In walking back to the city we met a gentleman who was acquainted with my fellow traveller. He wished us to call at his house and have breakfast. We did so, and a good one it was; the house was all upset, getting their things packed up, little of which I am afraid was saved. Walking citywards, the road was crowded with all sorts of vehicles carrying furniture of every description; the road was littered with furniture, pianos, beds and so forth in indescribable confusion; drivers of waggons would engage to take it out some distance on the prairie, get their money first before they started, then would only go a little way, tumble it out on the road, return and repeat the operation, on someone else. I now wanted to get to Mr. Small’s house, to learn what I could about Mr. Kenny. When I got to the city I found all the bridges that I have starred, burnt up, so had to make a long detour, going all round the burnt district. His house is on the South Side where I put a cross. I arrived there at eleven o’clock lost in dirt, blended with dust and smoke. Not a drop of water in the house to wash with. Mr. Small told me to consider it (his house) my home until I could find something else. I took a bucket, went to the lake and brought it back full of water and felt better for it. (This was eleven-thirty A.M.) Up to this time nothing was heard of Mr. Kenny. I felt rather uneasy, as it was much easier for him to get there than for me, and I fully expected finding him there when I arrived. I was also astonished to find the South Side still burning; the fire was creeping up against the wind at the rate of a house every five minutes. At that calculation Small’s house would be burnt at three o’clock. Of course he was very uneasy and sent his wife and baby away; if the wind changed in the opposite direction he would be cleared out much sooner. At two o’clock we walked down together and found the flames stopped by blowing up of several streets of houses. The North Side was swept out clear and clean, right into the country, burning up Lincoln Park and a Catholic Cemetery. Seventy-five thousand people resided on the North Side, and every house with one exception was burned to the ground, not even the walls standing. Altogether one hundred thousand people were rendered homeless, and had to camp out on the prairie without any covering for two days and two nights, having little to eat and scarcely any water to drink. This is something awful to think of. Delicate people, young children of all classes, huddled together without any comforts; a great many people died, and no wonder. However, they are all pretty well provided for now, supplies are plentiful, the only fear is that the charity will be abused.