The meeting of Parliament was a little delayed in consequence of this national disaster, and when it did meet at the end of the month, Marvell reports the appointment of two Committees, one “about the Fire of London,” and the other “to receive informations of the insolence of the Popish priests and Jesuits, and of the increase of Popery.”  The latter Committee almost at once reported to the House, to quote from Marvell’s letter of the 27th of October, “that his Majesty be desired to issue out his proclamation that all Popish priests and Jesuits, except such as not being natural-born subjects, or belong to the Queen Mother and Queen Consort, be banished in thirty days or else the law be executed upon them, that all Justices of Peace and officers concerned put the laws in execution against Papists and suspected Papists in order to their execution, and that all officers, civil or military, not taking the Oaths of Supremacy and Allegiance within twenty days be displaced.”

In a very real sense the great fire of London continued to smoke for many a weary year, and to fill the air with black suspicions and civil discord.

Parliament had not sat long before it was discovered that a change had taken place in its temper and spirit.  The plague and the fire had contributed to this change.  The London clergy had not exhibited great devotion during the former affliction.  Many of the incumbents deserted their flocks, and their empty pulpits had been filled by zealots, who preached “Woe unto Jerusalem.”  The profligacy of the Court, and the general decay of manners, when added to the severity of the legislation against the Nonconformists, gave the ejected clergy opportunities for a renewal of their spiritual ministrations, and as usual their labours, pro salute animarum, aroused political dissatisfaction.  Some of the more outrageous supporters of the royal prerogative, the renegade May among them, professed to see in the fire a punishment upon the spirit of freedom, for which the City had once been famous, and urged the king not to suffer it to be rebuilt again “to be a bit in his mouth and a bridle upon his neck, but to keep it all open,” and that his troops might enter whenever he thought necessary, “there being no other way to govern that rude multitude but by force.”

Rabid nonsense of this kind had no weight with the king, who never showed his native good sense more conspicuously than in the pains he took over the rebuilding of London; but none the less it had its effect in getting rid once and for ever of that spirit of excessive (besotted is Hallam’s word) loyalty which had characterised the Restoration.