1883 - July - 7

Sunday July 22, 1883 was a sweltering hot day in Hamilton, but nevertheless, a Spectator reporter was assigned the task of heading out York street to the cemetery.
          For sometime, there had been criticism that the solemn location had become a haven for pleasure seekers and occasional unruly elements on Sundays.
          However, it seemed that the high temperatures and humidity deterred many of those who had been causing problems:
          “For some reason, probably because of the hot weather, the attendance at the cemetery for the last few Sundays has been small, and those who do go bear a sad face and wear somber robes, telling the tale of sorrow and bereavement.”^1
1 “Cemetery and Park”   Hamilton Spectator. July 23, 1883.
          The Spectator man found the cemetery to be in a lovely condition as he walked around:
          “The last home of the departed at the present time presents a very fine appearance – the gay, blooming flowers filling the air with perfume and covering the graves with beauty.”¹
          While there were not a large number of questionable characters infesting the cemetery on that particular Sunday, the reporter found that the situation was not perfect:
          “There are a few who do not go for the purpose of visiting or decorating the graves of loved ones. A reporter saw a sight in the Church of England burying ground yesterday on the grass beneath the shade of a far spreading willow lay a young lady, charmingly attired in pink muslin and having about her an air of general gladness. She was reading some book, and from the ripple of laughter which came from the damsel, the reporter thought it must be something unusually funny. Stepping quickly up, he saw a large yellow-covered book, and at the page where the lady was reading was a picture of a clown, and over it the words, ‘Laugh and be happy.’ She was happy.”¹
                Nearby, the reporter noticed that at the pump, which supplied water for people to get water for the plants placed at the graves, a young man was washing himself:
          “His clothes were covered in mud and his face was dirty. He was bathing his head and washing a wound in his hand from which the blood flowed freely. Around him were about a dozen small boys saying, ‘why didn’t you thump him?’ The girl in the pink dress saw the man and walked away, remarking that men were awful sinners.”¹
                The last image recorded by the young man from the Spec who he saw in the cemetery was also unsettling:
          “Sitting at the side of a tombstone were four little girls reading their Sunday verses, and beside them was a quartet of boys and girls giggling and laughing at nothing.”¹
          Heading back to the downtown office at the Spectator, the reporter took a brief detour into Dundurn park where, he noted, “all looked fresh and beautiful after last night’s rain, but where there was very little bustle.”¹
                Looking around the lovely grounds near the castle, the reporter captured the following images:
          “(He noticed) two women fanning themselves beneath a tree, a man lying at his full length on the grass, having, for the sake of comfort, thrown off his coat, vest and shoes, which a little dog was endeavoring to convert into carpet rags, two men quietly smoking their pipes and two little girls swinging.”¹
                “Quiet day,” the reporter remarked to the gatekeeper when passing out of Dundurn park.
          “Yes,” the gatekeeper replied. “fewer people here today than there has been for a long time.”