A shout is raised:—"The 40th are coming."
"Don't illuminate till they come."
"They shall see the sight."
"Wait till they come."
Smash go the large lamps in front of the hotel. The troopers ride round and caracole their horses.
"Where's the red-coats?"
"There they come, yonder up the hill!"
"Hurrah! three cheers."
The 40th arrive; they form into line in front of the hotel, swords drawn. "Hurrah! boys! no use waiting any longer."—"Down she comes." The bowling alley is on fire.—Police try to extinguish the flames—rather too warm.—It's too late.—The hotel is on fire at the back corner; nothing can save it.—"Hip, hip hurrah!" is the universal shout.
I had opportunities enough to observe in London, that a characteristic of the British race is to make fun of the calamity of fire, hence I did not wonder, how they enjoyed this, their real sport on the occasion.