fying a substance, naturally so mild and dulcet as the flesh of young pigs. It looks like refining a violet. Yet we should be cautious, while we condemn the inhumanity, how we censure the wisdom of the practice, It might impart a gusto.

I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young students, when I was at St. Omer's, and maintained with much learning and pleasantry on both sides, "Whether, supposing that the flavour of a pig who obtained his death by whipping (per flagellationem extremam) superadded a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting the animal to death?" the decision.

His sauce should be considered.

I forget

Deci

dedly, a few bread crumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to your palate, steep them in shalots, stuff them out with plantations of the rank and guilty garlic; you cannot poison them, or make them stronger than they are-but consider, he is a weakling-a flower.

ORRY THE DANE.

By M. F. TUPPER,

IN fifty keels and five

Rush'd over the pirate swarm, Hornets out of the Northern hive,

Hawks on the wings of the storm;

Blood upon talons and beak,

Blood from their helms to their heels,

Blood on the hand and blood on the cheek!

In five and fifty keels.

O fierce and terrible horde

That shout about Orry the Dane, Clanging the shield, and clashing the sword To the roar of the storm-tossed main !

And hard on the shore they drive,

Ploughing through shingle and sand,

And high and dry those fifty and five
Are haul'd in line upon land.

And ho! for the torch straightway,
In honour of Odin and Thor,—

And the blazing night was bright as the day, As a gift to the gods of war;

For down to the melting sand,

And over each flaring mast,

Those fifty and five they have burnt as they stand

To the tune of the surf and the blast!

A ruthless, desperate crowd

They trample the shingle at Lhane,

And hungry for slaughter they clamour aloud

For the Viking, for Orry the Dane!

And swift has he flown at the foe,

For the clustering clans are here,— But light is the club and weak is the bow To the Norseman sword and spear;

And woe to the patriot Manx,

The right overthrown by the wrong,For the sword hews hard at the staggering ranks,

And the spear drives deep and strong: And Orry the Dane stands proud

King of the blood-stained field,

Lifted on high by the shouldering crowd
On the batter'd boss of his shield.

Yet though such a man of blood,
So terrible, fierce, and fell,

King Orry the Dane had come hither for good,

And governed the clans right well;