Nearly all the goods destroyed were of the most inflammable description. There were nine thousand casks of tallow and three hundred tuns of olive oil, beside thousands of bales of cotton, two thousand parcels of bacon, and other valuable merchandise. The tallow, no doubt, burned the fiercest and the most persistently. Melting with the intense heat, it poured out into cellars and streets, where much of it speedily caught fire. The floors of nine vaults, each measuring 100 by 20 feet, were covered two feet deep with melted tallow and palm oil, and all helped to feed the fire. No wonder it burned for days, if such material fed the flames, although the firemen continued to pour water on the ruins. Some of the tallow, found floating on the river, was collected, and sold at twopence per pound. Mr. Braidwood's body was found on June 24th, so charred as to be scarcely recognizable. He was buried at Abney Park Cemetery, and was accorded the honour of a great public funeral. The London Rifle-Brigade attended, as well as large bodies of firemen and of the police, and an immense concourse of the general public. So large a multitude, it was said, had not attended any funeral since the obsequies of the Duke of Wellington. A proposition was made to raise a public fund for the benefit of Mr. Braidwood's widow and six children, and a large sum was subscribed; but it was announced that the Insurance Companies had amply provided for his family. The neighbourhood of Southwark, where the fatal fire occurred, has been the scene of many remarkable conflagrations. In the same year as the famous Tooley Street fire, Davis's Wharf at Horselydown was burnt, involving a loss of about £15,000; while at a large fire at Dockhead two or three years later, vast quantities of saltpetre, corn, jute, and flour were consumed. A brisk wind favoured the flames, and hundreds of tons of saltpetre flashed up into fire. Bright sparks and flame-coloured smoke floated over the conflagration, and were wafted by the wind, accompanied by deafening reports and great flashes of fire. Numbers of other conflagrations have occurred in this neighbourhood. The streets were narrow, and the district was full of warehouses, containing all kinds of merchandise, which burnt like tinder when fairly ignited. Imagine coffee and cloves, sulphur and saltpetre, oil, turpentine, and tallow all afire! What a commingling of odours and of strange-coloured flame!