Now the fire gets into Blackfriars, and so continues its course by the water, and makes up toward St. 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 awhile doth yield to the violent assaults of the all-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 hideous noise, fell on the pavement, and break through into Faith church underneath; and 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-street, the Old Bailey, and Ludgate-hill, have submitted themselves to the devouring fire, which, with wonderful speed rush down the hill, into Fleet-street. Now Cheapside, fire marcheth along Ironmonger-lane, Old-jury, Laurence-lane, Milk-street, Wood-street, Gutter-lane, Foster-lane; now it comes along Lothbury, Cateaton-street, &c. From Newgate-street it assaults Christ church, conquers that great building, and burns through St. Martins-le-grand toward Aldersgate; and all so furiously as it would not leave a house standing. Terrible flakes of fire mount up to the sky, and the yellow smoke of London ascendeth up towards heaven like the smoke of a great furnace; a smoke so great as darkeneth the sun at noon-day; 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 noon-day some miles together in the shadow thereof, though there were no other clouds beside to be seen in the sky. If Monday night was dreadful, Tuesday night was much more so, 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, have not where to lay their heads; and the fields are the only receptacle they can find for themselves and their few remaining goods: most of the late inhabitants lie all night in the open air, with no other canopy over them but that of the heavens. The fire is still making toward them, and threatening the suburbs. It was amazing to see how it had spread itself several miles in compass: among 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 after the fire had taken it, without flames (possibly 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.