Swore also that I had voted in eight different wards, (three times in the 46th by the aid of a red wig and a pair of false whiskers)--and also that I had associated with me in my operations, a genteel party of eleven Dutchmen, made them all swear in their votes at every place I did, and at three o'clock in the afternoon, when lager-bier had done its worst, and they were so far overcome with their patriotic exertions, that they couldn't hold their heads up, I locked them safely in a barn, so that the whigs might not find them, drown them with a sober hydrant stream, and put them through the same exercise all over again. Told them I had finished the day by getting up a row in the office, breaking the inspector's spectacles with a brick, and slipping into the ballot-box sixty-three votes for Hoggs before he got the glass out of his eyes. Welshman couldn't talk so fast, and so they decided that I was the best qualified, and had the strongest claims. Got the appointment, had my uniform made, was presented with a star and a club, and entered upon the performance of my duties. Was stationed at the corner of Maiden Lane and Broadway, to keep the street clear--endeavored to do it--express-man's horse fell down--tried to get him up--ungrateful horse--very--turned over suddenly, threw me down--spoiled my pantaloons, and bit a long piece out of my coat collar. Got him up at last, and while the driver was reloading his vehicle, tried to put on the gearing--never tried to harness a horse before, don't think I could do it well without practice. Got the breeching over his eyes, the hames between his foreshoulders, buckled the belly-band round his ears, forgot the collar entirely, and hooked the traces to the fore-wheels--driver didn't seem to like my way of doing things, but at last he got every thing fixed right and passed along. Alarm of fire--tried to keep the engines from running on the sidewalk--as a reward for trying to do my duty, got run over by two hose-carts, and a hook and ladder truck, and was knocked bodily into an ash-box by the foreman of engine 73. Mighty torrent of opposing vehicles got jammed--stages, carts, coal-waggons, drays, hackney-coaches, two military companies with a brass-band, a four-horse hearse with a long funeral procession. Every body very obstinate, wouldn't move--tried to disentangle them--got bewildered, made every thing worse--horses fell down, stages fell on top of them--mourners escaped with their lives--coffin didn't--hearse tipped over and pitched into a swill-cart--soldiers stuck their bayonets through the omnibus windows, ladies screamed, drivers yelled--got scared--didn't know what I was about, ordered everybody to go everywhere, put half the mourners into a Crystal Palace stage, and sent them up town, and the rest into a private coach, and sent them _down_ town--got the coffin out of the swill-tub, and despatched it by express to the Hudson River Railroad.