anwhile 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