that ancient chapel where Wolsey had heard mass in the midst of gorgeous copes, golden candlesticks, and jewelled crosses, and that modern edifice which had been erected for the devotions of James and had been embellished by the pencil of Verrio and the chisel of Gibbons.  Meanwhile a great extent of building had been blown up; and it was hoped that by this expedient a stop had been put to the conflagration.  But early in the morning a new fire broke out of the heaps of combustible matter which the gunpowder had scattered to right and left.  The guard room was consumed.  No trace was left of that celebrated gallery which had witnessed so many balls and pageants, in which so many maids of honour had listened too easily to the vows and flatteries of gallants, and in which so many bags of gold had changed masters at the hazard table.  During some time men despaired of the Banqueting House.  The flames broke in on the south of that beautiful hall, and were with great difficulty extinguished by the exertions of the guards, to whom Cutts, mindful of his honourable nickname of the Salamander, set as good an example on this night of terror as he had set in the breach of Namur.  Many lives were lost, and many grievous wounds were inflicted by the falling masses of stone and timber, before the fire was effectually subdued.  When day broke, the heaps of smoking ruins spread from Scotland Yard to the Bowling Green, where the mansion of the Duke of Buccleuch now stands.  The Banqueting House was safe; but the graceful columns and festoons designed by Inigo were so much defaced and blackened that their form could hardly be discerned.  There had been time to move the most valuable effects which were moveable.  Unfortunately some of Holbein’s finest pictures were painted on the walls, and are consequently known to us only by copies and engravings.  The books of the Treasury and of the Privy Council were rescued, and are still preserved.  The Ministers whose offices had been burned down were provided with new offices in the neighbourhood.  Henry the Eighth had built, close to St. James’s Park, two appendages to the Palace of Whitehall, a cockpit and a tennis court.  The Treasury now occupies the site of the cockpit, the Privy Council Office the site of the tennis court.

Notwithstanding the many associations which make the name of Whitehall still interesting to an Englishman, the old building was little regretted.  It was spacious indeed and commodious, but mean and inelegant.  The people of the capital had been annoyed by the scoffing way in which foreigners spoke of the principal residence of our sovereigns, and often said that it was a pity that the great fire had not spared the old portico of St. Paul’s and the stately arcades of Gresham’s Bourse, and taken in exchange that ugly old labyrinth of dingy brick and plastered timber.  It might now be hoped that we should have a Louvre.  Before the ashes of the old palace were cold, plans for a new palace were circulated and discussed.