On Wednesday morning, when people expected 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 had pity upon poor London: the wind is hushed; the commission of the fire is withdrawing, and it burns so gently, even when it meets with no opposition, that it was not hard to be quenched, in many places, with a few hands; an angel came which had power over fire.[1] The citizens began to gather a little heart and encouragement in their endeavours to quench the fire. A check it had in Leadenhall by that great building: it had a stop in Bishopsgate-street, Fenchurch-street, Lime-street, Mark-lane, and toward the Tower; one means (under God) was the blowing up houses with gunpowder. It is stayed in Lothbury, Broad-street, and Coleman-street; toward the gates it burnt, but not with any great violence; at the Temple also it staid, 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. [Footnote 1: Rev. xiv. 18.] Few could take much sleep for divers nights together, when the fire was burning in the streets, and burning down the houses, lest their persons should have been consumed with their substance and habitations. 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, 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 they had, are fired with rage and fury; and they began to stir up themselves like lions, or bears bereaved of their whelps. Now, arm! arm! arm! doth resound through the fields and suburbs with a great noise. We may guess the distress and perplexity of the people this night; but it was somewhat alleviated when the falseness of the alarm was discovered.