"'I want to go to Greenwich Avenue,' said a timid old gentleman.
"'Here y'ar,' said the agent, as he took the old gentleman by the seat of his pantaloons, and threw him head first into an East Broadway stage.
"The old gentleman, as soon as he could recover from his astonishment, looked out of the window at the agent.
"'Sir,' said he, 'does this stage carry me to Greenwich Avenue?'
"'Certing,' was the prompt reply, 'you'll get there, never fear. Here's Eas' Broadway un' Dry Dock.'
"'Where do you want to go madam?' asked the Ninth Avenue stage-agent of a lady accompanied by a little boy.
"'Here y'ar then,' said he, as he placed her in the stage which probably stopped fully three quarters of a mile from the place.
"At last, all the persons desiring to ride had secured seats in stages, but whether _the_ stages they desired is quite doubtful. I jumped in a Broadway and Fourteenth street stage, the agent gave the door two slams, and off we started. The passengers were an old maid with a poodle dog, a young miss who had just put on a long dress, a German, an old buffer who occupied space for two, and myself. Suddenly we stopped in Whitehall street, on our larboard side we find ourselves caught against a Sixth Avenue stage coming down, 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 Guards break ranks and disperse. Lady with hoop skirts hails the driver. Driver again obliging. Enter hoop skirts. Gentleman with a baby-wagon hails driver. 'Whoa-'p.' Astonishing driver. Gentleman lifts up the baby-wagon on the top. Driver receives it, and gently smashes it in pieces. Gentleman gets inside. Dropsical individual on the starboard quarter hails us. The gentleman enters, and again we are under way. Teutonic target company turn into Broadway from Courtlandt street--'The Lager Bier Invincibles, Capt Conrad Künzmüller.' Suddenly find ourselves smashed up amid a perfect labyrinth of carts, stages, buggies, wagons, horses, mules, cotton bales, boxes, furniture, drivers, policemen, passengers, pedestrians, &c. A wagonload of dirt on our port side--wagon-driver unsophisticated; unused to driving in New York. In advance a cart having two bales of hay on board. Our horses, having nothing else to do, make efforts to get at the hay. Our driver again accommodating. He gets down and unchecks the horses.
