Punch (7.1844)

16

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

THEATRE ROYAL, ST. STEPHEN'S.

Tiie Second Appearance of Sir Robert Peel's Notorious Dancing1 3>ogs.

BLENHEIM GARDENS__PRICE FIVE SHILLINGS.

A Correspondent of The Times writes of his late pilgrimage to Blen-
heim, wherein the Duke of Marlborough—like a very small mouse
in a very large cheese—keeps his solitary state. The pilgrim complains
that the Duke's Scotch gardener insisted upon receiving five shillings for
snowing the Duke's Eden; and, when remonstrated with, shut the
gate in the faces of some ladies. Poor man ! we wonder not at his
aptitude at shutting gates in the faces of ladies—has he not had high
' instruction ?

The garden tickets are signed by the proprietor, by Marlborough
, himself, who deputes a Scotchman to take the money. Holding the said
gardens from the public, the Duke is, of course, doubly justified in
making the public pay for the exhibition. And then, what a small sum
is five shillings compared with the rare and delicious thoughts which
I perforce throng the brain, dreaming in the gardens of the Duke of
Marlborough ! All truly great minds, from Djocletian to Lord
Bacon, and so by natural progression to Marlborough, have delighted
in gardens ; all, too, have had some peculiar way of manifesting that
delight. Bacon wrote garden essays ; Marlborough writes garden
tickets, price five shillings .'

Have we really visited Blenheim gardens, or was it only in some day-
dream that we beheld the spot where the great Churchill, of 1844,
walks and meditates for his country's good ; where, sweetly smitten by
the loveliest aspects of a bountiful nature, his heart is wont to gush with
that abounding love for all men which has made his name sweet as
manna in the mouths of the poor ? No : surely we have been at Blenheim.
"Yes, it all throngs upon our memory ; we remember every word that the

Scotchman said to us, as he showed us about the place—yes, we can-
repeat every syllable.

"Here," said he, "is the Duke's bower, where he sometimes sits for
hours in a deep study. And then he will go into his library, summon his
steward, and send him on some errand of charity to Woodstock.

" Here, too, in this wilderness of roses, he will walk early in the
morning. And I have often seen his Grace (when he thought nobody
was near him) clasp his hands together, and look gratefully up at Heaven—
sometimes wipe a tear, I assure you, sir, a tear—from his eye, and then
smile so, it was a delight to the heart to look upon him ! He seemed
like a man giving thanks for all the good that God had given him. After
this, somehow or the other, the poor would be sure to hear of him.

"Now, look here, sir. You can't believe the bushels and bushels of
peaches sent from these trees to the folks of Woodstock every autumn
by the Duke. ' They 're not much, Ferguson'—my name's Ferguson,
sir,—'they 're not much,' the Duke will say, 'but they'll shew I don't
forget my neighbours.' And then, bless you ! if he hears that anybody
is sick, why I've known him come down himself and choose the very
finest grapes to send to 'em. Ha, sir ! nobody knows the good the Duke
does ! But how, indeed, could anybody help it, living in such a paradise
of gardens V :

We could not but acknowledge the truth of Ferguson's words. It
is plain, we thought, that here the Duke cultivates the laurels that have
made him glorious. With such thoughts, conscious that to a mind sof-
tened and disciplined by a contemplation of nature in her loveliest looks,
we owe the virtues that so distinguish the Duke, what, we exclaimed
in our enthusiasm, what price can be too much to visit Blenheim
Gardens ?

And an Irish echo answered—" Five Shillings I"