Notwithstanding all these painful remembrances, the bonds of domestic life, which he was leaving, had abundant charms to rivet the noble heart of the most humane, the most exemplary of heroes. Lord Marlborough, who could face the enemies of his country undaunted, was overwhelmed with grief when he bade his wife and family farewell. He hastened on board the vessel, to conceal the agitation which he could not master. How beautiful, how touching, is the following letter, written by him from on board the vessel, shortly after this parting! “It is impossible to express with what a heavy heart I parted with you when I was at the waterside. I could have given my life to have come back, though I knew my own weakness so much that I durst not, for I should have exposed myself to the company. I did, for a great while, with a perspective glass, look upon the cliffs, in hopes I might have had one sight of you. We are now out of sight of Margate, and I have neither soul nor spirits; but I do at this minute suffer so much, that nothing but being with you can recompense it. If you will be sensible of what I now feel, you will endeavour ever to be easy to me, and then I shall be most happy, for it is only you that can give me true content. I pray God to make you and yours happy, and if I could contribute anything to it with the utmost hazard of my life, I should be glad to do it.”[428] What can we say to the woman who could undervalue such affection, and fritter away the happiness, the glory of being Marlborough’s wife, in petty intrigues and heart-burnings which marred their matrimonial felicity. Some qualities there must have been, generous and attaching in her character, which attracted, in spite of the vexations raised by her provoking activity and interference—in spite even of temper, that word of mighty import in the catalogue of human woes—the ever-returning affection of her husband towards her. The most gentle, the most irreproachable of wives could scarcely have deserved proofs of tender consideration more touching than the foregoing and following letters; and, probably, to speak seriously, would not have received them. It is a remarkable fact, that the most arrogant women often inspire the greatest devotion in those to whom fate has united them, especially if the partner of that lot be of a gentle and clinging disposition. “I do assure you,” writes the great Marlborough, on occasion of some political broil, “I had much rather the whole world should go wrong than you should be uneasy, for the quiet of my life depends only on your kindness. I beg you to believe that you are dearer to me than all things in the world. My temper may make you and myself sometimes uneasy; but when I am alone, and I find you kind, if you knew the true quiet I have in my mind, you would then be convinced of my being entirely yours, and that it is in no other power in this world to make me happy but yourself.”