Who comes hither? A soldier of commanding stature and strikingly handsome face; dignified, yet winning in manner; blessed, it would seem, with all possible gifts and graces. He is John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, Prince of the Holy Roman Empire—one of the greatest military geniuses who ever lived, the victor of one of the decisive battles of the world, the man who overthrew the vast fabric of power which Lewis the Fourteenth had erected, the general who never fought a battle that he did not win and never besieged a place that he did not take! But do not be dazzled by his noble appearance and his military glory. His genius is transcendent, his courage is of the highest order, his personal graces are remarkable, yet he goes down to posterity as one of the greatest and meanest of mankind. Treacherous, ungrateful, sordid, and miserly, he is despicable as a man though unrivalled as a diplomatist and glorious as a soldier. William the Third died before his work was done. The long duel between him and Lewis was only at its opening stages when he passed away, after a life of stubborn resistance to his invincible foe. His mantle fell on the shoulders of John Churchill, and he it was who finished the task which William did not live long enough to accomplish. Churchill was the son of a Devonshire cavalier, and early became a man of fashion and pleasure at the court of Charles the Second. At seventeen years of age he was an ensign in the army, and at twenty-two the colonel of an English regiment in the service of France. By this time the “handsome Englishman,” as Marshal Turenne dubbed him, had already shown the qualities of a great soldier. When an advance post was given up to the enemy, Turenne actually wagered a supper that Marlborough would recover it with half the number of men who had abandoned it, and the wager was won. He was absolutely fearless, bold and adventurous, cool and unruffled in temper, calm and far-seeing in judgment, and capable of enduring all sorts of fatigue. Thanks to the friendship of the Duke of York, afterwards James the Second, to whose fortunes he attached himself, he was raised to the peerage. At the time of Monmouth’s rising he was major-general of the forces, and the victory at Sedgemoor was largely due to his coolness and resource in rallying the royal troops when thrown into confusion by the night attack of the rebels. Marlborough owed much of his rapid promotion to his wife. In 1678 he married a penniless beauty of the court named Sarah Jennings. She was a lady of violent temper and a most domineering disposition, but she also possessed a strange power of winning and retaining affection. Marlborough’s love for his wife “ran like a thread of gold through the dark web of his career.” He hated letter-writing, chiefly because his spelling was so bad, yet in the midst of his marches and sieges, and even from the battlefield itself, he constantly wrote his wife letters breathing the most passionate devotion.