o. The pews are
square and high, the pulpit is a three-decker, the paint is that
peculiar yellow dun which belongs to Georgian and early Victorian
aesthetics. But the value of the church is that it is untouched. No
restorer has laid a hand on the mouldering baize which lines the pews;
no one has knocked down the hideous galleries; nobody has broken into
the gallery pew in which, warmed by a fireplace and chimney in winter,
the little Princess Victoria of Kent used to sit when she was allowed to
visit Claremont. You may see at Esher, better than in any other Surrey
church, the surroundings in which our Georgian great-grandfathers
worshipped; the service might almost have ended yesterday--there should
be a forgotten prayer-book somewhere under a seat, praying for the
health of his gracious Majesty King William. Or there might be in the
body of the church; not in the Queen's pew. I think American visitors
have been there.

To racing people Esher is Sandown, and Sandown is what all travellers
see from the railway. Of the smaller racecourses few can be prettier;
the long flank of a green hill, the white pavilion under dark pines, and
the curving course picked out with fresh painted railings and green
canvas--it is as spick and span as a lawn. Either in the summer, for the
Eclipse Stakes, or in the spring for the steeplechases, most of the
great English racehorses go to Sandown. Bendigo won the Eclipse Stakes
of L10,000 for Mr. Hedworth Barclay in 1886--the first time any horse
won so huge a stake. Bendigo is surely one of the great names. Even
those who know least about horse-racing may talk of Bendigo; Bendigo
whom the crowd loved, Bendigo who never failed them, Bendigo who carried
9 stone 7 lb., and won the Jubilee Stakes at Kempton in 1887. I have for
Bendigo the affection of a schoolfellow.

What is Surrey English? Lord Macaulay heard it at Esher. He was walking
from Esher to Ditton Marsh, he writes on September 22nd, 1854, and he
listened to it in a public-house:--

"A shower came on. Afraid for my chest, I turned into a small ale-house,
and called for a glass of ginger beer. I found there a party of
hop-pickers, come back from the neighbourhood of Farnham. They had had
but a bad season, and were returning, nearly walked off their legs. I
liked their looks, and thought their English remarkably good for their
rank of life. It was in truth Surrey English, the English of the suburbs
of London, which is to the Somersetsh