The Siftings is informed, on the best of authority, that an election is in progress. On his way to the office, the editor was buttonholed by a ward heeler and handed a pawned ticket. He was then conducted to a booth, where he retired—except for about three feet of trousers and two of leather. Having scratched to his heart’s content, he saw his ballot chewed by a stuffed box, and was permitted to go to his sanctum, there to forecast the outcome—a more uncertain quantity than the weather brewed in the department of the interior. Our reporter says it’s all over but the shouting and he is shouting for Nero one minute and for Alexander the next. Personally, the editor is in doubt as to whom will be elected. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he has heard the speeches of three of the candidates and has read the predictions of the chairmen of the different parties. One side or the other must be laboring under a “misapprehension.” Our attorney assures us that this phrase is perfectly safe. Having already two suits for libel on hand, we don’t feel like starting a clothing store to get rid of surplus suits. Misfit personalities always give the editor a libel suit. He needs a font of nonpareil with many daggers in it to keep off a minion of misunderstanding. Our attorney is Col. Robert G. Ingersoll. (See advertising columns.) Alexander needs a few votes and Nero needs a lot and by the time they get through needing, there will be no votes left for anybody else. Louis XIV. has bolted his party and is running on an independent ticket. It is said that his name appears on the voting lists of all the wards; if so, he ought to be challenged. However, “Boss” Tweed, who is chairman of Nero’s campaign committee, may be confidentially expected to look out for his candidate’s interests—and his own. Some say the dark horse will win, having the support of the tea party gang and of the Prince of Darkness. In this spirit-moving campaign no one knows where the population is going to focus. The residence of a repeater is a mystery deeper than the fixed locale of a New York poolroom. After all, Hades is a good deal like the earth, where graveyards, forgetting the ethics of etiquette, yawn on election day to permit dead men to vote. Just as the paper goes to press, it is stated that pasters are being freely used and that 5,876,433 candidates have sprung up. The voting is still going on. If the polls close at the usual time, it is believed there would be about twenty small boys who had been overlooked in the voting, and these would kick as soon as they discovered they were not in the running.