es, she had lived to
see one of her favourites die and to send another to the block; and now
she herself was dying. She knew it, and she would not hear of death. She
was never so ready for the gaiety she could not enjoy. Her strength left
her, she was a skeleton; still she sat with her dress unchanged, staring
before her, flashing sudden rages at her ministers, rallying at the
mention of an heir's name. Beauchamp, heir to the Suffolks, they put
forward; she cried out he was the son of a rogue. The King of Scots?
they asked; she answered nothing. Dead, propped among her pillows, an
old woman in ruff and stays, the memory of her last days shadows
Richmond Palace like a drawn blind.

[Illustration: _Richmond Hill._]

To the north beyond Richmond Hill and the huge hotel, twice burnt down,
which looks over the woods and the river, one may come by tramways and
railways to Kew and Kew Gardens. Kew, too, once had a palace, or an
attempt at a palace. Frederick Prince of Wales, George III's
father--the prince who did so much for Surrey cricket, and died,
perhaps, from the blow of a cricket ball--lived at Kew House, and so did
George III after him. George III pulled down Kew House in 1803, and
built another; to be not less royal, George IV pulled that down. A
smaller building, vaguely named Kew Palace still, stands in the Gardens;
Queen Charlotte died there; you may see the room, and look, if you wish,
on the tables and sofas she knew. But the pictures in Kew Palace were
not all Queen Charlotte's; they are catalogued to-day, and so are many
manuscripts and autograph letters of royal persons which attract careful
readers. From remarks which can be overheard in those sombre rooms, many
visitors, I think, imagine the paintings of still life, of flowers in
vases, odd representations of game and fruit, and so forth, to have
been selected and hung in the house as specially suitable for public
gardens. The portraits of royal gentlemen in blue and red puzzle them;
why should they be shown these at Kew? These are for palaces and
galleries; Kew is for a flower show.

What is the chief, the compelling fascination of Kew Gardens? What is it
that sets Kew apart, not more beautiful than other gardens, but
different from them, with a different attraction peculiarly its own? Is
it the sense of change from roaring streets to quiet lawns, noble trees,
spaces and scents of grass and flowers? There may be a sense of change,
but that is not all the