Samuel

It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for Samuel Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was pronounced; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on the rail, took a bird’s–eye view of the Bar, and a comprehensive survey of the Bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect. ‘What’s your name, sir?’ inquired the judge. / ‘Sam Weller, my Lord,’ replied that gentleman. / ‘Do you spell it with a “V” or a “W”?’ inquired the judge. / ‘That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my Lord,’ replied Sam; ‘I never had occasion to spell it more than once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a “V.” ’ / Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, ‘Quite right too, Samivel, quite right. Put it down a “we,” my Lord, put it down a “we.”’

1836 March – 1837 October, Charles Dickens, “Chapter 34”, in The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, London: Chapman and Hall, […], published 1837, →OCLC

I went down the dark road between the hawthorn hedges puzzling over the why of like, repeating SAMUEL to myself and aloud and listening to the rolling wonder in its sound that had charmed her soul and led her life in tragic places. SAMUEL! There was a rolling wonder in the sound. Aye, there was!

1914, Jack London, The Strength of the Strong/Samuel