young debater often lost the thread of his argument--in other words, got things "mixed"--he gained confidence, learned to talk in public, and to take higher flights. Many of our leading public men learned their first lessons in the art of public speaking in the country debating school. Apple trees were planted early by the bay settlers, and there were now numerous large orchards of excellent fruit. Pears, plums, cherries, currants and gooseberries were also common. The apple crop was gathered in October, the best fruit being sent to the cellar for family use during winter, and the rest to the cider mill. The cider mills of those days were somewhat rude contrivances. The mill proper consisted of two cogged wooden cylinders about fourteen inches in diameter and perhaps twenty-six inches in length, placed in an upright position in a frame. The pivot of one of these extended upward about six feet, and at its top was secured the long shaft to which the horse was attached, and as it was driven round and round, the mill crunched the apples, with many a creak and groan, and shot them out on the opposite side. The press which waited to receive the bruised mass was about eight feet square, round the floor of which, near the edge, ran a deep groove to carry off the juice. In making what is known as the cheese, the first process was to spread a thick layer of long rye or wheat straw round the outer edge, on the floor of the press. Upon this the pulp was placed to the depth of a foot or more. The first layer of straw was then turned in carefully, and another layer of straw put down as in the first place, upon which more pulp was placed, and so on from layer to layer, until the cheese was complete. Planks were then placed on the top, and the pressure of the powerful wooden screw brought to bear on the mass. At once a copious stream of cider began to flow into the casks or vat, and here the fun began with the boys, who, well armed with long straws, sucked their fill. By the roadside stands the cider mill, Where a lowland slumber waits the rill: A great brown building, two stories high, On the western hill face warm and dry; And odorous piles of apples there Fill with incense the golden air; And masses of pomace, mixed with straw, To their amber sweets the late flies draw. The carts back up to the upper door, And spill their treasures in on the floor; Down through the toothed wheels they go To the wide, deep cider press below. And the screws are turned by slow degrees Down on the straw-laid cider cheese; And with each turn a fuller stream Bursts from beneath the graning beam, An amber stream the gods might sip, And fear no morrow's parched lip. But therefore, gods? Those idle toys Were soulless to real _Canadian_ boys! What classic goblet ever felt Such thrilling touches through it melt, As throb electric along a straw, When the boyish lips the cider draw?