Those two women were considerable personages in their day.  The first, her own beauty, the superior talents of her husband in war, and the caprice of a feeble princess, raised to the highest pitch of power; and the prodigious wealth bequeathed to her by her lord, and accumulated in concert with her, gave her weight in a free country.  The other, proud of royal, though illegitimate birth, was, from the vanity of that birth, so zealously attached to her expelled brother, the Pretender, that she never ceased labouring to effect his restoration; and, as the opposition to the House of Brunswick was composed partly of principled Jacobites-of Tories, who either knew not what their own principles were, or dissembled them to themselves, and of Whigs, who, from hatred of the minister, both acted in concert with the Jacobites and rejoiced in their assistance-two women of such wealth, rank, and enmity to the court, were sure of great attention from all the discontented.

The beauty of the Duchess of Marlborough had always been of the scornful and imperious kind, and her features and air announced nothing that her temper did not confirm; both together, her beauty and temper, enslaved her heroic lord.  One of her principal charms was a prodigious abundance of fine fair hair.  One day at her toilet, in anger to him, she cut off those commanding tresses, and flung them in his face.  Nor did her insolence stop there, nor stop till it had totally estranged and worn out the patience of the poor Queen, her mistress.  The Duchess was often seen to give her Majesty her fan and gloves, and turn away her own head, as if the Queen had offensive smells.

Incapable of due respect to superiors, it was no wonder she treated her children and inferiors with supercilious contempt.  Her eldest daughter (121) and she were long at variance, and never reconciled.  When the young Duchess exposed herself by placing a monument and silly epitaph, of her own composition and bad spelling, to Congreve, in Westminster Abbey, her mother, quoting the words, said, “I know not what pleasure she might have in his company, but I am sure it was no honour."(122) With her youngest daughter, the Duchess of Montagu, old Sarah agreed as ill.  “I wonder,” said the Duke of Marlborough to them, “that you cannot agree, you are so alike!” Of her granddaughter, the Duchess of Manchester, daughter of the Duchess of Montagu, she affected to be fond.  One day she said to her, “Duchess of Manchester, you are a good creature, and I love you mightily-but you have a mother!"-"And she has a mother!” answered the Duchess of Manchester, who was all spirit, justice, and honour, and could not suppress sudden truth.