lath, and plaster, and the whole neighbourhood presenting little else
than closely confined passages and narrow alleys. The fire quickly
spread, and was not to be conquered by any human means, "Then, (says
a contemporary writer,) then the city did shake indeed, and the
inhabitants did tremble, and flew away in great amazement from their
houses, lest the flames should devour them: _rattle, rattle, rattle_,
was the noise which the fire struck upon the ear round about, as if
there had been a thousand iron chariots beating upon the stones. You
might see the houses _tumble, tumble, tumble_, from one end of the
street to the other, with a great crash, leaving the foundations open
to the view of the heavens."[5]

The destructive fury of this conflagration was never, perhaps, exceeded
in any part of the world, by any fire originating in accident. _Within
the walls_, it consumed almost five-sixths of the whole city; and
_without_ the walls it cleared a space nearly as extensive as the
one-sixth part left unburnt within. Scarcely a single building that came
within the range of the flames was left standing. Public buildings,
churches, and dwelling-houses, were alike involved in one common fate.

In the summary account of this vast devastation, given in one of the
inscriptions on the Monument, and which was drawn up from the reports of
the surveyors appointed after the fire, it is stated, that "The ruins of
the city were 436 acres, [viz. 333 acres within the walls, and 63 in the
liberties of the city;] that, of the six-and-twenty wards, it utterly
destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered and half burnt;
and that it consumed 400 streets, 13,200 dwelling-houses, 89 churches
[besides chapels; 4 of] the city gates, Guildhall, many public
structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, and a vast number of stately
edifices." The immense property destroyed in this dreadful time cannot