The Dss. of Marlborough’s vindication[215] is sure of being interesting from ye high and distinguished characters who figure in the piece--herself and sovereign. After reading her history one feels the propriety of placing her name first. She seems to have been a haughty, imperious dame, full of ambition and that love of power which she was determined to wrest by terror; for it appears that she disdained the meanness of intrigue, and when tottering in her favour submitted sooner to disgrace than owe her power to flattery. Her dominion over the mind of her mistress was that of an _esprit fort sur l’esprit faible_, for feeble indeed was our narrow-minded Anne. There are stories in the Spencer family, which confirm all that her contemporaries said of the violence of her temper. She had uncommonly fine hair which her husband admired: in a fit of passion, upon his refusing her a request she made, she cut off her fine tresses and threw them in his face. One of her daughters offended her beyond her powers of pardoning; she immediately flew to a portrait of her which was near, and smeared over the features with black paint, saying, ‘Now her face is as black as her heart.’[216] Her grandson, the D. of M., ventured to differ from her in politics, owing, it was reported, to the influence of the first Ld. Holland, of whom she always used to say, ‘He is the Fox who stole my goose.’ There is a letter or two of hers preserved among the old correspondence of Ld. H. to him. The present Lord Spencer owes his fortune to an adroit joke of his ancestor Jack Spencer,[217] who recovered from her displeasure by jumping in at the window after she had foiled his entering her doors; for this she left him as much almost as she gave the D. of M. Her apology was written by Mallet or Fenton;[218] she paid him several thousands for the work. * * * * * _July 17._--Left Holland House to make a tour in the Highlands of Scotland. As I was with child and Charles had not been inoculated, the intended journey on the Continent was delayed. We arrived, on the 19th, at York, which little Marsh had reached before us. We went that evening to see the Cathedral, which is certainly both grand and spacious, but inferior to any Gothic buildings I have seen. It is scarcely as fine as Salisbury, and certainly not equal to that of Amiens. Those in Italy again are in a different taste; that at Pavia is, I believe, anterior to any we have in England. It is very ugly, and bears the rugged marks of tasteless cost and unskilful labour. York is one of the oldest cities in the island, and to a lover of Shakespeare all around it is classical ground. The remains of the walls, the city gates, and the ruins of an old nunnery near the river make it altogether a place rather worth seeing. [Sidenote: CASTLE HOWARD]