More Than a Dream: How Domestic Felicity Is Disturbed on Sunday Morning
Hamilton Spectator. December 1, 1883
It is generally acknowledged by civilized mankind that Sunday morning is attended with some manner of change which varies the routine labour of weekdays. According to the situation of the person, the feeling that there is something different is experienced to a greater or lesser degree. A reporter on a morning paper has the conviction forced upon him that he is so situated as to come under the order of those who give little thought to the change so perceptible to many others. But to the point. A news-gatherer for the Spectator awoke yesterday morning to listen to the sound of a growling, bass voice, carried to him through the wall which separated his cosy chamber from the kitchen of the folks dwelling next door. The hour was 8:45. An enjoyable feeling of listlessness, combined with the knowledge that the savoury steak, crisp potatoes and carefully browned bread, which invariably surrounds his breakfast plate, would not be prepared for some time, persuaded him to draw the coverlets under his chin and permit his fancies, guided by the somewhat indistinct sounds, to form an idea of domestic felicity.
A footfall on the stairway proclaims the descent of the old man, in all probability his feet encased in clean stockings. Down the hallway he strides, passing quickly over the oilcloth. He heralds his arrival in the kitchen by the query, ‘Is breakfast ready? ‘ The wife gives the porridge an extra stirring, sets the teapot on the damper of the stove, opens the oven door to see that the meat placed there to keep warm is not being burnt, and then replies, ‘ In a minute.’ At the washstand the eldest daughter busies herself with her little brothers and sisters, washing them, combing their hair, and rubbing and combing more vigorously when the whining becomes more pronounced. The father draws a chair near the stove, and lazily watches the progress of the breakfast. The cat is stretched beneath the stove, smiling the savoury smell from above, and softly purring in the heat-bath.
All of a sudden the reporter’s nerves were unstrung, and as quickly as possible he reached for his dressing gown. He heard a sizzling of water on the stove, the screech and scampering of cat, a yell of anguish from the old man, a scream from the woman, and hysterical laughter from the daughter and little children. He then realized that peace on earth and good will towards man would not shed its benign influence over one family on the morning of December 1.
