Lord Fairfax, though furious in war, and badly wounded in many a fierce engagement, was, when otherwise occupied, a man of quiet literary tastes, and a good bit of a collector and virtuoso.  Some of the rare books and manuscripts he had around him at Nunappleton are now in the 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 the Psalms of David and of the Song of Solomon.  These and many other productions, which he characterised as “The Employment of my Solitude,” still remain in his own handwriting.  Amongst them, Yorkshire men will hear with pleasure, is a “Treatise on the breeding of the Horse.”

Of the quality of his wife we have already had a touch.  She was one of the four daughters of Lord Vere of Tilbury, who came of a fine fighting family, and whose daughters had a roughish bringing-up, chiefly in the Netherlands.  None of the daughters were reckoned beautiful, either in face or figure, and it may well be that Lady Fairfax had something about her of the old 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 argument, and with Lady Fairfax at Nunappleton there was never likely to be any dearth of sensible talk and lively reminiscence.  The tragedy of the 30th of January could never be forgotten, and it is possible that Marvell’s most famous verses, so nobly descriptive of the demeanour of the king on that memorable occasion, derived their inspiration from discourse at Nunappleton.

Of the Lady Mary, aged twelve, we have no direct testimony.  When she grew up and had her portrait painted she stands revealed as a stout young woman with a plain good-natured face.  The poor soul needed all the good-nature heaven had bestowed upon her, for she 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 as best became a great lady, living as one who had sorrow but no grievance.  The duke died in 1688; she lived on till 1704.  She was ever a good friend to another ill-used solitary wife, Catherine of Braganza.  Marvell had every reason to be proud of his pupil.