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AT THE FORKS OF THE GRAND and well-to-do householders kept their horses and rigs, and little boys met in solemn conclave or romped in the straw and hay. And gone are the metal protectors that used to guard telephone and hydro-poles from gnawing teeth. And the hitching posts! And the horse-troughs! The fountain that until recently stood in front of the post-office was a monument to the horse-days. During its last years, the bowl, from which thirsty lips once sucked the cooling . water, was as empty as the town was of horses. In the days of the horse, Parisians seemed to turn their minds in I towards the centre of their community more than they do today. They seemed to be less concerned with the great outside world, and to feel that it was far away and somewhat unreal. They lived in a little world of their own, whose boundaries lay not much farther out than an old plug could trot during an hour or so. In many ways, the centre of their world was the old town hall. With its tower, which could be seen above the trees, and its bell, which four times a day proclaimed the hour, it was a visible symbol of the community feeling of the day. When, in the council chamber of this old hall, a councillor ve- hemently declaimed to the applauding gallery upon matters of the highest import, the Dominion House of Commons and the British House of Lords became as naught. How insignificant was Glad- stone's bill for extending the right to vote in comparison to the local by-law requiring the owners of pig-sties to cleanse them regularly! Who cared about Sir John MacDonald's flaying the liberals after hearing an upper-town representative castigate the councillors from Snob Hill! This preoccupation with local affairs was intensified by the fact that there were two, and sometimes three, local papers, each of which would violently support opposing points of view and would attack with an amazing amount of vituperation anybody who dared to differ. Great political meetings were held in the auditorium of the town hall. In politics, Parisians tended to embody the national issues of the day in their local champions, rather than in a federal leader. According to the Brant Review and The Paris Star, the future well- being of the whole Dominion depended upon the election of their respective champion. And, of course, the auditorium and the basement were the scenes of countless entertainments, all of which made Parisians feel that they were part of a snug little community. This preoccupation with local affairs sometimes manifested itself in curious ways. For example, in i885, the editor of the Brant Review was petty enough to report that: A young man in Company with a young lady was seen walking up West River Street the other evening minus a hat. Our advice to that young man is-keep your hat on or you'll lose your hair, the nights are cold. 216