stormed his
unhappiness at his master. It was no good; he was for Henry, and six
yeomen--it took the tallest Wolsey had--carried him struggling back to
the King.

The Palace did not keep Wolsey long; he was allowed back at Richmond.
After him, in Elizabeth's reign, came Richard Drake, and kept Spanish
grandees prisoners there, taken from the Armada by Sir Francis Drake.
After the Drakes came the Lattons, one of whom, John, held a remarkable
number of offices under William III. Aubrey gives the list:--

In the reign of William III, this John Latton had given him by that
Prince the Honours and Places following--

Equery,

Avener,

Master of the Buck-Beagles,

Master of the Hariers,

Master of the Game 10 miles round Hampton-Court, by particular
patent, distinct from that of Justice in Eyre,

Master of the Lodge at the Old Park at Richmond, with a lease of 30
years from the Crown for the lands thereto belonging,

Steward of the Manor of Richmond,

Keeper of Windsor-House Park,

Head-customer at Plymouth.

All which were conferr'd upon him, without asking for, directly or
indirectly, and were all held together during that reign.

Esher Palace as John Latton knew it survives now only in old prints;
they show a long wing on each side of William of Waynflete's gateway.
Opposite the palace a pleasure-boat, half dinghy, half barge, asks for
passengers; on the bank a fashionably dressed lady holds a long fishing
rod hopefully over the river, shaded by an enormous parasol.

Esher itself is scattered round a village green and a long broad street.
By the green is the modern church, and in the churchyard a strange tomb.
Lord Esher, the late Master of the Rolls, lies in white marble with Lady
Esher; Lord Esher designed the tomb in his lifetime, and would pass it
on his way to church. But the real Esher lies away from the village
green, along the main road to Portsmouth--a road edged with trees and
strips of grass; behind the trees stand the little, low, one-storied red
houses, and Esher's fine inn, the Bear. The Bear has been rebuilt, but
it has kept the air of a coaching inn; in the hall there is a vast pair
of boots, once worn by the postillion of Louis Philippe.

Esher's old church lies behind the Bear, the saddest little deserted
place. Sorrels and grasses wave about its forgotten graves; you open the
church door, and you are back in the days of Waterlo