iny villages which felt their first need to be a
church; the congregations must have been small and poor. They, of the
Surrey churches, are nearest in heart to the "little, lost down
churches" of Sussex and Mr. Kipling's most magical poem.

Addington, perhaps, could hardly be called lost, for many archbishops
have lived at Addington Park, and two lie buried in the churchyard,
Archbishop Longley and Archbishop Tait. There are memorials to three
others--Manners-Sutton, Howleigh, and Sumner. But the most attractive
name on the church walls belongs to the wife of the builder of Addington
House. She was Mrs. Grizzel Trecothick. Addington still lies in deep
country; Sanderstead, its neighbour three miles to the south-west, is
half in the country and half in the town. Old Sanderstead, the Sandy
Place, has a large, square red-brick house overlooking a park and a
quiet churchyard, where the little church, with sloping roofs over each
aisle, looks rather like a hen brooding chickens. In the chancel is a
memorial to one of those squires who held strange offices under Tudor
kings. He kneels in painted marble, and he was "John Ownsted, esquier,
servant to y^e most excellent princesse and our dread soveraigne Queene
Elizabeth, and seriant of her ma^ties cariage by y^e space of 40 yeres."
South-east of Sanderstead are Farley and Chelsham, each with an old
church; Farley's is a tiny building by a fine farmyard, but the peace of
the little church is gone; its modest spire, as you walk to the
churchyard, is dominated and affronted by the hideous clock-tower of a
neighbouring lunatic asylum. Why should such a thing be? County Councils
have decreed that in this part of Surrey must be massed together the
thousands of poor souls who have lost the reason which county
councillors must be supposed to possess; but why insist on their unhappy
presence? A building to hold such sadness should be a quiet thing,
hidden among trees, silent, alone. But that would suit neither
councillors nor architects. For them, asylums must stare, scar, insist
that they will be seen and known; and here, in what should be tranquil
and lovely country, they violate the hills.

Two other villages, Warlingham and Woldingham, lie east of the railway.
Warlingham stands round a pretty green, and has a pleasant inn; the
church, which once lay among fields, is at the end of a chestnut avenue
which belongs to the future. It is a curious little building, with a
sense of wide li