The fireman, who is surrounded by so strong a glare of light that he appears all on fire, is seen to retreat a few paces towards the door. He is presently joined by another fireman, who runs to the front drawing-room window, out of which he suspends an iron chain to secure their escape, in case of need, and then returns to his comrade. They rally, and each with his brass director-pipe advances again within half-a-dozen paces of the blazing walls. They are, foot by foot, driven back into the front drawing-room. The flames follow them, and soon are very close to the or molu frame-work of the great looking-glass. Bang! bang! go the engines. ‘Save the glass!’ shout numbers of voices. ‘The ceiling! the ceiling’s bursting down!’ cry others. Bang! bang! go the engines. ‘Save the pieces!’ ‘The door-post’s on fire!’ ‘Look behind you!’ ‘The glass!—the glass!’ ‘Save yourselves!’ Bang! bang! go the engines. The Superintendent has sent orders to the firemen to give no more attention to the interior of this house, except with a view to prevent the fire spreading to the adjoining houses. Consequently, the streams of water are now directed to drenching the walls, and beating back the flames on either side. The great looking-glass, no longer an object of special protection, is presently reached by the flames; they coil and cluster round the frame-work, which, breaking out into jets of coloured fire, gives a splendid magnificence to the design of the carving. The crowd jump up and down to see, and also from excitement. The flames flap about, and point their long luminous tongues across the broad plate of the glass, which for a moment reflects every object in the room,—the falling ceiling—the firemen in their helmets—the blazing ruin around;—and then, crack!—clash! clash!—the whole falls, a wreck of sharp angles. Again a loud shout from the crowd below!—not so much of regret as a kind of wild purposeless joy, which causes them again to leap up and down, expecting and (without knowing it) hoping the same thing will happen to some other glass in the room. Melted lead from the roof now runs gleaming down—spurting upon the helmet of one of the firemen, and then running in straggling lines down his thick coat; while a slate falling, as usual, edgeways, sticks across the centre-piece of his comrade’s helmet. Now, with a rattling and loud rumble, falls the partition between the front and back drawing-rooms, and with it a great part of the ceiling! A terrific shout of alarm bursts from the crowd. The two firemen are buried in the ruins. The whole space is filled with the dense smoke and with piles of lath and plaster, and brick and blazing wood. But see!—a helmet, white with mortar, rises from the floor near the window-sill—and now another! One after the other, the exhausted firemen descend the iron chain, and are caught in the arms of the Superintendent and two of their comrades below, while loud shouts and vociferations of applause burst from the crowd.