nderland's
narrow intellect and utter lack of judgment could be found than the
supposition that this shallow trick could succeed, and that the
greatest administrator of his time could be thus quietly withdrawn from
Parliamentary life and from the higher work of the State, and shelved
in perpetuity as a Postmaster-general. King George was not to be taken
in after this fashion. He asked Sunderland whether Walpole wished for
such an office, or was acquainted with Sunderland's intention to make
the suggestion. Sunderland had to answer both questions in the
negative. "Then," said the King, "pray do not make him any such offer,
or say anything about it to him. I had to part with him once, much
against my will, and so long as he is willing to serve me I will never
part with him again." This incident shows that, if Sunderland had
lived, he would have plotted against Walpole to the end, and would have
stood in Walpole's way to the best of his power, and with all the
unforgiving hostility of the narrow-minded and selfish man who has had
services rendered him for which he ought to feel grateful but cannot.

{208}

[Sidenote: 1721-1722--Marlborough's closing days]

A far greater man than Sunderland was soon to pass away.

"From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow."

These are the famous words in which Johnson depicts the miserable decay
of a great spirit, and points anew the melancholy moral of the vanity
of human wishes. Hardly a line in the poetry of our language is better
known or more often quoted. Where did Johnson get the idea that
Marlborough had sunk into dotage before his death? There is not the
slightest foundation for such a belief. All that we know of
Marlborough's closing days tells us the contrary. Nothing in
Marlborough's life, not even his serene disregard of dangers and
difficulties, not even his victories, became him like to the leaving of
it. No great man ever sank more gracefully, more gently, with a calmer
spirit, down to his rest. We get some charming pictures of
Marlborough's closing days. Death had given him warning by repeated
paralytic strokes. On November 27, 1721, he was seen for the last time
in the House of Lords. He was not, however, quite near his death even
then. He used to spend his time at Blenheim, or at his lodge in
Windsor. To the last he was fond of riding and driving and the fresh
country air. In-doors he loved to be surrounded by his granddaughters
and th