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Updated: June 12, 2025
EARLY in the present century it was generally reported among the neighbors of one Reuben Limbrick that he was in a fair way to make a comfortable little fortune by dealing in Salt. His place of abode was in Staffordshire, on a morsel of freehold land of his own appropriately called Salt Patch.
Reuben Limbrick's relatives, occasionally coming to stay with him, found the place prey on their spirits, and rejoiced when the time came for going home again. They were never pressed to stay against their will. Reuben Limbrick was not a hospitable or a sociable man.
Reuben Limbrick answered, "So much the worse for the neighborhood" and persisted in calling his property, "Salt Patch." The cottage was so small that it looked quite lost in the large garden all round it. There was a ground-floor and a floor above it and that was all. On either side of the passage, on the lower floor, were two rooms.
At length I found him out at his lodgings, and learned from him that he had been confined for several days among the vilest felons. I took him to the Police Office, to identify the Magistrate that committed him, and there I caused the police officer, Limbrick, to be placed at the bar, for robbing the boy of his books and money at the time he was apprehended.
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