t in her apartments. "It is all very well,"
remarked the Queen to her Secretary of State, "but tell the Duchess if
she demolishes the fittings-up of my palace, she may depend upon it that
I will not build hers at Woodstock." The Duchess consented to abandon
the chimney-pieces, and withdrew at once to her country seat, near St.
Alban's, where she lived in a style of great magnificence.

In the retirement of private life, Marlborough, worn out with the harass
attendant upon such a lengthened succession of arduous campaigns, and
wearied with political intrigue, now hoped to enjoy that which he had
for years longed for--the society of those so dear to him, from whom he
had been so many years separated. But it was not to be. Quiet happiness
in the evening of his eventful life was not destined to be his lot. His
wife, for whom he had ever shown such strong and unalterable affection,
was a woman thwarted in all her designs--outraged, injured, mortified,
and disgusted with the court and with the world. She was no longer
young, nor possessed of the great attractions which had formerly thrown
a veil over the deformities of her temper, which, always violent, had
now become soured by adversity. She had no indulgence left for others.
Dissatisfied with her friends, her children, and everything about her,
she was disposed to wrangle and dispute on the slightest provocation.

Next came a great affliction--more deeply felt by both, perhaps, than
either the fickleness of the Queen or the virulence of their political
enemies--the death under their own roof at St. Alban's of their
long-tried, attached, and amiable friend, Lord Godolphin. This sad event
determined Marlborough to reside abroad until happier days dawned--their
ungrateful country no longer offering any charms for them. His
long-cherished desire for rural leisure, retirement, and the quiet
enjoyments of private life had ended in disappointment. The master of
wealth and great possessions, palatial edifices rising around him, and
rank, glory, and well-earned honour his own; yet was he the mark of
envy, hatred, and jealousy. Not even could he and the Duchess enjoy and
return the ordinary courtesies of society without incurring observation
and provoking suspicion. His enemies had triumphed, his Queen was cold
and unjust, and now his dearly-loved friend, his adviser and confidant,
the sharer of his sorrows, his consoler and encourager, was no more. A
blight had fallen upon his exist