READER.—­And when, Mr. PUNCH—­when you have got rid of the women, what do you and Sir Robert purpose then?

PUNCH.—­I beg your pardon:  we shall meet again next week:  it’s now two o’clock.  I have an appointment with half-a-dozen of my godsons; I have promised them all places in the new government, and they’re come to take their choice.

READER.—­Do tell me this:  Who has Peel selected for Commander of the Forces?

PUNCH.—­Who?  Colonel Sibthorp.

READER.—­And who for Chancellor of the Exchequer?

PUNCH.—­Mr. Henry Moreton Dyer!

* * * * *

PUNCH’S PENCILLINGS.—­No.  II.

[Illustration:  HERCULES TEARING THESEUS FROM THE ROCK TO WHICH HE HAD GROWN.

(MODERNIZED.)

APOLLODORUS relates that THESEUS sat so long on a rock, that at length he grew to it, so that when HERCULES tore him forcibly away, he left all the nether part of the man behind him.]

* * * * *

THE ELECTION OF BALLINAFAD.

(FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.)

We have been at considerable expense in procuring the subjoined account of the election which has just terminated in the borough of Ballinafad, in Ireland.  Our readers may rest assured that our report is perfectly exclusive, being taken, as the artists say, “on the spot,” by a special bullet-proof reporter whom we engaged, at an enormous expense, for this double hazardous service.

BALLINAFAD, 20th JULY.

Tuesday Morning, Eight o’clock.—­The contest has begun!  The struggle for the independence of Ballinafad has commenced!  Griggles, the opposition candidate, is in the field, backed by a vile faction.  The rank, wealth, and independence of Ballinafad are all ranged under the banner of Figsby and freedom.  A party of Griggles’ voters have just marched into the town, preceded by a piper and a blind fiddler, playing the most obnoxious tunes.  A barrel of beer has been broached at Griggles’ committee-rooms.  We are all in a state of the greatest excitement.

Half-past Eight.—­Mr. Figsby is this moment proceeding from his hotel to the hustings, surrounded by his friends and a large body of the independent teetotal electors.  A wheelbarrow full of rotten eggs has been sent up to the hustings, to be used, as occasion requires, by the Figsby voters, who are bent upon

[Illustration:  “GOING THE WHOLE HOG.”]

A serious riot has occurred at the town pump, where two of the independent teetotalers have been ducked by the opposite party.  Stones are beginning to fly in all directions.  A general row is expected.

Nine o’clock.—­Polling has commenced.  Tom Daly, of Galway, the fighting friend of Mr. Figsby, has just arrived, with three brace of duelling pistols, and a carpet-bag full of powder and ball.  This looks like business.  I have heard that six of Mr. Figsby’s voters have been locked up in a barn by Griggles’ people.  The poll is proceeding vigorously.