The Hamilton
Spectator, in 1885 and early 1886, had an anonymous, occasional columnist,
known only as The Kicker.
After an absence of
several weeks, The Kicker and his current kick in the Spectator issue of
January 16, 1886:
“I beg to assure my
multitudinous admirers that I am still alive – and kicking. The reason that I
have not kicked in print for several weeks is not that I am out of subjects ,
or that I have lost my inborn inclination, but because there has not been kicking room for me in
these columns lately. I have been roughly elbowed out by election matters, and
long lists of secret society officers and similarly exciting reading, until I
begin to despair of ever having the opportunity to pour my complaints into the
bosom of a sympathizing public which has been yearning to commune with one.
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Did it ever occur to
you that there is actually no place of public resort in Hamilton, outside of
saloons, hotels and billiard rooms, where young men can go and spend a pleasant
hour or two in the evening. I will not even except the free reading room of the
Young Men’s Christian association, for, excellent as the work which is being
done by that organization, it does not offer sufficient attractions to draw any
but spiritually-minded young men into its fold. I visited the Y. M. C. A.
reading room a short time ago, and examined the magazines and pamphlets
scattered over the table. They were, with one exception, either of a religious
or a technical character. I asked the person in charge if no secular
periodicals were kept for perusal, and was informed that they were in the
parlor and were intended for the use of members. Now, religious and technical
literature will not prove efficacious in drawing the youth of our city off the
streets or out of questionable resorts at night. But the Y.M.C.A. reading room
is the only institution in Hamilton which as all resembles a public resort for
men of all classes, where the can improve their minds and rest their bodies
after a day’s work. There are hundreds of young clerks and mechanics here who are
comparative strangers in the city and live in boarding houses. After working
hard all day, they go to their temporary homes. What are they to do? Their
surroundings are often uncongenial and they do not feel “at home.” Usually
there is too much noise and interruption for them to read comfortably. Where
can they go? The only places where they can go in out of the cold and sit down
are the hotels and saloons and billiard rooms – and into them a large
proportion of the young men wander. There are two kinds of active Christian
propagandism – the exhortative and the practical. Every Sunday, the preachers use the former
method, they warn young men against the snares which beset their path and
exhort them to make good use of their time. This is very good as far as it
goes. But practical Christianity should go father, it seems to me. It should
not only warn and exhort; it should also help. Assuming that there is such a
personality as the devil, and that saloons and billiard rooms and questionable
resorts in general, are his temples and resting places, is it not a reflection
on the practical Christianity of our citizens that there is no effort made in
this city of 40,000 inhabitants to establish a public resort which will prove a
rival of those under the control of his majesty of sheol ? The free library, if
it had not been voted down in such a pig-headed manner, would have met many of
the requirements of such a place. But the agitation should not have been
allowed to collapse like a pricked bubble as soon as the bylaw was quashed.
There are not a few public-spirited and big-hearted men of wealth among us who
would gladly subscribe towards the establishment of a free library and reading
room and gymnasium if the scheme were properly laid before them. If some
energetic persons would push it, I believe that even yet private philanthropy
would give what public stupidity and stinginess refused.
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There is plenty of work in Hamilton
for an energetic society for the prevention of cruelty to animals. One day last
week, I saw a poor old horse, which should have been superannuated years ago,
drag a heavily-laden cart up James street where the steep ascent begins. His
eyeballs stood out, his lean old sides reeked, and he fairly groaned with his
efforts; but the load was too heavy and the cart stuck. Then the big, brutal
driver, who had been whacking the animal over the bones with the butt end of
his whip, dismounted, and deliberately kicked the poor creature in the belly. I
was delighted to see that the old horse had spirit enough in him to try to kick
his master, and so resented his wanton cruelty that he would not budge an inch
until the load was lightened
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