With outposts so widely distributed, it is the more necessary that there should be some unmistakable uniform, that whether it be in a Paris ordinary, or on the steppes of Tartary, one may easily recognise the scion of the order. Such a uniform, so at least we are constrained to understand it, has, for the most part, been supplied by a subdued and discriminate use of the materials of swearing. A Sandwich Islander appreciates this when he salutes a British crew in terms compounded of oaths and ribaldry.[32] He is really intending to denote his sense of the distinction of the exalted visitors, when he exclaims: "Very glad see you! Damn your eyes! Me like English very much. Devilish hot, sir! Goddam!" It is to claim kindred with the brotherhood that swell surgeons vent their "blasted!" and "damnation!" as they tender to the ailments of rackety young patients. It is to bridge over the gulf between carelessness and propriety that even mild college tutors will sometimes venture upon a modest "botheration!" or "confounded!" The most fertile and most voluminous swearer, we have been given to understand, exists in the person of one of the leading _litterateurs_ of the century when desiring to curry favour with a company of fast men. Not that it can be altogether denied that there are other contrivances whereby the members of the fraternity succeed in courting mutual recognition. The topic of sporting is, perhaps, the most effectual of these, and it must be understood that a man's convivial condition is often undergoing a crucial investigation when he is questioned as to his views upon such subjects as the Cesarewitch or the Cambridgeshire. The several processes of swearing would seem however to supply the readiest hall-mark, and are rather of an easier manipulation. This theory of indulgence might go far to explain the leniency of men like Jonathan Swift towards a custom which, had they wished it, they might have deposed from its high places by their ridicule. Swearing was far from being a rock of offence to the society of Harley and St. John. Why else, again, has it been permitted from commanders of the stamp of Picton in the field, and from lawyers of the pattern of Thurlow on the woolsack? "I will now proceed to my seventh point," pursued Sir Ilay Campbell, arguing an interminable Scotch appeal in the House of Lords. "I'm damned if you do," shrieked Lord Thurlow, and the House adjourned neither angry or scandalised. And again, how else explain the exuberance of the Duchess of Marlborough's language when calling at Lord Mansfield's lodgings? His lordship, as we know, was away, and on his return questioned the doorkeeper as to the name of his visitor. "I do not know who she was," replied the man, "but she swore like a lady of quality."