Partisans with tassels of gold and
crimson thread. But although our dress was identical, as you may see
from the prints, with that of the Beef-Eaters, we Tower Warders were of
a very different kidney to the lazy hangers-on about St. James's. Those
fellows were Anybodies, Parasites of Back-Stairs favourites, and spies
and lacqueys, transformed serving-men, butlers past drawing corks,
grooms and porters, even. They had nothing to do but loiter about the
antechambers and staircases of St. James's, to walk by the side of his
Majesty's coach when he went to the Houses of Parliament, or to fight
with the Marshalmen at Royal Funerals for petty spoils of wax-candles or
shreds of black hangings. The knaves actually wore wigs, and powdered
them, as though they had been so many danglers on the Mall. They passed
their time, when not in requisition about the Court, smoking and
card-playing in the taverns and mug-houses about Scotland Yard and
Spring Gardens. They had the run of a few servant-wenches belonging to
great people, but we did not envy them their sweethearts. Some of them,
I verily believe, were sunk so low as, when they were not masquerading
at court, to become tavern-drawers, or ushers and cryers in the courts
of law about Westminster. A very mean people were these Beef-eaters, and
they toiled not, neither did they spin, for the collops they ate.

But we brave boys of the Tower earned both our Beef and our Bread, and
the abundant Beer and Strong Waters with which we washed our victuals
down. We were military men, almost all. Some of us had fought at
Blenheim or Ramilies--these were the veterans: the very juniors had made
the French Maison du Roy scamper, or else crossed bayonets with the
Irish Brigade (a brave body of men, but deplorably criminal in carrying
arms against a Gracious and Clement Prince) in some of those well-fought
German Fields, in which His Royal Highness the Duke and my Lord George
Sackville (since Germaine, and my very good friend and Patron) covered
themselves with immortal glory. Nay some of us, One of us at least, had
fought and bled, to the amazement of his comrades and the admiration of
his commanders,--never mind where. 'Tis not the luck of every soldier to
have had his hand wrung by the Great Duke of Cumberland, or to have been
presented with ten guineas to drink his health withal by Field-Marshal
Wade. We would have thought it vile poltroonery and macaronism to have
worn wigs--to say nothing of