mifugium] which a little before I had dedicated to his majesty, and published,-giving warning what might probably be the issue of suffering those shops to be in the city, was looked on as a prophecy.

"The poor inhabitants were dispersed about St. George's Fields, and Moorfields as far as Highgate, and several miles in circle, some under tents, some under miserable huts and hovels, many without a rag or any necessary utensils, bed or board, who from delicateness, riches, and easy accommodations in stately and wellfurnished houses, were now reduced to extremest misery and poverty.

"In this calamitous condition I returned with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring that distinguishing mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst of all this ruin was like Lot, in my little Zoar, safe and sound.

66

Sept. 7.-I went this morning on foot from Whitehall as far as London bridge, through the late Fleetstreet, Ludgate-hill, by St. Paul's, Cheapside, Exchange, Bishopsgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorfields, thence through Cornhill, &c. with extraordinary difficulty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was; the ground under my feet so hot, that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In the mean time his majesty got to the Tower by water, to demolish the houses about the graff, which being built entirely about it, had they taken fire and attacked the White Tower where the magazine of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten down and destroyed all the bridge, but sunk and torn the vessels in the river, and rendered the demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the country.

"At my return I was infinitely concerned to find that

goodly church St. Paul's now a sad ruin, and that beautiful portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repaired by the late king,) now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining entire but the inscription in the architrave, shewing by whom it was built, which had not one letter of it defaced. It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcined, so that all the ornaments, columns, friezes, capitals, and projectures of massy Portland stone flew off, even to the very roof, where a sheet of lead covering a great space (no less than 6 acres by measure) was totally melted; the ruins of the vaulted roof falling, broke into St. Faith's, which being filled with the magazines of books belonging to the Stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consumed, burning for a week following. It is also observable that the lead over the altar at the east end was untouched, and among the divers monuments, the body of one bishop remained entire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most ancient pieces of early piety in the christian world, besides near a hundred more. The lead, iron work, bells, plate, &c. melted; the exquisitely wrought Mercers' chapel, the sumptuous Exchange, the august fabric of Christ Church, all the rest of the Companies Halls, splendid buildings, arches, entries, all in dust; the fountains dried up and ruined, whilst the very waters remained boiling; the voragos of subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clouds of smoke, so that in five or six miles traversing about, I did not see one load of timber unconsumed, nor many stones but what were calcined white as snow. The people who now walked about the ruins appeared like men in some dismal desert, or rather in some great city laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which

was added the stench that came from some poor creatures bodies, beds, and other combustible goods. Sir Tho. Gresham's statue, though fallen from its niche in the Royal Exchange, remained entire, when all those of the kings since the Conquest were broken to pieces; also the standard in Cornhill, and queen Elizabeth's effigies, with some arms on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst the vast iron chains of the city streets, hinges, bars, and gates of prisons, were many of them melted and reduced to cinders by the vehement heat. Nor was I yet able to pass through any of the narrower streets, but kept the widest; the ground and air, smoke and fiery vapour, continued so intense that my hair was almost singed, and my feet insufferably surbated [bruised]. The bye lanes and narrower streets were quite filled up with rubbish, nor could one have possibly known where he was, but by the ruins of some church or hall, that had some remarkable tower or pinnacle remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seen 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispersed, and lying along by their heaps of what they could save from the fire, deploring their loss, and though ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one penny for relief, which to me appeared a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His majesty and council indeed took all imaginable care for their relief, by proclamation for the country to come in, and refresh them with provisions. In the midst of all this calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarm begun that the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not only landed but even entering the city. There was, in truth some days before, great suspicion of those two nations joining; and now, that they had been the occasion of firing the town.

This

report did so terrify, that on a sudden there was such an uproar and tumult that they ran from their goods, and taking what weapons they could come at, they could not be stopped from falling on some of those nations whom they casually met, without sense or reason. The clamour and peril grew so excessive that it made the whole court amazed, and they did with infinite pains and great difficulty reduce and appease the people; sending troops of soldiers and guards to cause them to retire into the fields again, where they were watched all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repair into the suburbs about the city, where such as had friends or opportunity, got shelter for the present, to which his majesty's proclamation also invited them."

Mr. Evelyn looked upon these two calamities (and to these was added a third in the ill success of the Dutch war) as the visitations of an offended God upon the sins of the nation. Through the literary and scientific turn of the king, which made him desire the society of Evelyn, the latter had opportunities of seeing, and occasion for deploring the corrupt manners and profligacy of the court, "which ought to have been an example of virtue to the rest of the kingdom." As he rode with Mr. Pepys that year, their conversation turned upon "the vanity and vices of the court which made it a most contemptible thing;" and writing to another friend, he says, "God give the repentance of David to the sins of David; we have all added some weights to this burthen, ingratitude and luxury and the too, too soon oblivion of miracles." In an earlier part of his Diary he expresses a fear that "God's hand was against this ungrateful and vicious nation and court."

Under the immediate sense of these calamities, a day of general humiliation was appointed to be kept.-" Oct. 10. This day was ordered a general fast through the nation, to humble us on the late dreadful conflagration, added to the plague and war, the most dismal judgments that could be inflicted, but which indeed we highly deserved for our prodigious ingratitude, burning lusts, dissolute court, profane and abominable lives, under such dispensations of God's continued favour in restoring church, prince, and people, from our late intestine calamities, of which we were altogether unmindful, even to astonishment. This made me resolve to go to our parish assembly, where our Doctor preached on Luke xix. 41, piously applying it to the occasion. After which was a collection for the distressed losers in the late fire."

A letter which he wrote to his relative sir Samuel Tuke soon after the fire, has been preserved. The following extracts will be read with interest;- "I suppose I should have heard ere this from you of all your concernments, but impute your silence to some possible miscarriage of your letters, since the usual place of address is with the rest reduced to ashes, and made an heap of ruins. I would give you a more particular relation of this calamitous accident, but I should oppress you with sad stories, and I question not but they are come too soon amongst you at Paris, with all minuteness, and (were it possible) hyperboles. There is this yet of less deplorable in it,-That as it pleased God to order it, little effects of any great consequence have been lost besides the houses; nor do we hear of so much as

one merchant that has failed.... The king and parliament are infinitely zealous for the rebuilding of our ruins; and I believe it will universally be the employment of the next spring. They are now busied with