not then, in the whole realm, a single
infirmary supported by voluntary contribution. Even in the capital the
only edifices open to the wounded were the two ancient hospitals of
Saint Thomas and Saint Bartholomew. The Queen gave orders that in both
these hospitals arrangements should be made at the public charge for
the reception of patients from the fleet. [276] At the same time it
was announced that a noble and lasting memorial of the gratitude which
England felt for the courage and patriotism of her sailors would soon
rise on a site eminently appropriate. Among the suburban residences of
our kings, that which stood at Greenwich had long held a distinguished
place. Charles the Second liked the situation, and determined to rebuild
the house and to improve the gardens. Soon after his Restoration, he
began to erect, on a spot almost washed by the Thames at high tide, a
mansion of vast extent and cost. Behind the palace were planted long
avenues of trees which, when William reigned, were scarcely more than
saplings, but which have now covered with their massy shade the summer
rambles of several generations. On the slope which has long been the
scene of the holiday sports of the Londoners, were constructed flights
of terraces, of which the vestiges may still be discerned. The Queen now
publicly declared, in her husband's name, that the building commenced by
Charles should be completed, and should be a retreat for seamen disabled
in the service of their country. [277]

One of the happiest effects produced by the good news was the calming
of the public mind. During about a month the nation had been hourly
expecting an invasion and a rising, and had consequently been in an
irritable and suspicious mood. In many parts of England a nonjuror could
not show himself without great risk of being insulted. A report that
arms were hidden in a house sufficed to bring a furious mob to the door.
The mansion of one Jacobite gentleman in Kent had been attacked, and,
after a fight in which several shots were fired, had been stormed and
pulled down. [278] Yet such riots were by no means the worst symptoms of
the fever which had inflamed the whole society. The exposure of Fuller,
in February, had, as it seemed, put an end to the practices of that vile
tribe of which Oates was the patriarch. During some weeks, indeed, the
world was disposed to be unreasonably incredulous about plots. But in
April there was a reaction. The French and Irish were