Nodding easily to his numerous acquaintances as he went, Sir
Norman Kingsley sauntered leisurely down Paul's Walk, and out
through the great door of the cathedral, followed by his
melancholy friend. Pausing for a moment to gaze at the gorgeous
sunset with a look of languid admiration, Sir Norman passed his
arm through that of his friend, and they walked on at rather a
rapid pace, in the direction of old London Bridge. There were
few people abroad, except the watchmen walking slowly up and down
before the plague-stricken houses; but in every street they
passed through they noticed huge piles of wood and coal heaped
down the centre. Smoking zealously they had walked on for a
season in silence, when Ormiston ceased puffing for a moment, to
inquire:

"What are all these for? This is a strange time, I should
imagine, for bonfires."

"They're not bonfires," said Sir Norman; "at least they are not
intended for that; and if your head was not fuller of that masked
Witch of Endor than common sense (for I believe she is nothing
better than a witch), you could not have helped knowing. The
Lord Mayor of London has been inspired suddenly, with a notion,
that if several thousand fires are kindled at once in the
streets, it will purify the air, and check the pestilence; so
when St. Paul's tolls the hour of midnight, all these piles are
to be fired. It will be a glorious illumination, no doubt; but
as to its stopping the progress of the plague, I am afraid that
it is altogether too good to be true."