Upon hearing that the Duke had inquired for him, Vanburgh wrote a long explanation, in which some traces of regret are discoverable. Since it is, in the main points, merely a recapitulation of the whole affair, we must refer the reader, who may be curious to judge for himself upon this amusing controversy, to the Appendix of this volume. Severe and real trials awaited the Duchess, and ought to have bowed her head in humility, and softened her vindictive feelings to others. But the discipline of events appears to have effected but little change in her proud and fierce disposition. Whilst wealth and undisputed honours might procure a cheerful retirement, it was the will of Providence that the decline of these two celebrated persons into the sear and yellow leaf should be visited by those bereavements which anticipate Time in his devastations upon the frame of man, and aid him of his privilege in furrowing the brow, and making the cheek wan. From the period when they could discern the opening characters of infancy in their children, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough had considered themselves peculiarly blessed in two of their daughters—Elizabeth Countess of Bridgewater, and Anne Countess of Sunderland. The world corroborated by its testimony the good opinion of the parents. Lady Bridgewater was domestic in her habits, affectionate, dutiful, and religious. She appears to have taken less part in political affairs than her sisters, Lady Rialton and Lady Sunderland, who were evidently esteemed by the Tory party to be the chief female supporters of their adversaries.[246] Yet Lady Bridgewater, in common with the rest of her family, had evinced her displeasure at the dismissal of her mother, and the change of the ministry in 1711–12. When, at that time, it happened that the presentation of Prince Eugene took place, and all the Tory courtiers, “monstrous fine,” as Swift described them, thronged to see the Queen present him with a diamond sword, the Countess of Bridgewater is thus mentioned among the “birth-day chat” with which Swift consoled Stella for his absence. “I saw Lady Wharton, as ugly as the devil, coming out in a crowd, all in an undress; she had been with the Marlborough daughters and Lady Bridgewater in St. James’s, looking out of the window, all undressed, to see the sight.”[247] This is one of the few instances in which we find Lady Bridgewater mentioned in public; and, in March 22nd, 1714, her brief career closed, the small-pox proving fatal to her, as it had done to her brother. She was only twenty-six years of age at the time of her death.