n, and our starboard quarter caught against the
hubs of a cart. Carman apologetic--Sixth Avenue stage-driver affable.
Passengers frightened. Maiden lady with poodle dog exclaimed, 'Oh, dear
me!' Poodle dog barked. Fat gentleman thought that stage-drivers
now-a-days were growing too careless. Got under way. Sighted Bowling
Green off our port bow. Female from Ireland with native infant hailed
the vehicle. Driver stopped. Female from Ireland tumbled up the steps.
Driver slammed the door, which struck the female from Ireland a severe
blow in the rear. Result, female from Ireland lying prostrate on the
floor, and native infant lying around loose on the person of the old
maid, in the particular premises claimed by the poodle dog. Poodle dog
barked and snapped at native infant; native infant cried. Old maid
scolds female from Ireland. Female from Ireland takes up native infant,
and anathematizes poodle dog. Fat gentleman suggests that it's all the
result of the recklessness of the driver. Old lady and female from
Ireland pacified. German female, with a basket of dirty clothes, seeks
admittance. Driver accommodating. Enter German female, and exit myself.
Take my position on top with the driver. Band of music heard in the
direction of Wall street. Target company turn into Broadway. Inebriated
negro carrying a target, on which is inscribed, 'Michael Flinn Guard,
Capt. Pat. Sweeny.' Horse attached to a buggy coming down Broadway,
unused to military demonstrations--unaccustomed to the noises of sixteen
German gentlemen, making frantic efforts to blow their brains out
through brass horns. Horse rears and plunges into the rank and file of
the Michael Flinn Guard. Consternation of the infantry at an unexpected
attack from the cavalry. Cavalry triumphant. Michael Flinn Guard
commence throwing stones at individual in the buggy. Individual drives
off. Plethoric German scrapes himself up, and finds the starch entirely
taken out of his ophicleide. German with light moustache has lost the
mouth-piece of his E flat saxe horn; Michael Flinn Guards endeavoring to
find their arms. Irish corporal unable to discover his bayonet. First
lieutenant finds his sword run through the tenor drum. Ambitious private
finds the pewter cake-basket he won as a prize, with the butt end of a
musket through it. Guns in several instances in fragments; swords
broken; brass horns disjointed, and, as a consequence, music _non est_.
By general consent, Michael Flinn Gua