points on which Sarah has a just claim to our sympathy. For she foresaw what actually did happen, and perceived whither the current was tending, but was refused any credit for her prognostications or help in subduing the dangerous forces she dreaded. How irritating this position must have been to a fiery temper it is needless to point out, and the duchess would not permit herself to be silenced by either husband or queen. Lord Macaulay’s description of the astonishing state of affairs which compelled two of the ablest statesmen in Europe to have recourse for the conduct of the imperial business to the influence of one woman over another, was thus far less true even than it seems on the surface; for Sarah of Marlborough suspected the real state of the case when no one else did, fighting violently against her husband’s enemies before they had disclosed themselves, and her final overthrow was as much the result of a new tide in political affairs as of the straining of the personal relations between her and her queen. Meanwhile, Marlborough was going on in his career of conquest. It was a very costly luxury; but the pride of England had never been so fed with triumphs. Queen Anne was in her closet one day at Windsor, a little turret-chamber with windows on every side looking over the green and fertile valley of the Thames, with all the trees in full summer foliage and the harvest beginning to be gathered in from the fields, when there was brought to her a scrap of crumpled paper bearing upon it the few hurried lines which told of the “glorious victory” of the battle of Blenheim. It had been torn off in haste from a memorandum book on the field, and was scribbled over with an inn-reckoning on the other side. The commotion it caused was not one of unmixed joy; for though the queen wrote her thanks and congratulations, and there was a great thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s, which she attended in state, the party in power did all that in them lay to depreciate the importance of the victory. When, however, Marlborough appeared in England with his prisoners and trophies,--a marshal of France among the former,--and many standards taken in the field, the popular sentiment burst all bounds, and his reception was enthusiastic. The crown lands of Woodstock were bestowed upon him as a further reward, and the queen herself commanded that a palace should be built upon the estate at the expense of the crown, to be called Blenheim in commemoration of the extraordinary victory. A curious relic of ancient custom religiously carried out to the present day was involved in this noble gift. The quit-rent which every holder of a royal fief has to pay, was appointed to be a banner embroidered with three _fleurs-de-lis_, the arms then borne by France, to be presented on every anniversary of the battle. Not very long ago the present writer accompanied a French lady of distinction through some part of Windsor Castle under the guidance of an important member of the queen’s