“We have got through the muck of the mucky Bowery.  Let us turn to the left as we ascend the hill from Chatham street, and into a narrow, winding way, called Doyer’s street.  Dutch Sophy, then, as now, sits in all the good nature of her short, fat figure, serving her customers with ices, at three cents.  Her cunning black eyes and cheerful, ruddy face, enhance the air of pertness that has made her a favorite with her customers.  We will pass the little wooden shop, where Mr. Saunders makes boots of the latest style, and where old lapstone, with curious framed spectacles tied over his bleared eyes, has for the last forty years been seen at the window trimming welts, and mending every one’s sole but his own; we will pass the four story wooden house that the landlord never paints-that has the little square windows, and the little square door, and the two little iron hand rails that curl so crabbedly at the ends, and guard four crabbeder steps that give ingress and egress to its swarm of poor but honest tenants; we will pass the shop where a short, stylish sign tells us Mr. Robertson makes bedsteads; and the little, slanting house a line of yellow letters on a square of black tin tells us is a select school for young ladies, and the bright, dainty looking house with the green shutters, where lives Mr. Vredenburg the carpenter, who, the neighbors say, has got up in the world, and paints his house to show that he feels above poor folks-and find we have reached the sooty and gin-reeking grocery of Mr. Korner, who sells the devil’s elixir to the sootier devils that swarm the cellars of his neighbors.  The faded blue letters, on a strip of wood nailed to the bricks over his door, tell us he is a dealer in “Imported and other liquors.”  Next door to Mr. Korner’s tipsy looking grocery lives Mr. Muffin, the coffin-maker, who has a large business with the disciples who look in at Korner’s.  Mrs. Downey, a decent sort of body, who lives up the alley, and takes sixpenny lodgers by the dozen, may be seen in great tribulation with her pet pig, who, every day, much to the annoyance of Mr. Korner, manages to get out, and into the pool of decaying matter opposite his door, where he is sure to get stuck, and with his natural propensity, squeals lustily for assistance.  Mrs. Downey, as is her habit, gets distracted; and having well abused Mr. Korner for his interference in a matter that can only concern herself and the animal, ventures to her knees in the mire, and having seized her darling pig by the two ears, does, with the assistance of a policeman, who kindly takes him by the tail, extricate his porkship, to the great joy of herself.  The animal scampers, grunting, up the alley, as Mr. Korner, in his shirt sleeves, throws his broom after him, and the policeman surlily says he wishes it was the street commissioner.