ar-looking dwelling, just such
a one as you might well suppose the chosen of Andrew Marvel--exquisitely
situated, enjoying abundant natural advantages; and yet altogether
devoid of pretension; sufficiently beautiful for a poet, sufficiently
humble for a patriot.

[Illustration: MARVEL'S HOUSE, FRONT VIEW.]

It is an unostentatious home, with simple gables and plain windows, and
is but a story high. In front are some old trees, and a convenient porch
to the door, in which to sit and look forth upon the road, a few paces
in advance of it. The front is of plaster, but the windows are
modernized, and there are other alterations which the exigencies of
tenancy have made necessary since Marvel's days.

The dwelling was evidently inhabited;--the curtains in the deep windows
as white as they were when we visited it some years previous to the
visit concerning which we now write, and the garden as neat as when in
those days we asked permission to see the house, and were answered by an
elderly servant, who took in our message; and an old gentleman came into
the hall, invited us in, and presented us to his wife, a lady of more
than middle age, and of that species of beauty depending upon
expression, which it is not in the power of time to wither, because it
is of the spirit rather than the flesh; and we also remembered a green
parrot, in a fine cage, that talked a great deal, and was the only thing
which seemed out of place in the house. We had been treated with much
courtesy; and, emboldened by the memory of that kindness, we now
ascended the stone steps, unlatched the little gate, and knocked.

[Illustration: MARVEL'S HOUSE, BACK VIEW.]

Again we were received courteously and kindly by the lady we had
formerly seen; and again she blandly offered to show us the house. We
went up a little winding stair, and into several neat, clean bedrooms,
where every thing was so old-fashioned, that you could fancy Andrew
Marvel himself was still its master.

"Look out here," said the old lady; "here's a view! They say this was
Andrew Marvel's writing closet when he wrote _sense_; but when he wrote
_poetry_, he used to sit below in his garden. I have heard there is a
private way under the road to Cromwell House, opposite; but surely that
could not be necessary. So good a man would not want to work in the
dark; for he was a true lover of his country, and a brave man. My
husband used to say, the patriots of those times were not like the
pat