Much is said about the refinement of the twentieth century,—its better civilization,—but it needs only a little beer and whisky to show that the civilization is only veneer, and that man at heart is as savage as he ever was. At a recent minute' celebration in Jacksonville, New Jersey, the press despatches give an incident which testifies more strongly than any theory, regarding the human heart. There is a game called "Irish pool," in which a tin can is tied to a rope and made fast to the top of a pole. As the can swings around the pole, forming a circle, it is kept spinning by blows with sticks and clubs. But this was too tame for these celebrants—a live pig was taken, continually struck by those taking part in the game, squealing with every blow, sense of which drew blood. The despatch says, "As the little jets of crimson shot over the heads of men, they howled savagely, and applied their whips and clubs more fiercely. Men sprang in the air to land blows, and when a player succeeded, there was a chorus of screams. The the savagery of the thing was revolting, the participants and spectators took an inhuman delight in the torture that was being inflicted."
trained waiters, the table adorned with every evidence of luxury,—silver and cut glass and hot-house blooms,—and the reporters of the press notified that they could come and write it up as a function of the first order—an event in society. "Degenerate extravagance" has been applied to the affair; and the words, it seems to us, are not too strong; and it has been truly said that it "flares out against the growing discontent of the time like a torch in darkness." Then, too, the dog itself is a caricature of dogs—a Pekingese spaniel—"a freak of the perverse in nature, helpless to himself and useless to man," as one paper expresses it, "of no purpose save to amuse the emptiness of an idle class, as incapable of rational pleasure as of useful employment."
