But I mentioned ‘badges.’ It is amusing to see how the early love of distinctive ensigns has made its mark here. While it is an English instinct to reverence authority, this authority itself has ever been distinguished by the outward manifestation of dress and emblem. The ceremonious requirements of the feudal state have had their effect. As I endeavoured to show in a previous chapter, these were simply overwhelming. The office of each was not more distinct than his outward accompaniments, and it was by the latter his precise position was known. The ‘baton,’ however, seems to have held the foremost place as a token of authority—a sword, a javelin, a spear, a wand, a rod, it mattered not what, a something borne in the hand, and you might have known in that day an official. Nor are we as yet free from its influence. Royalty still has its sceptre, the Household of State its ‘black rod,’ magistracy has its mace, proctorship its poker, the churchwarden his staff, the beadle—far the most important of all to the charity children and himself—his stick. From official, this rage for badges seems to have passed on to the quieter and more ordinary avocations. The shepherd was not better known by his crook, the huntsman not better known by his horn, than the pilgrim by his ‘bourdon,’ the woodward by his ‘bill,’ or the surveyor by his ‘meteyard’[500] or ‘metewand.’ How easy then for all these words to be turned into sobriquets. How natural they should become slang epithets for those who carried them. How natural that we should find them all in our directories. ‘Meatyard,’ ‘Burdon’ or ‘Bourdon,’ ‘Crook,’ ‘Wand,’ ‘Staff,’ ‘Rodd,’ ‘Horne,’[501] all are there. Nor did the personal characteristics of such bearers escape the good-humoured raillery of our ancestors. Far from it. ‘Waghorn,’[502] would easily fix itself upon some awkward horn-blower; ‘Wagspear’ (‘Mabill Wagspere,’ W. 1.), or ‘Shakespeare’ (‘William Shakespeare,’ V. 1.), or ‘Shakeshaft’[503] or ‘Drawsword’ (‘Henry Drawswerde,’ A.), or ‘Drawespe’ (‘Thomas Drawespe,’ A.) upon some over-demonstrative sergeant or clearer of the way; or ‘Wagstaffe’ (‘Robert Waggestaff,’ A.) on some obnoxious beadle.[504] ‘Tipstaffe’ we know for certain as a name of this class—he was a bumbailiff. In 1392 one Roger Andrew was publicly indicted for pretending to be an officer of the Marshalsea, which he did by bearing a ‘wooden staff with horn at either end, called a “tippestaffe.”’ It does not seem, however, to have been confined only to him. Chaucer says of the frère, that— With scrippe, and tipped staf, tucked high In every house he gan to pore and pry; and but two lines further on he tells us— His felaw had a staff tipped with horn,