them, were
seen to be devoted to hopeless ruin. For a while it seemed almost
certain that Westminster Hall itself must be involved in the common
destruction, and even the noble Abbey, with its priceless memorial
treasures, appeared destined to become a mere ruin of shattered stones.
The arrangements for the extinguishing of fires were rude and poor and
inefficient in those days when compared with the systematized service
which is employed in our own, and for a considerable time those who
hurried to the spot, charged with the duty of combating the
conflagration, appeared to do little better than get in each other's
way and only give new chances to each fresh eruption. The tide in the
river was very low, too, when the destroying work began, and it was
hard indeed to bring any great body of water to bear upon the flames.
As the tide rose, however, it became easy to make more effective
efforts. At last it was found that Westminster Abbey might be
considered perfectly safe. So was Westminster Hall, that noble
historical enclosure, the Hall which saw the trial of William Wallace,
of Charles the First, of Somers, and of Warren Hastings, the hall which
celebrated the coronation of so many kings, which boasts of being the
oldest chamber in Europe held in continuous occupation up to the
present day, the largest hall in Europe unsupported by pillars. It was
preserved, to be the grand entrance and vestibule to both the Houses of
Parliament. But the chambers in which, up to that day, the Lords and
Commons had conducted their legislative work were utterly destroyed.

[Sidenote: 1834--Burning of the old Parliament Houses]

At first it was assumed, as is almost always the assumption in the case
of any great conflagration, that the work of destruction had been the
outcome of an incendiary plot, and for a while a wild idea spread
abroad that some modern Guy Fawkes had succeeded where his predecessor
had {269} completely failed. But it was soon made clear and certain
that the whole calamity, if indeed it can be called much of a calamity,
had been the result of a mere accident. A careless workman, aspiring
to nothing more than a quick release from his labor, and not destined
to the fame of the aspiring youth who fired the Ephesian dome, had
brought about the ruin which bequeathed to England and to the world the
vast and noble structure of Westminster Palace. The workman was
engaged in burning up a number of the old, disused woode