My first visit to Blenheim was on a beautiful spring day in May, 1874. Some of the Duke’s tenants and Randolph’s constituents met us at the station to give us a welcome. Taking the horses out of the carriage, they insisted on dragging us through the town to the house. The place could not have looked more glorious…. we passed through the entrance archway, and the lovely scenery burst upon me, Randolph said with pardonable pride, “This is the finest view in England.”​

Looking at the lake, the bridge, the miles of magnificent park studded with old oaks, I found no adequate words to express my admiration, and when we reached the huge and stately palace, where I was to find hospitality for so many years, I confess I felt awed. But my American pride forbade the admission, and I tried to conceal my feelings, asking Randolph if Pope‘s lines were a true description of the inside:

Alexander Pope:

“See, sir, here’s the grand approach;

This way is for his grace’s coach:

There lies the bridge, and here’s the clock;

Observe the lion and the cock,

The spacious court, the colonnade,

And mark how wide the hall is made!

The chimneys are so well design’d

They never smoke in any wind.

This gallery’s contrived for walking,

The windows to retire and talk in;

The council chamber for debate,

And all the rest are rooms of state.’

‘Thanks, sir,’ cried I, ‘ ’tis very fine,

But where d’ye sleep, or where d’ye dine?

I find by all you have been telling,

That ’tis a house, but not a dwelling.'”

​

The imperious Sarah, known to her contemporaries as “Great Atossa,” “Who with herself, or others, from her birth

Finds all her life one warfare upon earth,” demolished the older and probably more comfortable hunting-lodge which stood in the forest. Tradition asserts that it occupied the site of the “Bower” in which “Fair Rosamond” hid her royal amours. To this day “Rosamond’s Well,” concealed among the trees, is the object of a favourite walk.