KEW PALACE.

[Illustration:  Kew Palace.]

Innumerable are the instances of princes having sought to perpetuate their memories by the building of palaces, from the Domus Aurea, or golden house of Nero, to the comparatively puny structures of our own times.  As specimens of modern magnificence and substantial comfort, the latter class of edifices may be admirable; but we are bound to acknowledge, that in boldness and splendour of design, they cannot assimilate to the labours of antiquity, much of whose stupendous character is to this day preserved in many series of interesting ruins:—­

  Whilst in the progress of the long decay,
  Thrones sink to dust, and nations pass away.

As a record of this degeneracy, near the western corner of Kew Green stands the new palace, commenced for George III., under the direction of the late James Wyatt, Esq.  The north front, the only part open to public inspection, possesses an air of solemn, sullen grandeur; but it very ill accords with the taste and science generally displayed by its nominal architect.

To quote the words of a contemporary, “this Anglo-Teutonic, castellated, gothized structure must be considered as an abortive production, at once illustrative of bad taste and defective judgment.  From the small size of the windows and the diminutive proportion of its turrets, it would seem to possess

 “’Windows that exclude the light,
   And passages that lead to nothing.’”

Upon the unhappy seclusion of the royal architect, the works were suspended, and it now remains unfinished.  Censure and abuse have, however, always been abundantly lavished on its architecture, whether it be the result of royal caprice or of professional study; but the taste of either party deserves to be taxed with its demerits.

The northern front was intended to be appropriated to the use of domestics; the whole building is rendered nearly indestructible by fire, by means of cast-iron joists and rafters, &c., certainly in this case an unnecessary precaution, since the whole pile is shortly to be pulled down.  The foundation, too, is in a bog close to the Thames, and the principal object in its view is the dirty town of Brentford, on the opposite side of the river; a selection, it would seem, of family taste, for George II. is known to have often said, when riding through Brentford, “I do like this place, it’s so like Yarmany.”

A modern tourist, in “A Morning’s Walk from London to Kew,” characterizes the new palace as “the Bastile palace, from its resemblance to that building, so obnoxious to freedom and freemen.  On a former occasion,” says he, “I have viewed its interior, and I am at a loss to conceive the motive for preferring an external form, which rendered it impracticable to construct within it more than a series of large closets, boudoirs, and rooms like oratories.”  The latter part of this censure is judiciously correct; but the epithet “bastile” is perhaps too harsh for some ears.