In the first place, a riding-post started from hence to London and from London hither a-gallop with brazen trumpet and loaded pistols, to keep his Majesty certified every day of the Fleet's doings, and the Fleet of his Majesty's wishes; and all Harwich a-tremble half the night under its bedclothes, but consoled to find the King taking so much notice of it.

And the old jail moved from St.Austin's Gate, and a new one building this side of Church Street, where Calamy's Store used to stand--with a new town-hall, too--" Here, as he paused to scrape the captain's cheek, one of the two townsmen on the settle--a square man in grey, with a red waistcoat-- withdrew the long pipe from his mouth and groaned heavily.
"What's that ?" asked the hunchback snappishly.
"That, sir, is Mr.Pomphlett," the barber explained.

"He disapproves of the amount spent in decorating the new hall with pillars, rails, balusters, and what not; for the king's arms, to be carved over the mayor's seat and richly gilt, are to be a private gift of Mr.Isaac Betts, and the leathern fire-buckets to be hung round the wall--" Mr.Pomphlett emitted another groan, which the barber good-naturedly tried to drown in talk.

Captain Barker heard it, however.
"There it is again!" "Yes, sir.

You see Mr.Pomphlett allows his public spirit to run high.