Thus the jollity and fun went on, but even so with this peculiarity of American kissing I wish to unequivocally record the fact that no impropriety was ever indulged in or thought of. Perhaps kissing in this general and public way cannot commend itself, but to the participants in those days it was fun, and no harm came from it, and, so far as I can see, it had just about as many arguments to sustain it as the mazy dance has, where they all go “promenading down the centre.” The blindfolded judge has at last pronounced upon everyone in the room, and a change of the play is sought. Charlie is present and has brought his guitar. Now this Charlie is a wealthy farmer’s son (a farmer who owns his two hundred and fifty acres and stock, and is worth $30,000 at least), who, becoming rather proficient at the school, has been away a term to the old Normal School at Toronto. It must have been at the Normal he learned the guitar and began cultivating the incipient moustache which appears upon his upper lip like a streak of soft down. Still it is a moustache, and as such it is worth cultivating. And Charlie crosses his legs and proceeds to tune his guitar, amidst the good-humored gibes of the young ladies intently looking on. He gets the tune after all, and commences to hum an air and now and again give the instrument another turn of the screws. Boldly Charlie strikes out, and it is all about “Mrs. Fogarty’s Christmas cake.” At the termination of each verse the applause of handclapping follows, and Charlie is spurred on to renewed efforts. The chorus comes in from this distance of years in my memory: “There were plums and prunes and cherries, And nuts and candies and cinnamon too; There were caraway seeds in abundance, And the crust it was nailed on with glue, And it would kill a man twice If he ate him a slice Of Mrs. Fogarty’s Christmas cake.” Well done, Charlie! and he’s free to go home with the prettiest girl in the group, and said prettiest girl is not at all averse to accept of Charlie’s company. This is a faithful picture of one of the scenes of the days of my boyhood. From out of the assemblage of those paring bees have sprung much of the bone and sinew of our glorious Province (the freest and best under heaven). The lads have become our M.P.’s, our wealthy merchants and staunch landowners, and many, I am sorry to say, have gone to the United States and given that country the benefit of their untamable Canadian energies and sturdy physique, while others fill the professional walks in our own land.