Leaving Leonard and his companions to the contemplation of this tremendous spectacle, we shall proceed to take a nearer view of its ravages.  Every effort had been used to preserve the Royal Exchange by the city authorities, and by the engineers, headed by the king in person.  All the buildings in its vicinity were demolished.  But in vain.  The irresistible and unrelenting foe drove the defenders back as before, seized upon their barricades, and used them, like a skilful besieger, against the fortress they sought to protect.  Solomon Eagle, who was mounted upon a heap of ruins, witnessed this scene of destruction, and uttered a laugh of exultation as the flames seized upon their prey.

“I told you,” he cried, “that the extortioners and usurers who resorted to that building, and made gold their god, would be driven forth, and their temple destroyed.  And my words have come to pass.  It burns—­it burns—­and so shall they, if they turn not from their ways.”

Hearing this wild speech, and beholding the extraordinary figure of the enthusiast, whose scorched locks and smoke-begrimed limbs gave him almost the appearance of an infernal spirit, the king inquired, with some trepidation, from his attendants, who or what he was, and being informed, ordered them to seize him.  But the enthusiast set their attempts at naught.  Springing with wonderful agility from fragment to fragment of the ruins, and continuing his vociferations, he at last plunged through the flame into the Exchange itself, rendering further pursuit, of course, impossible, unless those who desired to capture him, were determined to share his fate, which now seemed inevitable.  To the astonishment of all, however, he appeared a few minutes afterwards on the roof of the blazing pile, and continued his denunciations till driven away by the flames.  He seemed, indeed, to bear a charmed life, for it was rumoured—­though the report was scarcely credited—­that he had escaped from the burning building, and made good his retreat to Saint Paul’s.  Soon after this, the Exchange was one mass of flame.  Having gained an entrance to the galleries, the fire ran round them with inconceivable swiftness, as was the case in the conflagration of this later structure, and filling every chamber, gushed out of the windows, and poured down upon the courts and walks below.  Fearful and prodigious was the ruin that ensued.  The stone walls cracked with the intense heat—­tottered and fell—­the pillars shivered and broke asunder, the statues dropped from their niches, and were destroyed, one only surviving the wreck—­that of the illustrious founder, Sir Thomas Gresham.

Deploring the fate of the Royal Exchange, the king and his attendants proceeded to Guildhall.  But here they were too late, nor could they even rescue a tithe of the plate and valuables lodged within it for security.  The effects of the fire as displayed in this structure, were singularly grand and surprising.  The greater part of the ancient fabric being composed of oak of the hardest kind, it emitted little flame, but became after a time red hot, and remained in this glowing state till night, when it resembled, as an eye-witness describes, “a mighty palace of gold, or a great building of burnished brass.”