Advice of the Day: Dog Walking Authority

“Let the dog choose the route — you’re just there for company.”

– The sage

The Sage has long understood that walking a dog is not about discipline, structure, or carefully planned routes. His advice today recognises the true hierarchy of the pavement: “Let the dog choose the route — you’re just there for company.”

According to The Sage, the dog possesses superior knowledge of lampposts, hedges, and mysterious scents that demand urgent investigation. Interfering only delays the inevitable. By surrendering direction entirely, you conserve energy and maintain the illusion of partnership, even if you’re technically being dragged towards a bush for the third time.

The Sage also notes that allowing the dog to lead adds excitement. You may discover new streets, unexpected fields, or someone else’s front garden. True wisdom, he insists, is accepting that on a dog walk, you are not the leader — you are the assistant.


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Quote of the Day: A quiet night in

“A quiet night in is not missing out — it is catching up with yourself.”
The Sage


The Sage has always believed that silence has been unfairly underrated. In a world that equates movement with meaning and noise with importance, a quiet night can feel suspiciously unproductive. Yet he notes that some of the most necessary conversations we ever have are the ones we conduct inwardly — away from crowds, away from obligation, and away from the need to perform.

He observes that staying in is often mistaken for absence. Invitations declined, plans postponed, lights dimmed early — these can appear like retreat. But The Sage insists that withdrawal is not the same as loneliness. A quiet evening offers something rare: the opportunity to listen to one’s own thoughts without interruption or applause.

With gentle humour, he reminds us that catching up with oneself is long overdue for most people. The world will still be noisy tomorrow. For tonight, peace is not avoidance — it is maintenance. And sometimes, the best company available is the one already at home.


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This Day in History: 20 February 1771 — Richard Mortis and the Moonlight Ambush

On 20 February 1771, Richard Mortis stood before the Old Bailey charged with willfully and maliciously shooting Thomas Parkinson, the younger.

The jury found him guilty.

He was sentenced to death.

He was hanged on 27 March 1771.


The Background: Poaching and Resentment

Thomas Parkinson, junior, was the son of a steward managing estates in Hertfordshire for Lord Salisbury and Lord Monson.

He had previously laid an information against Mortis for poaching.

That grievance did not fade.

A fortnight before the shooting, a witness heard Mortis declare:

“I wish I had known before he had gone, I would have bestowed a week’s time on him, but I would have killed him before he had gone.”

He reportedly added that had he known Parkinson would inform against him, he would have “cleft him down” with his axe.

The motive was clear.


The Night of 29 December

On the evening of 29 December, Parkinson had been shooting with companions and later stopped at the Bull Inn near Brompton.

Mortis followed him throughout the day.

He entered the inn shortly after Parkinson and sat apart.

Nothing was said between them.

When Parkinson left for home, about a mile and a half distant, Mortis went ahead of him.

It was, Parkinson testified, “a remarkable moonlight night.”

At a gate near a grove, Parkinson saw Mortis waiting.

They walked together through fields. Mortis forced conversation about hares and partridges.

At one stile, Parkinson heard what he described as the “snick of a gun.”

Mortis agreed — perhaps an owl, he suggested.

Moments later, as Parkinson reached another gate:

Mortis fired.


The Shooting

Parkinson testified:

“The prisoner fired at me: I reeled a little: I looked up and saw the pistol in his hand.”

He was shot in the neck and shoulder at close range.

Mortis allegedly cried:

“There, d—n you, take that,”

and swore repeatedly.

Parkinson fled, pursued by Mortis, and reached the house of Richard Cawdell.

Witnesses described him as “in a very bloody condition.”

Surgeons later extracted numerous small shot from his neck, shoulder, mouth and tongue.

The wound narrowly missed the jugular vein.

Had the shot struck slightly differently, the surgeon said, death would have been certain.


Arrest

A group of men set out and found Mortis at home, dressed and ready.

He denied everything.

No pistol was found.

But the prior threat, the pursuit, the proximity, and the wound were compelling.


The Defence

Mortis claimed innocence.

He said he had been hunting with Parkinson the previous day and had no firearms.

But the earlier threat to kill, testified by William Spencer, weighed heavily.


Verdict and Sentence

The jury returned:

Guilty.

The sentence:

Death.

Richard Mortis was executed on 27 March 1771.


Poaching and the Law

In eighteenth-century England, poaching was not merely rural trespass.

Game laws protected the rights of landowners and aristocrats. Informers who prosecuted poachers often became targets of resentment.

Violence arising from poaching disputes was not uncommon — but shooting an informer elevated the matter to capital crime.


Why This Case Matters

The Mortis case reveals:

  • The volatility of rural class tension
  • The severity of eighteenth-century capital law
  • The fragility of life in isolated countryside settings
  • The importance of prior threat evidence in criminal trials

It also demonstrates how thin the line was between attempted murder and murder itself.

A few inches spared Parkinson’s life.

Mortis was not spared his own.


Capital Punishment in 1771

In 1771, England’s “Bloody Code” was still in full force.

More than 160 offences were technically punishable by death.

Attempted murder by shooting clearly fell within that framework.

Execution at Tyburn remained a public spectacle.


Sources

  • Old Bailey Proceedings, 20 February 1771, trial of Richard Mortis
  • Execution record, 27 March 1771

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This Day in History: 18 February 1775 — John Smith and the Fatal Return

On 18 February 1775, John Smith stood once more before the Old Bailey.

He had already escaped the gallows once.

Now he was on trial for doing the one thing the law most feared:
Returning from transportation before the expiration of his term.

He was found guilty.

He was sentenced to death.


The First Crime: Highway Robbery

Smith’s troubles had begun at the Maidstone Summer Assizes, 1773, where he was tried for a highway robbery committed against William Love, described as an old Greenwich College man.

Robert Stephens, turnkey of Maidstone Gaol, testified:

“He was found guilty and received judgment of death.”

Smith was confined seven or eight months.

But like many capital convicts of the era, he received a conditional reprieve.

His sentence of death was commuted on condition that he be:

Transported for fourteen years.

Stephens recalled telling him plainly:

“Jack you go for fourteen years.”

Smith allegedly replied:

“America should not hold him fourteen years, nor two neither.”

It was a boast that would soon prove disastrous.


Transportation and Return

Smith was placed aboard ship. The captain gave receipt for his body.

At some point thereafter — the exact mechanism unknown — Smith returned to England.

Whether he escaped, bribed a crewman, or simply slipped back amid lax enforcement, the record does not say.

But on 12 January 1775, he was discovered in Aldersgate Street.

Richard Spratly, who had known him most of his life, arrested him.

The offence was simple:

He was back.


The Law on Returning from Transportation

Under eighteenth-century statute, returning from transportation before expiry of one’s term was itself a capital felony.

No new crime was required.

Presence alone was enough.

When Smith appeared at the Old Bailey in February 1775, the prosecution merely had to prove:

  1. His original conviction
  2. His sentence of transportation
  3. His identity
  4. His unlawful return

The copy of the original conviction was read in court.

The jury had little difficulty.


The Defence

Smith claimed:

“I was sent out of the land; I never received sentence of transportation. I did not know for what time.”

But the turnkey contradicted him.

“We inform them.”

The jury believed the officials.


Verdict and Sentence

The verdict:

Guilty.

The sentence:

Death.

For the second time in two years, John Smith stood condemned to hang.

However, further record shows his sentence outcome was again transportation, and on 14 July 1775 he was transported for a further fourteen years.

Twice spared. Twice exiled.


Returning from Transportation

In the eighteenth century, transportation was intended as removal and deterrence.

Convicts sentenced to seven or fourteen years were legally forbidden to return before expiration.

If they did:

  • They could be indicted without evidence of any new offence
  • Their previous conviction was read into the record
  • The punishment was death

It was the law’s way of enforcing imperial exile.


Money Then & Now — Highway Robbery Context

Highway robbery was among the most feared crimes of the eighteenth century.

Victims were often:

  • Travellers
  • Merchants
  • Pensioners like William Love

Robbery of even modest sums could result in a death sentence.

Public fear of armed robbery meant courts treated offenders severely — especially repeat offenders.

Smith’s original reprieve was mercy. His return was seen as defiance.


The American War Complication

Smith was transported again in July 1775.

That timing is extraordinary.

The American Revolutionary War had begun in April 1775. Within months, transportation to the American colonies became politically and logistically chaotic.

Convict ships were disrupted. Contracts faltered. Prison hulks began to fill in England.

It is entirely possible that Smith’s second transportation:

  • Was delayed
  • Was redirected
  • Or placed him amid the collapsing system of Atlantic penal exile

If so, he became not merely a criminal — but a casualty of imperial upheaval.


Why This Case Matters

John Smith’s story reveals:

  • The brutality of eighteenth-century penal law
  • The fragility of conditional mercy
  • The importance of transportation in Britain’s criminal system
  • The global dimension of punishment
  • The instability of empire on the eve of revolution

From Maidstone to America — and back to the dock at the Old Bailey — Smith’s life traces the harsh geography of eighteenth-century justice.


Sources

  • Old Bailey Proceedings, 18 February 1775, trial of John Smith
  • Kent Maidstone Assizes reference (1773 highway robbery conviction)
  • Old Bailey Online punishment records

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This Day in History: 13 February 1706 — Peter Blake and the Crime of Bigamy

On 13 February 1706, in the parish of St. Martin’s, New Sarum (Salisbury), Peter Blake married Mary Blackstone.

Sixteen years later, that marriage returned to haunt him.

In October 1722, Blake stood before the Old Bailey indicted for taking a second wife while his first was still living — the serious felony of bigamy.

He was found guilty.


The First Marriage

Thomas Holms, Clerk of St. Martin’s Parish in New Sarum, gave clear evidence:

“The Prisoner on the Thirteenth of February 1706 was married to Mary Blackstone Spinster, of the same Parish.”

Holms confirmed he had seen Mary Blackstone alive within three weeks of giving testimony. He even produced the parish register to verify the marriage.

The prosecution strengthened its case further: Edward Farr travelled to Salisbury to obtain certification of the first marriage and saw Mary Blackstone there — living, and with three children by Blake.

The first marriage was not in doubt.


The Second Marriage

Despite that existing union, Blake married again.

Mary Blake testified that on 31 August 1722 she was married to him at St. Peter’s, Cornhill, by licence from the Archbishop’s Court.

She had known him only briefly:

“Having seen him but the Wednesday before.”

They cohabited for three nights. Then she heard rumours.

She was told he had another wife.

She went to him no more.

The officiating minister, Mr. Swan, produced the licence. The parish clerk confirmed the ceremony.

The second marriage, too, was not in doubt.


The Defence

Blake claimed he believed his first wife to be dead.

“He had heard by several Letters that his first Wife was dead, and thought that she was.”

He further alleged interference by one Mr. Clifton, suggesting jealousy and financial motives had stirred the inquiry against him.

But belief is not proof.

And the parish register was a stubborn witness.


The Verdict

The jury returned their decision:

Guilty.

Bigamy in the early eighteenth century was not a mere domestic irregularity. It was a felony, carrying serious penal consequences.


Sentence

On 10 October 1722, when judgment was pronounced, Peter Blake was among those:

Burnt in the Hand.

Branding was a common punishment for certain felonies at this period. A hot iron, often marked with a letter corresponding to the offence, was pressed against the offender’s thumb.

The mark served as:

  • A public sign of conviction
  • A deterrent
  • A permanent legal record on the body

Branding spared Blake from harsher penalties such as death or transportation, but it left him marked — physically and socially.

(For context on branding as punishment, see the Old Bailey’s overview of penal practices in the early eighteenth century.)


Why This Case Matters

The case of Peter Blake reveals:

  • The legal seriousness of marriage law in early 18th-century England
  • The importance of parish registers as documentary evidence
  • The global and local mobility of working people
  • The use of branding as a judicial punishment

Unlike the petty theft cases of February 1818 and 1819, this was a moral and legal breach touching the sanctity of marriage itself.

And though he escaped the gallows, Blake left the courtroom permanently marked.


Sources

  • Old Bailey Proceedings, October 1722 session, trial of Peter Blake (t17221010-19)
  • Old Bailey Online, “Punishments at the Old Bailey” — branding

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Quote of the Day: Wating for the postman

“The sound of the letterbox is the smallest drumroll in life.”
The Sage


The Sage has always been fond of small sounds that carry large meanings. The rattle of the letterbox, brief and metallic, lasts only a moment — yet it stirs something disproportionate in the listener. It is the announcement of possibility. For a split second, life pauses in anticipation of what may have arrived.

He observes that the sound itself is never dramatic. There are no trumpets, no declarations, just a quiet clatter and a thud on the mat. Yet in that instant, imagination races ahead of reality. It could be good news, long-awaited news, or merely a catalogue. The Sage notes that hope does not discriminate — it flares all the same.

With gentle humour, he reminds us that the drama often exceeds the contents. But that is not the point. The value lies in the anticipation — in the reminder that something unexpected might be waiting just beyond the door. In that modest metallic knock, The Sage hears life’s smallest drumroll: not for certainty, but for possibility.


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Advice of the Day: Valentine’s Card Courage

“On Valentine’s Day, choose the card that makes you slightly nervous.”

The Sage

The Sage has always believed that Valentine’s Day is less about romance and more about risk management. His advice for navigating the card aisle is bold, slightly alarming, and delivered with a steady hand: “On Valentine’s Day, choose the card that makes you slightly nervous.”

According to The Sage, a safe Valentine’s card says nothing. It smiles politely. It thanks you for “being you.” It could just as easily be given to a colleague retiring after 12 years in accounts. But the card that makes you hesitate — the one that feels almost too sincere, too dramatic, too committed — that’s the one that means business.

The Sage does advise caution. If you find yourself sweating in the shop, checking the return policy, or rehearsing explanations in advance, you may have drifted beyond “romantic” and into “life-altering.” But Valentine’s Day, he insists, is not about safety — it’s about choosing ink with courage and hoping for applause instead of consequences.


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Advice of the Day: Romantic Escalation

“Ask what their ex used to buy — then go bigger.”

The Sage

The Sage has always believed that love is not about comparison — except when it absolutely is. His advice today is bold, reckless, and likely to require medical supervision: “Ask what their ex used to buy — then go bigger.”

According to The Sage, this approach removes uncertainty. If the ex bought flowers, you buy a bouquet large enough to block out natural light. If they gave chocolates, you deliver a hamper that requires a forklift. Romance, he insists, is a competitive sport — and victory lies in scale.

The Sage does, however, acknowledge the risks. Mentioning the ex may cause silence. Going bigger may cause suspicion. Doing both may cause you to sleep on the sofa. But he maintains that commitment is best demonstrated through excessive escalation and unwavering confidence. Love, after all, should be memorable — if not survivable.


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Quote of the Day: Hanging a picture reveals more about the hanger than the art itself

“No picture is ever straight enough for the person who hung it.”
The Sage


The Sage has always believed that hanging a picture reveals more about the hanger than the art itself. The moment the nail is tapped in and the frame is lifted into place, doubt creeps quietly into the room. What once seemed level from a distance suddenly tilts under scrutiny. The Sage observes that the human eye becomes most critical when it has been responsible for the result.

He notes that visitors rarely notice the slight lean, the half-degree of imperfection, or the imagined imbalance that torments the host. To everyone else, the painting looks perfectly content on its wall. But to the one who hung it, the smallest deviation feels monumental. Perfection, he says, is always hardest on the person who tried to achieve it.

With gentle humour, The Sage reminds us that this extends beyond walls and frames. We are often most troubled by the flaws in things we’ve done ourselves. Yet life, like a picture, rarely needs to be perfectly straight to be beautifully placed. Sometimes stepping back is the only adjustment required.


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This Day in History: 12 February 1819 — John Barker and the Albion Tavern Theft

On 12 February 1819, the commencement of a case of tavern dishonesty which was to come before the Old Bailey. The accused was John Barker, aged forty-six, charged with stealing wine-glasses and other items from the Albion Tavern in Aldersgate Street.

The setting was convivial. The outcome was not.


The Setting: The Albion Tavern

The prosecutor, Daniel Kay, kept the Albion Tavern, Aldersgate Street, in partnership with John Frederick Kay. Barker was employed there as an occasional waiter — a position that required trust, particularly in a busy late-night tavern.

On the night of 12 February, shortly before one o’clock in the morning, the waiters who had worked that day were gathered together to be paid.

Then came the sound that altered the evening:

“A wine-glass fell on the floor from among them.”

According to testimony, the other waiters declared it had fallen from Barker.


The Discovery

Daniel Kay acted immediately.

“I gave him in charge.”

As Barker stepped outside the tavern door, Kay searched him. He felt additional objects in the prisoner’s pockets.

The search revealed:

  • Four wine-glasses in his coat pocket
  • Two more wine-glasses in his breeches
  • One pepper-box
  • One d’oyley
  • Sugar and wax-candles concealed with the cloth

The goods were later produced in court and sworn to as property of the tavern.

The concealment was deliberate and methodical.


Arrest and Testimony

Constable John William Branch confirmed the arrest:

“I took the prisoner in charge, found the property on him, and a silk handkerchief, which he said was not his own.”

The inclusion of an additional silk handkerchief — disclaimed by the prisoner — did little to improve his position before the jury.


The Defence

When called upon to explain himself, Barker offered a brief and familiar defence:

“I was in liquor.”

Drunkenness was commonly cited in Georgian and Regency courtrooms. It might explain behaviour — but it rarely excused theft.


The Verdict

The London Jury, sitting before Mr Recorder, returned their finding:

GUILTY.

Barker was recorded as being aged 46.


Sentence

For stealing goods valued at 11 shillings, John Barker was sentenced to:

  • Three months’ confinement

Three months was a significant term for a working man. Beyond imprisonment itself, the conviction would have damaged his prospects for future employment in taverns or similar establishments where trust was essential.


Why This Case Matters

The case of John Barker illustrates:

  • The vulnerability of taverns to internal theft
  • The swift action taken by employers in suspected dishonesty
  • The limited tolerance courts showed toward intoxication as a defence
  • The graduated nature of sentencing for petty larceny

Wine-glasses and table items may seem trivial, but in a commercial tavern they represented loss, breach of trust, and reputational damage.

In early nineteenth-century London, that was more than enough to send a man to prison.


Sources

  • Old Bailey Proceedings Online, trial of John Barker, 12 February 1819.

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