Chapter I: FRY (8)

And the judges of these solaces, or forfeitures, and other controversies in the chappel, or any of its members, was by plurality of votes in the chappel; it being asserted as a maxime, that the chappel cannot err. Now these solaces, or fines, were to be bought off for the good of the chappel, which never exceeded 1_s._, 6_d._, 4_d._, 2_d._, 1_d._, ob., according to the nature and quality thereof.

But if the delinquent proved obstinate and will not pay, the workmen takes him by force, and lays him on his belly, over the correcting stone, and holds him there whilest another with a paper board gives him 10_l._ in a purse, viz., eleven blows on his buttocks, which he lays on according to his own mercy.

_Customs for Payments of Money._

Every new workman to pay for his entrance half a crown, which is called his _benvenue_, till then he is no member, nor enjoys any benefit of chappel money.

Every journeyman that formerly worked at the chappel, and goes away, and afterwards comes again to work, pays but half a _benvenue_.

If journeymen smout[267] one another, they pay half a _benvenue_.

All journeymen are paid by their master-printer for all church holidays that fall not on a _Sunday_, whether they work or no, what they can earn every working-day, be it 2, 3, or 4_s._

If a journeyman marries, he pays half a crown to the chappel.

When his wife comes to the chappel, she pays 6_d._, and then all the journeymen joyn their 2_d._ a piece to make her drink, and to welcome her.

If a journeyman have a son born, he pays 1_s._, if a daughter 6_d._

If a master-printer have a son born, he pays 2_s._ 6_d._, if a daughter 1_s._ 6_d._

An apprentice, when he is bound, pays half a crown to the chappel, and when he is made free, another half crown: and if he continues to work journeywork in the same house he pays another, and then is a member of the chappel.

* * * * *

Probably there will many a conference be held at imposing-stones upon the present promulgation of these ancient rules and customs; yet, until a general assembly, there will be difficulty in determining how far they are conformed to, or departed from, by different chapels. Synods have been called on less frivolous occasions, and have issued decrees more “frivolous and vexatious,” than the one contemplated.

* * * * *

In a work on the origin and present state of printing, entitled “Typographia, or the Printer’s Instructor, by J. Johnson, Printer, 1824, 2 vols.,” there is a list of “technical terms made use of by the profession,” which Mr. Johnson prefaces by saying, “we have here introduced _the whole_ of the technical terms, that posterity may know the phrases used by the early nursers and improvers of our art.” However, they are not “_the whole_,” nor will it detract from the general merit of Mr. Johnson’s curious and useful work, nor will he conceive offence, if the Editor of the _Every-Day Book_ adds a few from Holme’s “Academy of Armory,” a rare store-house of “Created Beings, with the terms and instruments used in all trades and arts,” and printers are especially distinguished.

_Additions to Mr. Johnson’s List of Printers’ Terms._

_Bad Copy._ Manuscript sent to be printed, badly or imperfectly written.

_Bad Work._ Faults by the compositor or pressman.

_Broken Letter._ The breaking of the orderly succession the letters stood in, either in a line, page, or form; also the mingling of the letters, technically called _pie_.

_Case is Low._ Compositors say this when the boxes, or holes of the case, have few letters in them.

_Case is full._ When no sorts are wanting.

_Case stands still._ When the compositor is not at his case.

_Cassie Paper._ Quires made up of torn, wrinkled, stained, or otherwise faulty sheets.

_Cassie Quires._ The two outside quires of the ream, also called cording quires.

_Charge._ To fill the sheet with large or heavy pages.

_Companions._ The two press-men working at one press: the one first named has his choice to pull or beat; the second takes the refuse office.

_Comes off._ When the letter in the form delivers a good impression, it is said to come off well; if an ill impression, it is said to come off bad.

_Dance._ When the form is locked up, if, upon its rising from the composing-stone, letters do not rise with it, or any drop out, the form is said to dance.

_Distribute._ Is to put the letters into their several places in the case after the form is printed off.

_Devil._ Mr. Johnson merely calls him the errand-boy of a printing-house; but though he has that office, Holme properly says, that he is the boy that takes the sheets from the tympan, as they are printed off. “These boys,” adds Holme, “do in a printing-house commonly black and dawb themselves, whence the workmen do jocosely call them devils, and sometimes spirits, and sometimes flies.”

_Drive out._ “When a compositor sets wide,” says Mr. Johnson. Whereto Holme adds, if letter be cast thick in the shank it is said to drive out, &c.

_Easy Work._ Printed, or fairly written, copy, or full of breaks, or a great letter and small form “pleaseth a compositor,” and is so called by him.

_Empty Press._ A press not in work: most commonly every printing-office has one for a proof-press: viz., to make proofs on.

_Even Page._ The second, fourth, sixth, &c. pages.

_Odd Page._ The first, third, fifth, &c. pages.

_Folio._ Is, in printer’s language, the two pages of a leaf of any size.

_Form rises._ When the form is so well locked up in the chase, that in the raising of it up neither a letter nor a space drops out, it is said that the form rises.

_Froze out._ In winter, when the paper is frozen, and the letter frozen, so as the workmen cannot work, they say they are froze out. [Such accidents never occur in good printing-houses.]

_Going up the form._ A pressman’s phrase when he beats over the first and third rows or columns of the form with his ink-balls.

_Great bodies._ Letter termed “English,” and all above that size: small bodies are long primer, and all smaller letter.

_Great numbers._ Above two thousand printed of one sheet.

_Hard work_, with compositors, is copy badly written and difficult; [such as they too frequently receive from the Editor of the _Every-Day Book_, who alters, and interlines, and never makes a fair copy,] _hard work_, with pressmen, is small letter and a large form.

_Hole._ A place where private printing is used, viz. the printing of unlicensed books, or other men’s copies.

[Observe, that this was in Holme’s time; now, licensing is not insisted on, nor could it be enforced; but the printing “other men’s copies” is no longer confined to a _hole_. Invasion of copyright is perpetrated openly, because legal remedies are circuitous, expensive, and easily evaded. So long as the law remains unaltered, and people will buy stolen property, criminals will rob. The pirate’s “fence” is the public. The receiver is as bad as the thief: if there were no receivers, there would be no thieves. Let the public look to this.]

_Imperfections of books._ Odd sheets over the number of books made perfect. They are also, and more generally at this time, called the _waste_ of the book.

_M thick._ An _m_ quadrat thick.

_N thick._ An _n_ quadrat thick.

_Open matter_, or _open work_. Pages with several breaks, or with white spaces between the paragraphs or sections.

_Over-run._ Is the getting in of words by putting out so much of the forepart of the line into the line above, or so much of the latter part of the line into the line below, as will make room for the word or words to be inserted: also the derangement and re-arrangement of the whole sheet, in order to get in over-matter. [Young and after-thought writers are apt to occasion much over-running, a process distressing to the compositor, and in the end to the author himself, who has to pay for the extra-labour he occasions.]

_Pigeon holes._ Whites between words as large, or greater than between line and line. The term is used to scandalize such composition; it is never suffered to remain in good work.

_Printing-house._ The house wherein printing is carried on; but it is more peculiarly used for the printing implements. Such an one, it is said, hath removed his printing-house; meaning the implements used in his former house.

_Revise._ A proof sheet taken off after the first or second proof has been corrected. The corrector examines the faults, marked in the last proof sheet, fault by fault, and carefully marks omissions on the revise.

_Short page._ Having but little printed in it; [or relatively, when shorter than another page of the work.]

_Stick-full._ The composing-stick filled with so many lines that it can contain no more.

_Token._ An hour’s work for half a press, viz. a single pressman; this consists of five quires. An hour’s work for a whole press is a token of ten quires.

_Turn for it._ Used jocosely in the chapel: when any of the workmen complain of want of money, or any thing else, he shall by another be answered “turn for it,” viz. make shift for it.

[This is derived from the term _turn for a letter_, which is thus:--when a compositor has not letters at hand of the sort he wants while composing, and finds it inconvenient to distribute letter for it, he turns a letter of the same thickness, face downwards, which turned letter he takes out when he can accommodate himself with the right letter, which he places in its stead.]

* * * * *

Thus much has grown out of the notice, that printers formerly papered their windows about “Bartlemy-tide,” and more remains behind. But before farther is stated, if _chapels_, or individuals belonging to them, will have the goodness to communicate any thing to the _Editor of the Every-Day Book_ respecting any old or present laws, or usages, or other matters of interest connected with printing, he will make good use of it. Notices or anecdotes of this kind will be acceptable when authenticated by the name and address of the contributor. If there are any who doubt the importance of printing, they may be reminded that old Holme, a man seldom moved to praise any thing but for its use in heraldry, says, that “it is now disputed whether typography and architecture may not be accounted Liberal Sciences, being so famous Arts!” Seriously, however, communications respecting printing are earnestly desired.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Perennial Sunflower. _Helianthus multiflorus._
Dedicated to _St. Lewis_.

[266] Randle Holme, 1688.

[267] _Smout._ Workmen when they are out of constant work, sometimes
accept of a day or two’s work, or a week’s work at another printing
house; this by-work they call _smouting_.--Holme.

~August 26.~

_St. Zephyrinus_, Pope, A. D. 219. _St. Genesius_, a Comedian, A. D.
303. _St. Gelasinus_, a Comedian at Heliopolis, A. D. 297. _St.
Genesius_, of Arles, about the 4th Cent.

MUSIC.

“_Il cantar, che nel’ animosi sente._”

Nay, tell me not of lordly halls!
My minstrels are the trees,
The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls,
Earth’s sounds my symphonies.

There’s music sweeter to my soul
In the weed by the wild wind fanned--
In the heave of the surge, than ever stole
From mortal minstrel’s hand.

There’s mighty music in the roar
Of the oaks on the mountain’s side,
When the whirlwind bursts on their foreheads hoar,
And the lightnings flash blue and wide.

There’s mighty music in the swell
Of winter’s midnight wave--
When all above is the thunder peal,
And all below is the grave.

There’s music in the city’s hum,
Heard in the noontide glare,
When its thousand mingling voices come
On the breast of the sultry air.

There’s music in the mournful swing
Of the lonely village bell--
And think of the spirit upon the wing,
Releas’d by its solemn knell.

There’s music in the forest-stream,
As it plays thro’ the deep ravine,
Where never summer’s breath or beam
Has pierced its woodland screen.

There’s music in the thundering sweep
Of the mountain waterfall,
As its torrents struggle, and foam and leap
From the brow of its marble wall.

There’s music in the dawning morn,
Ere the lark his pinion dries--
’Tis the rush of the breeze thro’ the dewy corn--
Thro’ the garden’s perfumed dyes.

There’s music on the twilight cloud
As the clanging wild swans spring,
As homewards the screaming ravens crowd,
Like squadrons upon the wing.

There’s music in the depth of night,
When the world is still and dim,
And the stars flame out in their pomp of light,
Like thrones of the cherubim!

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Banded Amaryllis. _Amaryllis vittata._
Dedicated to _St. Zephyrinus_.

~August 27.~

_St. Cæsarius_, Abp. of Arles, A. D. 542. _St. Pæmen_, or _Pastor_,
Abbot about A. D. 385. _St. Hugh_ of Lincoln, A. D. 1255. _St. Joseph
Calasanctius_, A. D. 1648. _St. Malrubius_, about A. D. 1040. _St.
Syagrius_, Bp. of Autun, A. D. 600.

_The Glowworm._

Dr. Forster in his “Perennial Calendar” quotes the mention of this and other luminous insects from “a late entomological work,” in the following passage:--“This little planet of the rural scene may be observed in abundance in the month of August, when the earth is almost as thickly spangled with them as the cope of heaven is with stars. It is not only the glowworm that will not bear inspection when its lustre is lost by the light of day; but all those luminous insects that bear the same phosphoric fire about them, such as the lanthorn fly of the West Indies and of China, of which there are several sorts; some of which carry their light in a sort of snout, so that when they are seen in a collection, they are remarkably ugly. There is also an insect of this luminous sort common in Italy, called the lucciola. An intelligent traveller relates, that some Moorish ladies having been made prisoners by the Genoese, lived in a house near Genoa till they could be exchanged, and, on seeing some of the lucciola, or flying glowworms, darting about in the evening in the garden near them, they caused the windows to be shut in a great alarm, from a strange idea which seized them, that these shining flies were the souls of their deceased relations.”

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Hedge Hawkweed. _Hieracium umbellatum._
Dedicated to _St. Cæsarius_.

~August 28.~

_St. Augustine_, Bp. and Doctor of the Church, A. D. 430. _St.
Hermes_, about A. D. 132. _St. Julian_, Martyr.

_St. Augustine._

His name is in the church of England calendar. He was born at Tagasta, in Numidia, in 354. Lardner awards to him the character of an illustrious man, and says, that “a sublime genius, an uninterrupted and zealous pursuit of truth, an indefatigable application, and invincible patience, a sincere piety, and a subtle and lively wit, conspired to establish his fame upon the most lasting foundation:” yet he adds, that “the accuracy and solidity of his judgment were not proportionable to his eminent talents; and that upon many occasions he was more guided by the violent impulse of a warm imagination than by the cool dictates of reason and prudence.” He pronounced that all infants dying before baptism were deprived of the sight of God; wherein he is followed, says Daille, by Gregorius Arminiensis, a famous theological doctor, who from thence was called _Tormentum Infantium_.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Goldenrod. _Solidago Virgaurea._
Dedicated to _St. Augustine_.

~August 29.~

_The Decollation of St. John Baptist._ _St. Sabina._ _St. Sebbi_, or
_Sebba_, King, about A. D. 697. _St. Merri_, in Latin, _Medericus_,
Abbot, about A. D. 700.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Yellow Hollyhock. _Althea flava._
Dedicated to _St. Sabina_.

~August 30.~

_St. Rose_ of Lima, Virgin, A. D. 1617. _Sts. Felix_ and _Adauctus_,
about A. D. 303. _St. Fiaker_, Anchoret, called by the French,
_Fiacre_, and anciently, _Fefre_, about A. D. 670. _St. Pammachius_,
A. D. 410. _St. Agilus_, commonly called _St. Aile_, about A. D. 650.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Guernsey Lily. _Amaryllis Sarniensis._
Dedicated to _St. Rose_.

~August 31.~

_St. Raymund Nonnatus_, A. D. 1240. _St. Isabel_, A. D. 1270. _St.
Cuthburge_, 8th Cent. _St. Aidan_, or _Ædan_, A. D. 651.

_St. Aidan._

He was born in Ireland, and was bishop of Lindisfarne, which from the number of reputed saints there buried, is called the Holy Island. Bede relates many miracles and prophecies of him. His cart and two oxen laden with wood as he drove them, falling down a high rock into the sea, he only made the sign of the cross as they fell, and received all safe and sound out of the waters, &c.

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Autumnal Pheasant’s Eye. _Adonis autumnalis._
Dedicated to _St. Raymund_.

Next him September marched eke on foot;
Yet was he heavy laden with the spoyle
Of harvest’s riches, which he made his boot,
And him enriched with bounty of the soyle;
In his one hand, as fit for harvest’s toyle,
He held a knife-hook; and in th’ other hand
A paire of weights, with which he did assoyle
Both more and lesse, where it in doubt did stand,
And equal gave to each as justice duly scanned.

This is the ninth month of the year: anciently it was the seventh, as its name imports, which is compounded of _septem_, seven, and _imber_, a shower of rain, from the rainy season usually commencing at this period of the year.

Our Saxon ancestors called this month “_Gerst-monat_, for that barley which that moneth commonly yeelded was antiently called _gerst_, the name of barley being given unto it by reason of the drinke therewith made, called beere, and from _beerlegh_ it come to be _berlegh_, and from _berleg_ to barley. So in like manner _beereheym_, to wit, the overdecking or covering of _beere_, came to be called _berham_, and afterwards _barme_, having since gotten I wot not how many names besids.--This excellent and healthsome liquor, beere, antiently also called _ael_, as of the Danes it yet is (beere and ale being in effect all one,) was first of the Germans invented, and brought in use.”[268]

Mr. Leigh Hunt notices, that Spenser takes advantage of the exuberance of harvest, and the sign of the zodiac, _libra_, in this month, to read another lesson on justice. “This is the month,” Mr. Hunt continues, “of the migration of birds, of the finished harvest, of nut-gathering, of cyder and perry-making, and, towards the conclusion, of the change of colour in trees. The swallows and many other soft-billed birds that feed on insects, disappear for the warmer climates, leaving only a few stragglers behind, probably from weakness or sickness, who hide themselves in caverns and other sheltered places, and occasionally appear upon warm days. The remainder of harvest is got in; and no sooner is this done, than the husbandman ploughs up his land again, and prepares it for the winter grain. The oaks and beeches shed their nuts, which in the forest that still remain, particularly the New Forest in Hampshire, furnish a luxurious repast for the swine, who feast of an evening in as pompous a manner as any alderman, to the sound of the herdsman’s horn. But the acorn must not be undervalued because it is food for swine, nor thought only robustly of, because it furnishes our ships with timber. It is also one of the most beautiful objects of its species, protruding its glossy green nut from its rough and sober-coloured cup, and dropping it in a most elegant manner beside the sunny and jagged leaf. We have seen a few of them, with their stems in water, make a handsome ornament to a mantle-piece, in this season of departing flowers.--The few additional flowers this month are cornflowers, Guernsey-lilies, starwort, and saffron, a species of crocus, which is cultivated in separate grounds. The stamens of this flower are pulled, and dried into flat square cakes for medicinal purposes. It was formerly much esteemed in cookery. The clown in the _Winter’s Tale_, reckoning up what he is to buy for the sheepshearing feast, mentions ‘saffron to colour the warden-pies.’ The fresh trees and shrubs in flower are bramble, chaste-tree, laurustinus, ivy, wild honeysuckle, spirea, and arbutus, or strawberry-tree, a favourite of Virgil, which, like the garden of Alcinous, in Homer, produces flower and fruit at once. Hardy annuals, intended to flower in the spring, should now be sown; annuals of curious sorts, from which seed is to be raised, should be sheltered till ripened; and auriculas in pots, which were shifted last month, moderately watered. The stone-curlew clamours at the beginning of this month, wood-owls hoot, the ring-ouzel reappears, the saffron butterfly is seen, hares congregate; and, at the end of it, the woodlark, thrush, and blackbird, are heard.”

Mr. Hunt further observes that, September, though its mornings and evenings are apt to be chill and foggy, and therefore not wholesome to those who either do not, or cannot, guard against them, is generally a serene and pleasant month, partaking of the warmth of summer and the vigour of autumn. But its noblest feature is a certain festive abundance for the supply of all the creation. There is grain for men, birds, and horses, hay for the cattle, loads of fruit on the trees, and swarms of fish in the ocean. If the soft-billed birds which feed on insects miss their usual supply, they find it in the southern countries, and leave one’s sympathy to be pleased with an idea, that repasts apparently more harmless are alone offered to the creation upon our temperate soil. The feast, as the philosophic poet says on a higher occasion--

The feast is such as earth, the general mother,
Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles
In the embrace of Autumn. To each other
As some fond parent fondly reconciles
Her warring children, she their wrath beguiles
With their own sustenance; they, relenting, weep.
Such is this festival, which from their isles,
And continents, and winds, and oceans deep,
All shapes may throng to share, that fly, or walk, or creep.

_Shelley._

[268] Verstegan.

~September 1.~

_St. Giles_, Abbot, 7th Cent. _Twelve Brothers_, Martyrs, A. D. 258.
_St. Lupus_, or _Leu_, Abp. A. D. 623. _St. Firminus II._, Bp. of
Amiens, A. D. 347.

_St. Giles._

This saint is in the church of England calendar. He was born at Athens, and came into France in 715, having first disposed of his patrimony to charitable uses. After living two years with Cæsarius, bishop of Arles, he commenced hermit, and so continued till he was made abbot of an abbey at Nismes, which the king built for his sake. He died in 750.[269]

St. Giles is the _patron of beggars_. Going to church in his youth, he gave his coat to a sick beggar who asked alms of him, the mendicant was clothed, and the garment miraculously cured his disorder. He was also the _patron of cripples_. After he had retired to a cave in a solitary desert, the French king was hunting near his thicket, and Giles was wounded by an arrow from a huntsman’s bow while at prayers; whereupon being found unmoved from his position, the king fell at his feet, craved his pardon, and gave orders for the cure of his wound, but this the saint would not permit, because he desired to suffer pain and increase his merits thereby, and so he remained a cripple, and received reverence from the king whom he counselled to build a monastery; and the king did so, and Giles became abbot thereof, “and led the life of an angel incarnate,” and converted the king.[270] It is related of him that he raised the dead son of a prince to life, and made a lame man walk: our church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, is dedicated to him. It is further told, that at Rome he cast two doors of cypress into the Tiber, and recommended them to heavenly guidance, and on his return to France found them at the gates of his monastery, and set them up as the doors of his own church. These are some only of the marvels gravely told of him, “many wytnisse that they herde the company of aungelles berynge the soule of hym into heven.”[271]

* * * * *

FLORAL DIRECTORY.

Great Sedum. _Sedum Telephium._
Dedicated to _St. Giles_.

[269] Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.

[270] Ribadeneira.

[271] Golden Legend.

~September 2.~

_St. Stephen_, king of Hungary, A. D. 1038. _St. Justus_, Abp. of
Lyons, A. D. 390. _St. William_, Bp. of Roschild, A. D. 1067. _B.
Margaret_, 13th Cent.

~London Burnt, 1666.~

The “Great Fire” of London is denoted as above in our almanacs on this day. It broke out at Pudding-lane and ended at Pie-corner. The monument on Fish-street-hill to commemorate the calamity, bears the following inscription on the north side:--

“In the year of Christ, 1666, the 2d day of September, eastward from hence, at the distance of 202 feet, the height of this column, a terrible fire broke out about midnight; which, driven on by a strong wind, not only wasted the adjacent parts, but also very remote places, with incredible noise and fury. It consumed eighty-nine churches, the city gates, Guildhall, many public structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, a vast number of stately edifices, 13,200 dwelling-houses, and 430 streets, of the twenty-six wards it utterly destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered and half burnt. The ruins of the city were 436 acres, from the Tower by the Thames side to the Temple church, and from the north-east along the City-wall to Holborn-bridge. To the estates and fortunes of the citizens it was merciless, but to their lives very favourable, that it might in all things resemble the conflagration of the world. The destruction was sudden; for in a small space of time the city was seen most flourishing, and reduced to nothing. Three days after, when this fatal fire had baffled all human counsels and endeavours, in the opinion of all, it stopped, as it were, by a command from heaven, and was on every side extinguished. But papistical malice, which perpetrated such mischiefs, is not yet restrained.”

A line, beginning on the west side, contains the following words; on James II. coming to the crown, they were erased, but restored under William III.:--

“This pillar was set up in perpetual remembrance of the most dreadful burning of this protestant city, begun and carried on by the treachery and malice of the popish faction, in the beginning of September, in the year of our Lord, 1666, in order to the carrying on their horrid plot for extirpating the protestant religion, and old English liberty, and introducing popery and slavery.”

The south side is thus inscribed:--“Charles the Second, son of Charles the Martyr, king of Great Britain, France and Ireland, defender of the faith, a most gracious prince, commiserating the deplorable state of things, whilst the ruins were yet smoaking, provided for the comfort of his citizens, and the ornament of his city; remitted their taxes, and referred the petitions of the magistrates and inhabitants to the parliament; who immediately passed an act, that public works should be restored to greater beauty, with public money, to be raised by an imposition on coals; that churches, and the cathedral of St. Paul’s, should be rebuilt from their foundations, with all magnificence; that the bridges, gates, and prisons should be new made, the sewers cleansed, the streets made straight and regular, such as were steep levelled, and those too narrow made wider, markets and shambles removed to separate places. They also enacted, that every house should be built with party walls, and all in front raised of an equal height, and those walls all of square stone or brick; and that no man should delay building beyond the space of seven years.”

An estimate of the value of property consumed by the fire amounted to ten millions six hundred and eighty-nine thousand pounds, wherein was included the value of St. Paul’s cathedral, which was set down at nearly one-fifth of the total. The occasion of the conflagration was the subject of parliamentary investigation. It is imputed to the Roman Catholics, but a dispassionate consideration of all the circumstances by impartial men tends to acquit them of the crime, and most persons at this time believe that--

--------“_London’s_ column pointing to the skies,
Like a tall bully, rears its head and _lies_.”

* * * * *

Thomas Vincent, a non-conformist minister, who was ejected from the living of St. Mary Magdalen, in Milk-street, and during the great plague remained in the city, and preached regularly to the great comfort of the inhabitants under the affliction of the raging pestilence, was an eye-witness of the subsequent conflagration. He wrote “God’s terrible Judgments in the City by Plague and Fire,” and has left a circumstantial relation in that work of the progress made by the flames, and their effects on the people.

_Vincent’s Narrative._

It was the 2d of September, 1666, that the anger of the Lord was kindled against London, and the fire began: it began in a baker’s house, in Pudding-lane, by Fish-street-hill; and now the Lord is making London like a fiery oven in the time of his anger, and in his wrath doth devour and swallow up our habitations. It was in the depth and dead of the night, when most doors and fences were locked up in the city, that the fire doth break forth and appear abroad; and, like a mighty giant refreshed with wine, doth awake and arm itself, quickly gathers strength, when it had made havoc of some houses; rusheth down the hill towards the bridge; crosseth Thames-street, invadeth Magnus church, at the bridge foot; and, though that church were so great, yet it was not a sufficient barricado against this conqueror; but, having scaled and taken this fort, it shooteth flames with so much the greater advantage into all places round about; and a great building of houses upon the bridge is quickly thrown to the ground: then the conqueror, being stayed in his course at the bridge, marcheth back to the city again, and runs along with great noise and violence through Thames-street, westward; where, having such combustible matter in its teeth, and such a fierce wind upon its back, it prevails with little resistance, unto the astonishment of the beholders.

Fire! fire! fire! doth resound the streets; many citizens start out of their sleep, look out of their windows; some dress themselves and run to the place. The lord mayor of the city comes with his officers; a confusion there is; counsel is taken away; and London, so famous for wisdom and dexterity, can now find neither brains nor hands to prevent its ruin. The hand of God was in it; the decree was come forth; London must now fall, and who could prevent it? No wonder, when so many pillars are removed, if the building tumbles; the prayers, tears, and faith, which sometimes London hath had, might have quenched the violence of the fire; might have opened heaven for rain, and driven back the wind: but now the fire gets mastery, and burns dreadfully.

That night most of the Londoners had taken their last sleep in their houses; they little thought it would be so when they went into their beds; they did not in the least suspect, when the doors of their ears were unlocked, and the casement of their eyes were opened in the morning, to hear of such an enemy invading the city, and that they should see him, with such fury, enter the doors of their houses, break into every room, and look out of their casements with such a threatening countenance.

That which made the ruin the more dismal, was, that it was begun on the Lord’s-day morning: never was there the like sabbath in London; some churches were in flames that day; and God seems to come down, and to preach himself in them, as he did in Mount Sinai, when the mount burned with fire; such warm preaching those churches never had; such lightning dreadful sermons never were before delivered in London. In other churches ministers were preaching their farewell sermons, and people were hearing with quaking and astonishment: instead of a holy rest which christians have taken on this day, there is a tumultuous hurrying about the streets towards the place that burned, and more tumultuous hurrying upon the spirits of those that sat still, and had only the notice of the ear of the quick and strange spreading of the fire.

Now the train-bands are up in arms watching at every quarter for outlandish-men, because of the general fear and jealousies, and rumours, that fire-balls were thrown into houses by several of them to help on and provoke the too furious flames. Now goods are hastily removed from the lower parts of the city; and the body of the people begin to retire, and draw upwards, as the people did from the tabernacles of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, when the earth did cleave asunder and swallow them up: or rather as Lot drew out from his house in Sodom before it was consumed by fire from heaven. Yet some hopes were retained on the Lord’s-day that the fire would be extinguished, especially by them who lived in the remote parts; they could scarcely imagine that the fire a mile off should be able to reach their houses.

But the evening draws on, and now the fire is more visible and dreadful: instead of the black curtains of the night, which used to be spread over the city, now the curtains are yellow; the smoke that arose from the burning parts seemed like so much flame in the night, which being blown upon the other parts by the wind, the whole city, at some distance, seemed to be on fire. Now hopes begin to sink, and a general consternation seizeth upon the spirits of people; little sleep is taken in London this night; the amazement which the eye and ear doth effect upon the spirit, doth either dry up or drive away the vapour which used to bind up the senses. Some are at work to quench the fire with water; others endeavour to stop its course, by pulling down of houses; but all to no purpose: if it be a little allayed, or beaten down, or put to a stand in some places, it is but a very little while; it quickly recruits, and recovers its force; it leaps and mounts, and makes the more furious onset, drives back its opposers, snatcheth their weapons out of their hands, seizeth upon the water-houses and engines, burns them, spoils them, and makes them unfit for service.

On the Lord’s-day night the fire had run as far as Garlick-hithe, in Thames-street, and had crept up into Cannon-street, and levelled it with the ground; and still is making forward by the water-side, and upward to the brow of the hill, on which the city was built.

On Monday, (the 3d) Gracechurch-street is all in flames, with Lombard-street, on the left hand, and part of Fenchurch-street, on the right, the fire working (though not so fast) against the wind that way: before it were pleasant and stately houses, behind it ruinous and desolate heaps. The burning then was in fashion of a bow, a dreadful bow it was, such as mine eyes never before had seen; a bow which had God’s arrow in it, with a flaming point: it was a shining bow; not like that in the cloud, which brings water with it; and withal signified God’s covenant not to destroy the world any more with water: but it was a bow which had fire in it, which signified God’s anger, and his intention to destroy London with fire.

Now the flames break in upon Cornhill, that large and spacious street, and quickly cross the way by the train of wood that lay in the streets untaken away, which had been pulled down from houses to prevent its spreading: and so they lick the whole street as they go: they mount up to the top of the highest houses; they descend down to the bottom of the lowest vaults and cellars; and march along on both sides of the way, with such a roaring noise, as never was heard in the city of London; no stately building so great as to resist their fury: the Royal Exchange itself, the glory of the merchants, is now invaded with much violence; and when once the fire was entered, how quickly did it run round the galleries, filling them with flames; then came down stairs, compasseth the walks, giving forth flaming volleys, and filleth the court with sheets of fire: by-and-by down fall all the kings upon their faces, and the greatest part of the stone-building after them, (the founder’s statue only remaining,) with such a noise as was dreadful and astonishing.

Then, then the city did shake indeed; and the inhabitants did tremble, and flew away in great amazement from their houses, lest the flames should devour them; rattle, rattle, rattle, was the noise which the fire struck upon the ear round about, as if there had been a thousand iron chariots beating upon the stones: and if you opened your eye to the opening of the streets, where the fire was come, you might see, in some places, whole streets at once in flames, that issued forth as if they had been so many great forges, from the opposite windows, which folding together, were united into one great flame throughout the whole street; and then you might see the houses tumble, tumble, tumble, from one end of the street to the other, with a great crash, leaving the foundations open to the view of the heavens.

Now fearfulness and terror doth surprise the citizens of London; confusion and astonishment doth fall upon them at this unheard-of, unthought-of, judgment. It would have grieved the heart of an unconcerned person to see the rueful looks, the pale cheeks, the tears trickling down from the eyes, (where the greatness of sorrow and amazement could give leave for such a vent,) the smiting of the breast, the wringing of the hands; to hear the sighs and groans, the doleful and weeping speeches of the distressed citizens, when they were bringing forth their wives, (some from their child-bed,) and their little ones (some from their sickbed,) out of their houses, and sending them into the country, or somewhere into the fields with their goods. Now the hopes of London are gone, their heart is sunk; now there is a general remove in the city, and that in a greater hurry than before the plague, their goods being in greater danger by the fire than their persons were by the sickness. Scarcely are some returned, but they must remove again, and, not as before, now without any more hopes of ever returning and living in those houses any more.

Now carts, and drays, and coaches, and horses, as many as could have entrance into the city, were loaden, and any money is given for help; 5_l._ 10_l._ 20_l._ 30_l._ for a cart, to bear forth into the fields some choice things, which were ready to be consumed; and some of the carmen had the conscience to accept of the highest price, which the citizens did then offer in their extremity; I am mistaken if such money do not burn worse than the fire out of which it was raked. Now casks of wine, and oil, and other commodities, are tumbled along, and the owners shove as much of their goods as they can towards the gate: every one now becomes a porter to himself, and scarcely a back either of man or woman, that hath strength, but had a burden on it in the streets: it was very sad to see such throngs of poor citizens coming in and going forth from the unburnt parts, heavy laden with some pieces of their goods, but more heavy laden with weighty grief and sorry of heart, so that it is wonderful they did not quite sink under these burdens.

Monday night was a dreadful night: when the wings of the night had shadowed the light of the heavenly bodies, there was no darkness of night in London, for the fire shines now round about with a fearful blaze, which yieldeth such light in the streets, as it had been the sun at noon-day. Now the fire having wrought backward strangely against the wind, to Billingsgate, &c., along Thames-street, eastward, runs up the hill to Tower-street, and having marched on from Gracechurch-street, making further progress in Fenchurch-street, and having spread its wing beyond Queenhithe, in Thames-street, westward, mounts up from the water-side, through Dowgate, and Old Fish-street, into Watling-street: but the great fury of the fire was in the broader streets; in the midst of the night it was come down Cornhill, and laid it in the dust, and runs along by the Stocks, and there meets with another fire, which came down Threadneedle-street; a little further with another, which came up from Wallbrook; a little further with another, which comes up from Bucklersbury; and, all these four, joining together, break into one great flame at the corner of Cheapside, with such a dazzling light, and burning heat, and roaring noise, by the fall of so many houses together, that was very amazing; and though it were something stopt in its swift course at Mercers’-chapel, yet with great force in a while it conquers the place, and burns through it; and then, with great rage, proceedeth forward in Cheapside.

On Tuesday (the 4th) was the fire burning up the very bowels of London; Cheapside is all in a light, (fire in a few hours time,) many fires meeting there, as in the centre; from Soper-lane, Bow-lane, Bread-street, Friday-street, and Old Change, the fire comes up almost together, and breaks furiously into the Broad-street, and most of that side of the way was together in flames, a dreadful spectacle; and then, partly by the fire which came down by Mercers’-chapel, partly by the fall of the houses cross the way, the other side is quickly kindled, and doth not stand long after it. Now the fire gets into Blackfriars, and so continues its course by the water, and makes up towards Paul’s church, on that side, and Cheapside fire besets the great building on this side, and the church, though all of stone outward, though naked of houses about it, and though so high above all buildings in the city, yet, within a while, doth yield to the violent assaults of the conquering flames, and strangely takes fire at the top: now the lead melts and runs down, as if it had been snow before the sun; and the great beams and massy stones with a great noise fall on the pavement, and break through into Faith church underneath; now great flakes of stone scale and peel off strangely from the side of the walls; the conqueror having got this high fort, darts its flames round about. Now Paternoster-row, Newgate-market, the Old Bailey, and Ludgate-hill, have submitted themselves to the devouring fire, which with wonderful speed rusheth down the hill into Fleet-street. Now Cheapside fire marcheth along Ironmonger-lane, Old Jewry, Lawrence-lane, Milk-street, Wood-street, Gutter-lane, Foster-lane. Now it runs along Lothbury, Cateaton-street, &c. From Newgate-market, it assaults Christchurch, and conquers that great building, and burns through Martin’s-lane towards Aldersgate, and all about so furiously, as if it would not leave a house standing upon the ground.

Now horrible flakes of fire mount up the sky, and the yellow smoke of London ascendeth up towards heaven, like the smoke of a great furnace; a smoke so great, as darkened the sun at noonday: (if at any time the sun peeped forth, it looked red like blood:) the cloud of smoke was so great, that travellers did ride at noonday, some miles together, in the shadow thereof, though there were no other cloud beside to be seen in the sky.

And if Monday night was dreadful, Tuesday night was more dreadful, when far the greatest part of the city was consumed: many thousands who on Saturday had houses convenient in the city, both for themselves, and to entertain others, now have not where to lay their head; and the fields are the only receptacle which they can find for themselves and their goods; most of the late inhabitants of London lie all night in the open air, with no other canopy over them but that of the heavens: the fire is still making towards them, and threateneth the suburbs; it was amazing to see how it had spread itself several times in compass; and, amongst other things that night, the sight of Guildhall was a fearful spectacle, which stood the whole body of it together in view, for several hours together, after the fire had taken it, without flames, (I suppose because the timber was such solid oak,) in a bright shining coal, as if it had been a palace of gold, or a great building of burnished brass.

On Wednesday morning, (the 5th) when people expected that the suburbs would be burnt, as well as the city, and with speed were preparing their flight, as well as they could, with their luggage into the countries, and neighbouring villages, then the Lord hath pity on poor London; his bowels began to relent; his heart is turned within him, and he stays his rough wind in the day of the east wind; his fury begins to be allayed; he hath a remnant of people in London, and there shall a remnant of houses escape: the wind now is husht; the commission of the fire is withdrawing, and it burns so gently, even where it meets with no opposition, that it was not hard to be quenched, in many places, with a few hands: now the citizens begin to gather a little heart, and encouragement in their endeavours to quench the fire. A check it had at Leadenhall by that great building; a stop it had in Bishopsgate-street, Fenchurch-street, Lime-street, Mark-lane, and towards the Tower; one means, under God, was the blowing up of houses with gunpowder. Now it is stayed in Lothbury, Broad-street, Coleman-street; towards the gates it burnt, but not with any great violence; at the Temple also it is stayed, and in Holborn, where it had got no great footing; and when once the fire was got under, it was kept under, and on Thursday the flames were extinguished.

But on Wednesday night, when the people, late of London, now of the fields, hoped to get a little rest on the ground, where they had spread their beds, a more dreadful fear falls upon them than they had before, through a rumour that the French were coming armed against them to cut their throats, and spoil them of what they had saved out of the fire: they were now naked and weak, and in ill condition to defend themselves, and the hearts, especially of the females, do quake and tremble, and are ready to die within them; yet many citizens, having lost their houses, and almost all that they had, are fired with rage and fury: and they begin to stir up themselves like lions, or like bears bereaved of their whelps, and now “Arm! Arm!” doth resound the fields and suburbs with a dreadful voice. We may guess at the distress and perplexity of the people this night, which was something alleviated when the falseness of the alarm was perceived.

The ruins of the city were 396 acres; [viz. 333 acres within the walls, and 63 in the liberties of the city,] of the six and twenty wards, it utterly destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered, and half burnt; and it consumed 400 streets, 13,200 dwelling-houses, eighty-nine churches, [besides chapels,] four of the city gates, Guildhall, many public structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, and a vast number of stately edifices.

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The preceding relation by Thomas Vincent, with the philosophic Evelyn’s, will acquaint the reader with as much as can here be told of the most direful visitations the metropolis ever suffered. Evelyn’s account is in his “Diary,” or “Memoirs” of himself, a manuscript which is known to have been preserved from probable destruction by Mr. Upcott.

_John Evelyn’s Narrative._

_Sept._ 2, 1666. This fatal night, about ten, began that deplorable fire near Fish-streete in London.

_Sept._ 3. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach with my wife and sonn, and went to the Bankside in Southwark, where we beheld that dismal spectacle, the whole citty in dreadful flames neare the water side; all the houses from the bridge, all Thames-street, and upwards towards Cheapeside downe to the Three Cranes, were now consum’d.

The fire having continu’d all this night (if I may call that night which was as light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner,) when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very drie season: I went on foote to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the citty burning from Cheapeside to the Thames, and all along Cornehill, (for it kindl’d back against the wind as well as forward,) Tower-streete, Fenchurch-streete, Gracious-streete, and so along to Bainard’s-castle, and was now taking hold of St. Paule’s church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonish’d, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirr’d to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, publiq halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house and streete to streete, at greate distances one from the other, for the heate with a long set of faire and warme weather, had even ignited the air, and prepar’d the materials to conceive the fire which devour’d after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and every thing. Here we saw the Thames cover’d with goods floating, all the barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on the other, the carts, &c. carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew’d with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh, the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seene the like since the foundation of it, nor to be outdone till the universal conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, the light seene above forty miles round about for many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing above 10,000 houses all in one flame; the noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam’d that at last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forc’d to stand still and let the flames burn on, which they did for neere two miles in length and one in breadth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and reach’d upon computation neer fifty miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone burning, a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day. London was, but is no more!

_Sept._ 4. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the Inner Temple, all Fleete-streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate-hill, Warwick-lane, Newgate, Paul’s Chain, Watling-streete, now flaming, and most of it reduc’d to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like granados, the melting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and the very pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp’d all the passages, so that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously drove the flames forward. Nothing but the Almighty power of God was able to stop them, for vaine was the help of man.