Mist. On the way to Buxton I noted several urchins engaged
in the ancient practice of cat throwing.( I recall fondly from my youth)
Amongst them was the son of my manservant Goiter. In the town I found that
damnable rogue Swelt the Magistrate fixing a notice to the board in the market
place looking as always as if he had licked piss off a nettle.
The notice read
“Several complaints have been made to the magistrates that
apprentices and others have been playing at a number of games unlawful. The
Magistrates are determined to prosecute with the utmost severity all persons
playing at cards, dice, Billiards, Skittles, Cock fighting, Cat throwing and
he-who-could-expectorate- the -furthest which practices are deleterious to
public health and morals of the populace”
I retired to the Goat and Quaker where I heard the following
curious tale gleaned from a newspaper. It seems that there was a house of a
Greek in Constantinople which had been set on fire. By the assistance of a few Janissaries,
he had nearly saved all his goods, but by some fatal chance, one of the
children lying in a cradle had been forgotten. No possibility was left of
re-entering the house and the despairing father had given up the child as lost.
At the very instant a large mastiff the property of the Greek was seen coming
out of the fire holding the baby in his mouth. Vain were the attempts to make
the dog stop. The sagacious hound ran through the crowd and did not stop until
he reached the home of a friend; he dropped the bundle at the door. The
gratitude of the father to his precious servant cannot be experienced but the
Greek killed the mastiff and had the animal dressed and served at a meal to
solemnize the child’s escape. So much for Greeks bearing gifts
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