THIS event came off with an unusual amount of eclat; merchants, members of parliament, and people of all kinds, were present; and if they were not all butchers, they all became squatters when the grassy plateaux of Correy's Gardens were reached. The pic-nic took place appropriately under a ewe-tree, and fortunately the wether was remarkably fine. Saws (wise ones excepted), axes, steels, and all other implements used in the trade, were, by common consent, left behind, and the only killing done was that accomplished by several fascinating young slaughter-men, whose hair and accents were oily not to say greasy in the extreme. One of these, who went in heavily for euphuism, told his inamorata that her heart was harder than his father's block, and the satire of her tongue keener than the edge of a certain cleaver in his parent's possession.

Sir Loin Oxborough, Fifth Baron (of beef), estates strictly entailed, was unanimously voted to a deserted "bull-dog's" nest, which did duty for a chair. He occupied this position with dignity, and made a speech, interlarding his discourse with several choice cuts from Steel and other poets; e.g.,

"Reveal, reveal the light of truth to me!"

"Steak not thine all upon the die!" &c.

He said they were met to enjoy themselves, and by their joint exertions to banish dull care; adversity might come, but what of that? He had always found that a round of afflictions, or a dark cloud had a silver lining, or rather a "silver-side," like a round of beef. He had often been in trouble himself—cut down, as it were, by the cleaver of adversity; reduced, he might say, to mince-meat by the sausage-machine of ill-luck; and he and his family had been once or twice regularly salted down in the harness-cask of fate; but, thanks to his natural buoyancy, or (butcher)-boy-ancy of spirits, he had risen like a bladder to the surface of the sea of despondency, and lived to pluck the skewers of affliction from his heart.

He advocated morality and sobriety. He might say he had lived a moral and sober life, for though he had been a free and generous liver, he had always done his duty to his fellow-men according to his lights. His motto was "live and let live," except where dumb animals were concerned—those he killed on principle, as a matter of business; and he respected all religious sects, except vegetarians. He had been cut up by sorrow, and cast down by depression of trade as often as most men. He had seen beef at tuppence a pound, hides at 2s. 6d. each, and tallow at nothing at all (warm weather, and no colds in the head prevalent), but he had never lost heart; from a boy, hopefulness had always been a meat-tray (he begged pardon, he meant a sweet trait) in his character; he had persevered, worked hard, and had eventually carved his way to wealth, fame, and fortune, through bone, gristle, flesh, skin, sinew and all. He was prosperous, but he owed his rise more to shoulders of mutton than the shoulders of his friends. He had been self-reliant, just, and generous; and though he had flayed many a beast, he had never yet attempted to skin a flint. (Cheers.) He was not democratic, and he believed more in the horny-headed monsters than the horny-handed masses; still he liked to see a man rise by his own exertions; and, inasmuch as a king—Charles the First to wit—had shewn how easy was the transition from the throne to the block, he did not see why an ascent from the block to the throne might not be equally possible.

In conclusion, he recommended his friends to take the fat with the lean through life, and not to grumble because some one else appeared to have all the prime-cuts of fortune, and all the rich fat of prosperity, and they only the fag-end and the bone. He sat down (on the deserted ant's nest) amid loud and reiterated applause.

Festivities then commenced The guests sat on their haunches and drank the blood of the grape out of hogs' heads.

The toasts drunk were the "Gallus"—not the gallows; the block and cleaver, &c. The juniors played "rounders," and (raw) "hide and seek." Dancing was kept up with animation until a late hour. Old Tommy Hawk danced a porka, and his peculiar shambling gait called forth rounds of applause. Several games of chance were played for beef stakes.

A butcher who dealt largely in goat's flesh sang the touching Scotch ballad, "Oh, Nanny, wilt thou gang wi me," and old Pork Chops sang "Those evening chines" in a most affecting manner. The festivities continued until they could not very well continue any longer, and every body returned home perfectly satisfied.