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Updated: May 18, 2025
Colonel Everard gave his name and designation, as well as those of his companions, on which the corporal said, "he doubted not there would be orders for his instant admission; but, in the first place, Master Tomkins must be consulted, that he might learn their honours' mind." "How, sir!" said the Colonel, "do you, knowing who I am, presume to keep me on the outside of your post?"
"Oh, she's my chum," was the genial reply. "Top floor, front. You'll find her there." With thanks the visitor passed on, but had not climbed half a dozen steps when the clear-sounding voice caused her to stop. "Beg your pardon and all that kind of thing, but would you mind telling her that Tomkins is huffy? I forgot to mention it before I came out. Thanks, awfully."
He came into the establishment in the place of Mr Tomkins, when we quitted the Battersea wharf, and had taken an evident dislike to me, which appeared to increase every day, as Mr Drummond gave me fresh marks of his approbation. "You, Faithful, come out of that barge directly, and go to your desk. I will have no eye-servers under me. Come out, sir, directly."
You have them pointed out to you in the street, with their figures attached to them like titles. Mr. Tomkins, the twenty-pound man; an elector of uncommon purity. I saw the ruffian yesterday. He has an extra breadth to his hat.
The statesman had a packet of thick envelopes, decorated with that profusion of sealing-wax in which official recklessness lavishes the resources of the country: and your humble servant got just one little modest letter, containing another, written in pencil characters, varying in size between one and two inches; but how much pleasanter to read than my Lord's despatch, or the clerk's account of Smith ats Tomkins, yes, even than the Mary Ann correspondence! . . . Yes, my dear madam, you will understand me, when I say that it was from little Polly at home, with some confidential news about a cat, and the last report of her new doll.
William Tomkins was called, and Dig, with his tawny mane more than usually dishevelled, and an excited look on his face, entered the box. He glared round him defiantly, and then dug his hands into his pockets and waited for his questions. "Your name is William Tomkins?" began Barnworth. "Sir William Tomkins, Baronet," said the witness, amidst laughter. "To be sure, I beg your pardon, Sir William.
Tomkins is probably right in seeing in the name of Beth-lehem a reminiscence of the Babylonian god Lakhmu, who took part in the creation of the world, and whom a later philosophizing generation identified with Anu. But the theology of early Canaan is still but little known, and its pantheon is still in great measure a sealed book.
Mr Tomkins, you'll oblige me by putting the butter-jar down in the report, in case it should slip my memory. Bill Jones, indeed, looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Never mind. Well, it was, as I said before it was in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, when I was in the Channel fleet; we were then off Torbay, and had just taken two reefs in the top-sails.
"An't please you, Mistress Clere, black serge for a girdle." "Suit yourself," answered Mistress Clere, giving three pieces of serge, which were lying on the counter, a push towards Rose. "Well, Audrey Wastborowe, what are you standing there for? Ben't you a-going to that Tomkins?" "Well, nay, I don't think I be, if you'll let me have that stuff at elevenpence the ell.
"Truly, sir," said Tomkins, "it must have been a bough of the tree; they have them of all kinds here, and your honour may have pushed against one of them, which the Brazilians call iron-wood, a block of which, being struck with a hammer, saith Purchas in his Pilgrimage, ringeth like an anvil."
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