that the great fire had not spared the old portico of St. Paul's
and the stately arcades of Gresham's Bourse, and taken in
exchange that ugly old labyrinth of dingy brick and plastered
timber. It might now be hoped that we should have a Louvre.
Before the ashes of the old palace were cold, plans for a new
palace were circulated and discussed. But William, who could not
draw his breath in the air of Westminster, was little disposed to
expend a million on a house which it would have been impossible
for him to inhabit. Many blamed him for not restoring the
dwelling of his predecessors; and a few Jacobites, whom evil
temper and repeated disappointments had driven almost mad,
accused him of having burned it down. It was not till long after
his death that Tory writers ceased to call for the rebuilding of
Whitehall, and to complain that the King of England had no better
town house than St. James's, while the delightful spot where the
Tudors and the Stuarts had held their councils and their revels
was covered with the mansions of his jobbing courtiers.9

In the same week in which Whitehall perished, the Londoners were
supplied with a new topic of conversation by a royal visit,
which, of all royal visits, was the least pompous and ceremonious
and yet the most interesting and important. On the 10th of
January a vessel from Holland anchored off Greenwich and was
welcomed with great respect. Peter the First, Czar of Muscovy,
was on board. He took boat with a few attendants and was rowed up
the Thames to Norfolk Street, where a house overlooking the river
had been prepared for his reception.

His journey is an epoch in the history, not only of his own
country, but of our's, and of the world. To the polished nations