Hoboken. The captain elevated,
lieutenants inebriated, privates intoxicated, the nigger target-bearer
drunk--effect of having eaten too many ham sandwiches. Stage again
immobile. Two Hoosiers get inside, and ask the driver to stop at the St.
Nicholas Tavern. Funeral procession coming down Broadway. Forty-nine
carriages. Learned that the remains of Dennis Hooligan, the keeper of a
corner grocery in Hammersley street, were being conveyed to their last
resting-place. Just as the hearse reaches Anthony street a ponderous
cart crosses Broadway. Wheels fifteen feet in diameter. Steamboat boiler
suspended under the axletree. Majestic vehicle fetches up all standing
against a cart loaded with flour. Fall in breadstuffs. Prodigal
distribution of flour. Hearse and funeral procession in close proximity.

"Vehicles accumulate. Great commotion among drivers. Procession mixed up
in an indiscriminate verbal war. At last hearse manages to go down
towards the Five Points. The procession succeeds in getting out by
turning in the other direction, except the rear portion, which, to my
knowledge, never got out. Once more under way, and making good time.
Man with a gold-headed cane stops the stage, and passes up a five-cent
piece. Driver swears, and advises him to ride in the cars hereafter.
Driver suggests that he is full ten minutes behind time, and is bound to
make it up. Lays on the lash, much to the surprise of the animals.
Driver pulls up in front of the St. Nicholas Hotel, and announces the
spot through the money-hole. Nobody essays to pass up any fare. Driver
repeats the announcement. Nobody moves. Driver inquires, impatiently, if
there ain't 'two fellers inside wot wanted to git out at the St.
Nicholas Hotel.' Still no reply. Again the inquiry. One of the Hoosiers
said he asked him to 'stop at the St. Nicholas tarvern, 'cause why,
'cause he wanted to see it. He'd seen it enough; it was a purty nice
tarvern, he reckoned, and he might drive on.' Driver gave the horses an
extra cut, and we move again. Asthmatic party pulls the strap. After
feeling in all of his pockets for two minutes, informs the driver that
he left his _porte-monnaie_ in his other pantaloons. Driver says the
story won't go down--that the game is too old. Party tries to make his
exit, but the door won't open, the driver holding hard on the strap.
Asthmatic party threatens to horsewhip driver. Driver says, 'any time
when conwenyent he hoped he'll make the trial.' Driver