flattened cradle, now a tea-tray of richly-bound
books; now, a turbot-kettle, and then
more chairs!

In the door-way of the house on the left,
there is a dreadful jam. An abominable, huge
mahogany table has fixed one of its corners
into the wall, on one side, and the brass castor
of one leg into a broken plank of the flooring,
on the other, just as a Broadwood horizontal-grand
was coming down the stairs in the
most massive manner (like a piano conscious
of Beethoven), with its five bearers. These
five men with the piano-forte, receiving a
check in the passage from three men bearing
boxes and a large clothes-horse, who had
themselves received a check by the jam of the
huge mahogany and its eight or nine excited
blockheads, the stoppage became perfect, and
the confusion sheer madness. Some of the
inmates of this house, who had been wildly
helping and handing down all sorts of things,
observing that a stoppage had occurred below,
and believing they had no more time to spare
before the flames would penetrate their walls,
brought baskets to the window, and with
great energy threw out a quantity of beautiful
china, glass, and choice chimney ornaments
down upon the stones below, to be taken care
of; also an empty hat-box.

Above all the tumult, and adding in no
small degree to the wildness and abrupt
energies of the scene, a violent knocking at
doors in the square is frequently heard,
sometimes by policemen, at other times by excited
relations suddenly arriving, desperate to give
their advice, and see it attended to. The bedroom
windows, in rows on either side, are alive
with heads, many of them in night-caps, while
the upper windows of several, apparently 'the
nurseries,' are crowded with white dolls,
whose round white nobs are eagerly thrust
forth. In the windows of the houses, lights
are seen to move about rapidly from room to
room, and windows are continually thrown
up; a figure looks out wildly—then suddenly
disappears.

The two firemen who had gained positions
inside the house, each with his long hose
supplied from the engine below, had hitherto
maintained their posts; the one on the second-floor
landing having very successfully repelled
the advance of the fire, the other in the
back drawing-room having fairly obtained a
mastery. But a strong gust of wind rising
again, sets all their previous success at
nought. The flames again advance; and all
their work has to be done over again.

By this time the two men are nearly
exhausted; two other firemen are, however,
close at hand to relieve them. They take
their places. As the flames advance, the
engines below are worked with redoubled
energy by the people, who also relieve each
other; but no one will relinquish his place at
the pump-lever, so long as he is able to stand,
or have one heave up, or one bang down,
more. Still the flames advance!—they enter

the house!—the front drawing-room is
suddenly illuminated!—a glare of light is
reflected from a great looking-glass on one of
the walls! A loud shout of excitement resounds
from the crowd—while bang! bang!
go the engine-pumps.

The fireman, who is surrounded by so
strong a glare of light that he appears all on
fire, is seen to retreat a few paces towards
the door. He is presently joined by another
fireman, who runs to the front drawing-room
window, out of which he suspends an iron
chain to secure their escape, in case of need,
and then returns to his comrade. They rally,
and each with his brass director-pipe advances
again within half-a-dozen paces of the blazing
walls. They are, foot by foot, driven back
into the front drawing-room. The flames
follow them, and soon are very close to the
or-molu frame-work of the great
looking-glass.

Bang! bang! go the engines.
'Save the glass!' shout numbers of voices.
'The ceiling! the ceiling's bursting down!'
cry others.
Bang! bang! go the engines.
'Save the pieces!'
'The door-post 's on fire!'
'Look behind you!'
'The glass!—the glass'
'Save yourselves!'
Bang! bang! go the engines.

The Superintendent has sent orders to the
firemen to give no more attention to the
interior of this house, except with a view to
prevent the fire spreading to the adjoining
houses. Consequently, the streams of water
are now directed to drenching the walls, and
beating back the flames on either side. The
great looking-glass, no longer an object of
special protection, is presently reached by the
flames; they coil and cluster round the frame-
work, which, breaking out into jets of coloured
fire, gives a splendid magnificence to the design
of the carving. The crowd jump up and down
to see, and also from excitement. The flames
flap about, and point their long luminous
tongues across the broad plate of the glass,
which for a moment reflects every object in
the room,—the falling ceiling—the firemen in
their helmets—the blazing ruin around;—and
then, crack!—clash! clash!—the whole falls,
a wreck of sharp angles.

Again a loud shout from the crowd below!
—not so much of regret as a kind of wild
purposeless joy, which causes them again to leap
up and down, expecting and (without knowing
it) hoping the same thing will happen to some
other glass in the room. Melted lead from the
roof now runs gleaming down—spurting upon
the helmet of one of the firemen, and then
running in straggling lines down his thick
coat; while a slate falling, as usual, edgeways,
sticks across the centre-piece of his comrade's
helmet. Now, with a rattling and loud rumble,
falls the partition between the front and back
drawing-rooms, and with it a great part of the