re none but his friends should
find him. He lies in the churchyard, under the shadow of the quaint
little spire that sits on its bells like a candle-snuffer; Dr. Burney
has written an epitaph for him, in the formal Georgian English that was
always somewhere, too, in Fanny Burney's head. It was only the girl in
her that kept it out of _Evelina_; after _Evelina_ the girl survives
almost only in her diary and her letters. The books grow dull.

Esher, beyond Claygate, is three miles to the north-west, and Claremont
borders Esher Common. Claremont is a house of happiness and mourning.
Queen Victoria spent the brightest days of her childhood there; princes
and princesses have lived here and died before their day; a great name
darkens its memories, ennobles its history. The first house at Claremont
was built by Sir John Vanbrugh; afterwards the Duke of Newcastle had it;
on his death Lord Clive bought it, pulled it down, and built the
Claremont of to-day. A hundred thousand pounds he spent on the house and
garden, and in the serenity of his chosen home he should have ended his
days. Envy and persecution prevented that, and Clive of Arcot and
Plassey died in London. Forty-two years later, in 1816, Prince Leopold,
afterwards King of the Belgians, brought his bride, Princess Charlotte,
to Claremont; she died with her baby the next year, a girl of
twenty-one. In 1848 Louis Philippe, a refugee from the Revolution, came
to Claremont; he died there in 1850. Seven years after, in 1857,
Claremont and the countryside were in mourning for the Duchess of
Nemours, a princess of glorious beauty. Queen Amelie died at the house
in 1866. To-day the Duchess of Albany has Claremont; perhaps, as it lies
so near a great highway, it might be worth while to say that it is not
shown to the public.

[Illustration: _Wolsey's Tower, Esher._]

A ruined palace is Claremont's neighbour. The great gateway of the
building stands on the bank of the Mole, in the grounds of Esher Place.
William of Waynflete built it; Wolsey repaired it, and was sent there in
disgrace by his King; the Great Seal had been taken from him. Stow has a
story of the fallen Minister's journey to Esher; Wolsey had left the
river at Putney, and was riding along sadly enough, when a messenger
brought him a kind word from the King. In his joy and relief he looked
round for a present to send back; he fixed on Patch, his fool, and
ordered him to the Court. Patch was all rage and tears, and