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 battery with his own hands, at the battle of Blenheim, and for which he received the thanks of Marlborough. The Gothic windows of painted glass and the rich purple and yellow dyes fell, in gorgeous confusion, on the relics around. A magnificent prospect lay beyond. On one side, you could see only the vast extent of park, whose oaks might have served as temples to the Druids: deer were feeding on the sunny slopes; and on a noble lake you saw the glittering of the morning light on the white wings of the swans. On the south side, the view was more varied: fields and orchards were obviously in a state of high cultivation; and a church, built by his grandfather, crowned the hill. Below, cottages peeped from among the trees, realising all the painter could have wished of quiet and cheerfulness. The view stretched away like a panorama, lost in the gray and misty tints which mingle with the sunshine of an October morning. Far as the