A Spectator reporter started to compose some very interesting slices of life in 1883 Hamilton which eventually became stories from The Idle Spectator – this could be one of them before the pseudonym was chosen :
“On Monday morning, at a very early hour, as a Spectator compositor was going home up King street, wondering why it is that people who write long letters for publication are invariably the worst penmen in the country, he was startled at an appearance on the sidewalk before him. A figure in white approached rapidly, and with noiseless steps. The compositor’s hair didn’t rise, because he parted company with it shortly after his marriage, and his head is not now much more shaggy than a billiard ball. But he felt perturbed within. He was possessed of a desire to fly, but his feet were apparently rooted to the ground and he couldn’t budge. The ghost came nearer, and the compositor’s feet grew heavier and heavier, and although the mercury was toying with zero, he perspired freely. Presently the ghost’s noiseless progress brought him near enough for the compositor to make him out. The spook turned out to be a lad of 14, sand boots, sans socks, sans culottes, sans hat, sans everything except shirt and drawers. His eyes were wide open and fixed, , and the compositor who had seen Emma Abbot in La Sonnambula, at once tumbled to the fact that he had struck a somnambulist. The weights fell from his feet, and he collared the ex-spook and shook the somnambulism out of him. The weather was very cold, and when the sleepwalker regained his senses, he realized the fact that he was rather lightly dressed for a moonlight ramble in midwinter, and his teeth rattled like castanets. The compositor took him home, where he found that the somnambulist had walked out of the house without disturbing the family, and had half-sprung the front door behind him. The somnambulist’s name is Pearce, and he resides at 96 George street.”5
