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dying husband, and which commenced as follows:"Though the last time I had the honour to wait upon your Majesty your usage of me was such as was scarce possible for me to imagine, or any one to believe"

At this stage, the Duchess made her appearance in, as she herself confesses, or rather boasts, an exasperated condition. For once Anne acted as a queen, and a stern" Withdraw," forced the intruder to leave the room. In a few minutes Prince George had ceased to breathe, and the widowed Queen stood weeping and wringing her hands by the bedside of her dead con

sort.

The reign of the Marlboroughs was indeed nearly over. The Queen's spirit, weak as it was, had suffered much insolence to pass unnoticed; but she now rebelled against a favourite who sought to rule her by fear rather than by love. Month after month Sarah vainly endeavoured to obtain an interview, the fact being that the Queen dreaded nothing more than the biting tongue and fierce invectives of her former friend. But the Duchess seized her opportunity. She despatched a billet to Anne at Kensington, stating that she herself would follow," and

wait every day till it is convenient for you to see me, as what I have to say is of such a nature as to require no answer." Without allowing the Queen time for reply, the Duchess presented herself at the Palace, and sat down on the window seat of the back stair, like, she says, "a Scotch lady waiting for an answer to a petition." At last she was admitted to the royal closet, and Anne's first words showed how unwelcome was the intruder.

"I was going," said the Queen, "to write to you."

"Upon what, madam?" demanded the Duchess.

"I did not open your letter till just now, and I was going to write to you," replied Anne.

"Was there anything in it, madam, that you had a mind to answer?" asked Sarah.

"I think there is nothing you can have to say, but you may write it,” replied the Queen.

To all the Duchess's angry expostulations and attempted explanations, the Queen would give but one reply

"You said you required no answer, and I will give you none."

The interview lasted more than an hour, and the Duchess, finding her immovable, left her with the parting recrimination, "that she was sure Her Majesty would suffer for her inhumanity."

The battle of Kensington, fought on the 6th of April, 1710, was over. The fate of nations was decided. In vain did the Duchess threaten to publish her private correspondence with Anne; in vain did. the Duke of Marlborough throw himself on his knees before the Queen. He was dismissed from his offices, and was told he must demand the Gold Key of the Mistress of the Robes from his wife. Sarah threw it at his head. Out went the Whigs; in came the Tories. The war languished, peace was concluded, and that stormy interview of one hour, between a termagant and her mistress, did more to change the destinies of Europe than the war which had lasted for half-a-generation. Let us look reverently, then, on the Palace, O Fellow Rambler, for here that great struggle was fought.

With the exception of such squabbles the wearisome routine which composed the sum total of Anne's life, was broken only by occasional visits to St. Paul's,

to offer up thanks for another victory, or to Westminster, to open Parliament.

The Queen's consort, Prince George, died, as we have already seen, in 1708, and six years later Anne followed him to the grave. She had long been troubled with gout. The 27th of July, 1714, had been a most harassing day. The Prime Minister, Oxford, had been dismissed, and much state business had been gone through. The Queen was carried to bed, anxious and unwell. She herself felt that death was at hand. "I shall never survive it" was her remark to her physician. Then the whole Palace was in an uproar. Both parties were taken by surprise. The Jacobites in one chamber, and the favourers of the Hanoverian succession in another, held councils and plotted and schemed. The Queen was fast sinking. The gout had flown to her head. But even while in this condition state affairs must not be neglected. The new Prime Minister, Bolingbroke, was suspected of favouring the cause of the Queen's brother, the Pretender. The dying Queen herself placed the white staff of Lord Treasurer in the hands of the Duke of Shrewsbury, a staunch supporter of the Protestant succession. Tra

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dition says that Anne, with that heartfelt desire for the country's welfare which she had always felt murmured as the Duke approached her bed to receive the staff, "For God's sake, use it for the

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good of my people." Then, thinking of the Pretender, exiled rather for his father's fault than his own, she moaned, "Oh, my brother-oh, my poor brother !"

The Queen breathed her last between seven and eight o'clock on the following morning, Sunday, the Ist of August. A few hours later and the people were shouting for King George, of whom they knew nothing, forgetting the poor queen who had won their regard by long years of faultless domestic life, and who, if she does not deserve the poet's epithet of great, is yet certainly entitled to the name which her loving subjects had bestowed upon her of the "Good Queen Anne."

Queen Anne was dead. On that summer Sabbath that was news indeed, however trite the announcement may seem to-day. Readers of Thackeray will remember how Esmond came along the Kensington Road on that memorable morning; how," early as the hour was, there was a bustle in the street, and