version of

campaigner; but of her courage, sincerity, and goodness there can be no question. Her loyalty was no sickly fruit of "Church Principles," for her strong intelligence rejected scornfully the slavish doctrines, alien to our political constitution, of divine right and passive obedience; but a loyalty, none the less, it was, of a very valuable kind. She was fond of argume

he had to bear the misery and disgrace which were the inevitable marriage-portion of the woman whose ill-luck it was to become the wife of George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. Somebody seems to have taught her philosophy, for she bore her misfortunes

an, the biographer of the Duke of Buckingham. At Stenton, four miles off, lived the widow of the gallant Sir William Fairfax, who died, covered with wounds, in 1644 before Montgomery Castle. There were two sons and two daughters at Stenton, whilst Ch

ions of my readers to fill up the picture, for excepting the poems, which we may safely assume were writte

of his verse under his own name in his lifetime. So far as his themes were political there is no need to wonder at this. Indeed, the wonder is how, despite

erses "numbered good intellects" was to gain the entrée to the society of men both of intellect and fashion, and also, not infrequently, snug berths in the public service, and secretaryships to foreign missions and embassies. Thus there was always, in

rtrait, still dear to the collector, which contains for the first time what may be called the "gard

Ireland-is not included in the 1681 volume, and remained in man

vell, and it is probable that some of them, though attributed to him, are not his at all. We have only tradition to go by. In the case of political satires, squibs, epigrams, rough popular occasional rhymes flung off both in

to the Nunap

e rose in their place. In these bare and sordid facts there is not much room for poetry, but there is a story thrown in. Shortly before 1518 a Yorkshire heiress, bearing the unromantic name of Isabella Thwaites, was living in the Cistercian abbey, under the guardianship of the abbess, the Lady Anna Langton. Property under the care of the Church is always supposed to be in danger, and the Lady Anna was freely credited with the desire to make a nun of her ward, and so keep her broad acres in Wharfedale and her messuages in York for the use of Mother Church. None the less, the young lady was allowed to go about and visit her neighbours, and whilst so doing s

odest dimensions of the house, and th

as built upo

or a mark

n inn to

while, but

's-hill or

, better hol

here hath b

aid, 'Leave

ore neatly

d laid so s

gardens, s

, and transp

starts th

slow eyes, we

pleasant f

tunely m

s of this h

first gave

uildings oft

t neighbour

whence this d

gloomy cloi

he blooming v

measure, a

t deformit

spent the

with the s

se words, one

ance, thoughts

his holy

cently, a

estrain the w

our libe

inclose tha

d creatures,

outward shu

locks on the

shining ar

in amazon

te lamps we

t Bridegroom

breaths p

e of incess

water of

ly our compl

grief, but

calm pleasu

when we l

ithout this

e grieve tha

pouse, and e

heaven he

robes and c

e prayèd al

he holy Le

e rest with

d graces of

r features,

shrine shoul

beauty we

ousand Sain

dare not qu

s for your

rilege a m

ings for h

angels i

lilies show

bout you gl

ng more than

when at suc

ready co

now, and lo

the youth, a

e such a

heaven shou

'twould more

voto were

belovèd

r sister, ea

rule seem st

self to you

, too, now

uccession n

e yoke on u

air hands as

the sweetest

ven nearer, ra

xample, if

us to perf

ues to us

t grow sanct

e sprung, inc

les it wor

lover who asks, What should he do? He hints that a nunnery is no place for a virtuous maid, and that the nuns (unlike himself, I hope) are only t

lled women,

esist or w

refers to the fact that this barred-out lover i

he, whose off

through all

uccessive

land, eith

s long sinc

ugh conquered

e by assault. It was not a very heroi

breach, again

n Saints in

lder, stan

old holy-

isjointed A

chain-shot

'st cannon wer

weapons were

these aside

through the

requented va

tition, va

false were

ewels ther

right and h

ng at the

d youth awa

uns bequeath

ly their p

who a child

his union and to describe happy days spent at Nun

molishing,

fell, as

nuns and fou

better thu

irgin proved

er yet rem

a nun there

ligious hou

lest bed th

and Poland y

retirèd he

studies coul

se gardens o

st figure

e bastions i

one for ev

e east the

he colours

gh these know

e dian wit

their drowsy

n ensigns e

s pan, yet d

s flask with

heir Gover

volleys th

lute thei

eat a charg

e virgin ny

he flowers a

still! thou

o sweet, or c

e firemen! O

our equal f

report no e

to the ey

flowers, a

colours stan

ment in o

tulip, pin

the vigil

lk round ab

hich to the sta

staves the e

e flower's

as sentine

too, but, if

through, nor

hat dear an

of the worl

ise of the

n planted u

ude the worl

, if not fl

ss apple di

mortal, and

shall we

t militia

s only had

garrisons

only arms

d rosy gar

several col

e Switzers o

had the sol

gentle fort

y of all t

the only

uarters were

e tender pl

l this dot

plant, and

g boughs u

s of the t

eath the w

t their t

ale does her

e trials o

she sits in

igh the squa

oaks stoop d

ng elders p

st it should

skin its sh

e for my

et more ple

s, whose fair

rings, their

for some c

nto the elm

d such a co

equal fla

careless

trawberrie

the hazels

throstle's

from the

of its youn

tork-like

e to its lo

easy phi

irds and tr

now to make

owls, or of

t wings as

ting on the a

but, and yo

an inver

I begi

ost learn'

language w

pon the bo

tentive the

were with li

s tremble i

turning ca

scattered S

phecies my

e history

paintings, al

eece, Palesti

light mo

y he, who,

n Nature's

w chance's

a mask my s

aves me em

ch caterpil

ith famili

clasps, and c

s Attic c

eat prelate

ishing with

swoln of

, cooling thro

th air my p

our rest, ye

u, cool zep

air, my thou

from the ch

thinks, and

have I enca

y, aiming a

e tree its u

he world no

or me it t

it secu

s horsemen

woodbines, i

out, ye ga

lose your c

never leave

ur fetters p

silken bo

rambles, ch

s briars, nai

pleasure '

here with h

ng my la

s a bank un

pend my s

er's under

branches to

lines the

y, my hooks

es, idle

Maria walk

at to these

s beauty whi

ness on the

meadow swee

uld make t

pure, but

ure, sweet, st

woods, meads

have been f

stic heav

discipli

, and the

ne object c

nd spotless

ss doth it

if there w

length. Other poems of this garden-period of Marvell's life are better know

y men them

palm, the o

uncessant

some single

and narrow

tly their t

flowers and

he garland

have I fou

nce, thy s

ong, I sou

companie

plants, if

the plant

is all

elicious

or red was

as this l

ous life is

s drop abo

s clusters

th do crush

ne, and cur

ds themselv

on melons,

flowers, I f

mind, from p

into its h

at ocean whe

its own rese

tes, transc

orlds, and

ing all t

hought in a

ess, I have not the heart to omit them, so eminent

world enou

s, lady, we

down and th

pass our lo

e Indian G

bies find: I

ould compla

years befor

ld, if you p

onversion

ble love

empires an

ears should

and on thy f

to adore e

thousand

least to e

age should sh

you deserve

I love at

back I a

d chariot hu

r all bef

of vast

shall no mo

marble vaul

ong; then wo

preserved

int honour t

ashes all

a fine and p

think, do th

re, while th

skin like

y willing so

re with ins

sport us w

e amorous bi

once our t

h in his slo

all our stre

ess up int

pleasures wit

e iron gat

h we cannot

yet we will m

in his possession the judicious reader will be able to supply his own reflections whilst life beneath the sun is still his. Poetry is a

ana, i. 105. Lamb placed some fine lines of Fleckno

rt, vol. i

eligio Laici, Scott's

he does to Shakespeare, "as to his opinion he was a dissenter." In Collier's opinion Marvell may have been no better than a dissenter, but i

airfax, by C. R. Ma

th edition i

e with Marvell on reading these lines in the Essa

of Andrew Marvell, 2