nd brasses in the church,
especially in the Carew chapel, where Carews of Beddington have lain
since the fifteenth century. The strangest memorial is the punning
epitaph on the steward to Sir Nicholas Carew. He died in 1633, and his
name was Greenhill, which inspired his commemorator with a motto for his
brass, "Mors super virides montes," and ten curious lines:--

"Vnder thy feate interrd is here
A native born in Oxfordsheere,
First, Life and Learning Oxford gaue;
Surry to him his death, his graue.
He once a HILL was, fresh and GREENE;
Now wither'd is not to bee seene.
Earth in Earth shovel'd up is shut,
A HILL into a Hole is put.
But darkesome earth by powre divine
Bright at last as ye Sonne may shine."

A mile further west, beyond Wallington, which in spite of embracing
villadom still keeps an old inn and a pretty, shaded green, is
Carshalton. Carshalton begins magnificently. In the spacious days of
King George the First there was designed for Carshalton Park a superb
dwelling, which Leoni was to have built for the lord of the manor (he
built the Onslow house in Clandon Park). But the house was never built.
The gates remain. They formerly guarded the green glades of a deer park.
Now they stand forlornly cheek by jowl with new yellow brick. Actaeon,
from one great pillar, gazes on less divine pictures than a goddess
bathing; Artemis, on the other pillar, drapes herself for unseeing eyes.
A papered notice-board lolls against the superb ironwork of the gates.
Hunter and huntress, pillars and wrought iron, are for sale.

Few villages in Surrey are prettier to-day than they were forty years
ago. Carshalton is hardly a village, but is it less pretty than it used
to be? Let Ruskin decide, from the opening of _The Crown of Wild Olive_.

"Twenty years ago" (he writes in 1870) "there was no lovelier piece
of lowland scenery in South England, nor any more pathetic, in the
world, by its expression of sweet human character and life, than
that immediately bordering on the sources of the Wandel, and
including the low moors of Addington, and the villages of Beddington
and Carshalton, with all their pools and streams. No clearer or
diviner waters ever sang with constant lips of the hand which
'giveth rain from heaven'; no pastures ever lightened in spring-time
with more passionate blossoming; no sweeter homes ever hallowed the
heart of the passer-b