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. Horses proceed to make inroads upon property not belonging to the omnibus company. Carman discovers the larceny. Indignant carman. Hits our horses over the head with the butt end of his whip. Reciprocal indignation. Our driver gives carman a cut across his proboscis with a long lash. "Our progress continues. [Illustration]