We are opposed to peace, on such terms.
Give us war, every time.
THE FIRE NEW YEAR'S DAY.
If there is anything the young men of Rescue Hose Company pride themselves
upon, it is in getting themselves up, regardless of expense, on New Year's
day, and calling upon their lady friends. On Monday last these young men
arrayed themselves in their best clothes and sat around in stores and
waited for the time to go calling. Solomon in all his glory, was not
arrayed like one of these firemen.
[Illustration: SWALLOW-TAILS ON THE CLIMB.]
Just as the young gentlemen were about throwing away their last cigar at
noon, preparatory to calling at the first place on the list, the fire-bell
rang, and there was a lively procession followed the steamer down Fourth
street in a few minutes. It looked as though a wedding had been broken up
and bridegrooms were running around loose. The party arrived at the scene
of the fire, which was Matt. Larsen's hotel on the corner of Second and
King streets, and such a shinning of swallow-tailed coats up blue ladders
was never seen. The fellows that belonged in the house threw out bedsteads
and crockery on to stove-pipe hats, and emptied beds on to
broadcloth coats. The wedding party disappeared in the third story window
with the hose, in the smoke, and after half an hour's work they came out
looking as though they had been in the Ashtabula railroad accident.
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