ce,
but when he was brought to the place where it first broke out, he
affirmed that was the true place. "Burnet's Own Time," book ii.
Archbishop Tillotson, according to Burnet, believed that London was
burnt by design.]

that was said to fire the City, and was hanged for it, by his own
confession, that he was hired for it by a Frenchman of Roane, and that he
did with a stick reach in a fire-ball in at a window of the house: whereas
the master of the house, who is the King's baker, and his son, and
daughter, do all swear there was no such window, and that the fire did not
begin thereabouts. Yet the fellow, who, though a mopish besotted fellow,
did not speak like a madman, did swear that he did fire it: and did not
this like a madman; for, being tried on purpose, and landed with his
keeper at the Tower Wharf, he could carry the keeper to the very house.
Asking Sir R. Viner what he thought was the cause of the fire, he tells
me, that the baker, son, and his daughter, did all swear again and again,
that their oven was drawn by ten o'clock at night; that, having occasion
to light a candle about twelve, there was not so much fire in the
bakehouse as to light a match for a candle, so that they were fain to go
into another place to light it; that about two in the morning they felt
themselves almost choked with smoke, and rising, did find the fire coming
upstairs; so they rose to save themselves; but that, at that time, the
bavins--[brushwood, or faggots used for lighting fires]--were not on fire
in the yard. So that they are, as they swear, in absolute ignorance how
this fire should come; which is a strange thing, that so horrid an effect
should have so mean and uncertain a beginning. By and by called in to the
King and Cabinet, and there had a few insipid words about money for
Tangier, but to no purpose. Thence away walked to my boat at White Hall,
and so home and to supper, and then to talk with W. Hewer about business
of the differences at present among the people of our office, and so to my
journall and to bed. This night going through bridge by water, my
waterman told me how the mistress of the Beare tavern, at the bridge-foot,
did lately fling herself into the Thames, and drowned herself; which did
trouble me the more, when they tell me it was she that did live at the
White Horse tavern in Lumbard Streete, which was a most beautiful woman,
as most I have seen. It seems she hath had long melanchol