The professional duties of a footman are
quite as difficult and various. The red-jackets who hold gentlemen's
horses in St. James's Street could do the work just as well as those
vacuous, good-natured, gentlemanlike, rickety little lieutenants, who
may be seen sauntering about Pall Mall, in high-heeled little boots, or
rallying round the standard of their regiment in the Palace Court, at
eleven o'clock, when the band plays. Did the beloved reader ever see
one of the young fellows staggering under the flag, or, above all, going
through the operation of saluting it? It is worth a walk to the Palace
to witness that magnificent piece of tomfoolery.
I have had the honour of meeting once or twice an old gentleman, whom I
look upon to be a specimen of army-training, and who has served in
crack regiments, or commanded them, all his life. I allude to
Lieutenant-General the Honourable Sir George Granby Tufto, K.C.B.,
K.T.S., K.H., K.S.W., &c. &c.. His manners are irreproachable generally;
in society he is a perfect gentleman, and a most thorough Snob.
A man can't help being a fool, be he ever so old, and Sir George is a
greater ass at sixty-eight than he was when he first entered the army at
fifteen. He distinguished himself everywhere: his name is mentioned
with praise in a score of Gazettes: he is the man, in fact, whose padded
breast, twinkling over with innumerable decorations, has already been
introduced to the reader.
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