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 684 bob.” Moreover all the theatres, if you applied the theory of induction to their placards, had been built, decorated, hired, and managed, solely for the amusement of visitors to the Cattle Show; the pieces had been chosen with a view to their tastes, and on their applause alone depended the success or failure of the actors. So it was with the music-halls, casinos, and rotundas—except they received the patronage of the visitors to the Cattle Show, the general public might throng them in vain—the aim and object of the “spirited proprietors” was to show their appreciation of the national benefits likely to arise from an annual Cattle Show, and they considered the best way in which they could show that appreciation was to attract to their entertainments the promoters of the Show.

The pugilistic Bonifaces, too, were up and doing; their “cribs” were got ready, not for Infants, but for corpulent gentlemen of cattle-fancying tendencies; they advertised themselves as merry as “grigs,” and expressed the deep anxiety with which they were actuated for a speedy re-union with their “country friends.” There sprang up, also, like mushrooms, amongst the already prolific race of photographers, a countless host, whose vocation in this world was simply to take portraits (sixpence each, in a frame) of those persons who attended the great Cattle Show; their establishments being for the most part in a back room, up a dark alley, afforded facilities for the exercise of their art, hitherto unprecedented, especially in the bright and sunny month of December; and portraits taken under such favourable circumstances have this advantage over others, that they will do to represent any member, male or female, old or young, of any family whatever. Nor must I omit to mention the philanthropic energy and disinterested kindness of a fellow-countryman, who, regardless of trouble and expense, had brought his intellect to bear upon the preparation of half-pint cases of sherry or brandy-and-water, or peradventure gin-and-water, for the accommodation and refreshment of the cattle-visiting community. This was an attention fully appreciated on the part of the persons contemplated. Observing, therefore the influence exercised by the Show upon all classes, particularly the eating, drinking, and self-amusing portions of my fellow-citizens, I felt bound, as a carnivorous patriot, to reconnoitre the exhibition, as historians say, in person. And first, I must bear witness to the intense interest shown in the matter by man, woman, and even child, as became the offspring of beef-eating parents. Those who for pecuniary or other reasons were debarred from actual sight of the live food within the bazaar, crowded round the entrances, and evidently derived immense satisfaction from a close scrutiny of the more fortunate eye-witnesses. I have never seen anything to equal it except at the feeding of the beasts in the Zoological Gardens; and every one knows that to see a creature eating, especially if he do it in a ravenous and savage manner, with roars, and grunts, and contortions, is a pleasure surpassing those even of Memory or Imagination. Upon entering the bazaar I was somewhat bewildered by numerous printed invitations to “Pay Here,” but being relieved at finding that it was sufficient to accept any one of them, I was enabled to pass on to where an orthographical controversy was being waged, a collector on one side being desirous of taking your “cheque,” on the other (by reason of a misprint probably) your “choque;” however, I suppose it was quite a private matter between the two orthographers, for you were not required to explain your preference, but were allowed to give your ticket to either indifferently. Hereupon I discovered that I might either go up-stairs “to the Agricultural Implements,” or down-stairs “to the Prize Cattle:” the latter being the principal object of my visit, down I went, being much assisted in my descent by a shove from an enthusiastic beast-fancier, who, with a knowing look, and a shake of the head indicative of a confidence in his superior faculties, remarked that “he could smell ’em as soon as he got inside the door.” I don’t acknowledge his olfactory superiority, though I hope he derived more satisfaction from his organs than I from mine, but if he saw them, I confess he had the advantage of me. Indeed the characteristic feature of the show appeared to me to be that you couldn’t see anything but the skylight; but there was matter for congratulation in that, for you observed that there were several panes of glass broken, and you therefore felt sure that there was fresh air coming in, even if you were unconscious of it, and that the odds in favour of your being suffocated were not so great as you had at first supposed. It is true that, from time to time, when there was a general rush in the direction of a pig suspected of imminent apoplexy, or in some other direction for some other reason, I managed, by clinging to a post, to retain my position, and get a few glimpses both of the beasts and of their admirers. At such moments it was that I had the leisure to observe how connoisseurs deal with fatted animals, and how would-be connoisseurs imitate them to perfection. If it be a horned beast you wish to examine, I observed that the correct thing is to first of all hit him with a stick on the near hind leg, and tell him to “kim up:” when he has “kimmed up,” you thrust the knuckles of your fingers into all parts of his flanks, you then press the humps on either side of the root of his tail, afterwards you catch hold of the extremity of the tail and twist it round; and ultimately you turn round, and gaze at the spectators triumphantly.

To test a fatted pig: first of all pull one of his ears vigorously; that hurts, and, if he be lively, will make him squeak prodigiously; then give him a spank with your hand upon his side; this will put the fatted monster to agonies, and he will scream piteously whilst the spectators will be gratified even to peals of laughter, and will set you down as very clever in pigs, and a decidedly facetious person. Lastly, if you have a stick or umbrella, poke him in the snout; and, above all, if you have a schoolboy with you for a holiday, get him to perform these operations for you; he will do it artistically, and with much gusto; and you will bind him to you by the indissoluble tie of common inhumanity. Whether the mere fact of