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KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE. 



Nobody likes to be nobody, but every- 

 body is pleased to think himself somebody ; 

 and everybody is somebody. But the worst 

 of the matter is, when anybody thinks him- 

 self to be somebody, he is too much inclined 

 to think everybody else to be nobody. 



Kings, queens, and critics speak of them- 

 selves in the plural number ; and do you 

 know why, gentle reader ? I dare say you 

 think it a piece of arrogance and pomposity 

 in all. It is no such thing ; it is rather a 

 mark of humility. A king, or a queen, may 

 issue a proclamation, a critic may pronounce 

 an opinion, but not one of them think them- 

 selves persons of sufficient importance to 

 give the proclamation or the judgment as 

 their own individual act and deed ; in every 

 case, the plural pronoun is used to signify, 

 that the king or queen is acting by the ad- 

 vice of council ; and that the critic is giving 

 the opinion of others as well as his own. 

 Kings, queens, and critics then, who are 

 really important persons, are the only people 

 who make no arrogant claim to be so con- 

 sidered, but modestly conceal themselves in 

 multitude. 



There is scarcely any one else, who does 

 not regard himself as a person of some im- 

 portance. I recollect, many years ago, hear- 

 ing an amiable barrister, who had been just 

 appointed a Commissioner of Bankrupts, 

 say, "There cannot be imagined three 

 greater men in their own eyes, than the driver 

 of a cab on a rainy day; a book-keeper 

 at a coach office ; and a young commissioner 

 of bankrupts." But not one of these ever 

 thinks of speaking of himself in the plura 

 number — he could not bear such a dilution 

 of his dignity, such an absorption of in- 

 dividuality. None of my readers, I trust, 

 are so shamefully ignorant of Joe Miller, as 

 not to know the story of the bellows-blower 

 at church. But lest any one should be ig- 

 norant, I will relate it. Service was over, 

 and the voluntary was finished ; and as the 

 organist and the bellows-blower were de- 

 scending together, the latter said to the for- 

 mer — " We played very well to-day." 

 " We !" said the organist contemptuously. 

 Next Sunday when the organist put his fin- 

 gers on the keys, they were speechless. 

 " Blow," said he to the man at the bellows. 

 " Shall it be we ?" — said the blower. Here, 

 gentle reader, you see that the organist was 

 too conscious of his own importance to tole- 

 rate the use of the plural pronoun. Had it 

 been a king, a queen, or a critic — the humble 

 "we" would have been used readily and 

 without solicitation. In the above anecdote, 

 the bellows-blower seems to have considered 

 himself as a person of some importance, and 

 to have felt his dignity hurt by the exclusive | 



arrogance of the organist. He therefore 

 had recourse to the only means whereby he 

 could demonstrate his importance — viz., 

 withholding the supplies. 



It must be mortifying to human vanity, to 

 observe how strangely — and yet how surely — ■ 

 the world goes on in spite of its losses, 

 Down drops bubble after bubble on this our 

 summer stream of life ; and other bubbles 

 start up to supply their place. These as 

 soon give way to their successors ; so that 

 one bubble seems of no more importance than 

 another. Still, while the bubbles last, they 

 shine gaily, and are full of their own empti- 

 ness ; but if they be proud of their empti- 

 ness, they are happy that they are so full of 

 it. It is only when a man is in very low 

 spirits, and almost sinking into despair, that 

 he can really think himself a being of no im ■ 

 portance ; he then feels like a balloon when 

 all the gas is out. 



I wonder who is the most important per- 

 son in the Lord Mayor's Show ! One would 

 naturally say, the Lord Mayor himself. I 

 do not think that ; unless he is a very great 

 goose indeed. He has had his dignity in 

 view some years before ; he has rehearsed it 

 all in his mind ; so that imagination has 

 stripped some of the gilding off his ginger- 

 bread. I remember one Lord Mayor, who 

 was mightily distended with a sense of his 

 own importance, even before he ascended the 

 civic throne. His dwelling was near Queen- 

 hithe, and approachable only through very 

 narrow streets. In one of these, his carriage 

 came to a sudden stop. " Drive on," said 

 he to the coachman. " There's a cart in the 

 way, Sir." " Cart in the way ! What busi- 

 ness, Sirrah, has a cart to stand in my way ? 

 I am the Lord Mayor elect!" 



For a man to have a true sense of his own 

 importance, he must feel that things cannot 

 go on without him. He must feel himself to 

 be a centre — a main-spring. Tn this point of 

 view, I do not know Avhether the City 

 Marshal be not as great a man as any in a 

 Lord Mayor's Show. He rides generally on 

 a bouncing fat horse ; which horse has also a 

 consciousness of its own dignity. So there 

 seems to be a sympathy of majesty between 

 man and horse ; and they two form one civic 

 centaur. Moreover, the City Marshal carries 

 a truncheon ; so did Csesar and Alexander, 

 according to their pictures — and they were 

 very great men. But they did not wear so 

 fine a coat as the City Marshal ; and though 

 they were covered or crowned with laurel, 

 yet the City Marshal has a comfortable and 

 smart cocked-hat, which is far more conve • 

 nient covering on the 9th of November, 

 especially if it happens to be a wet day, as 

 is too often the case. 



But after all that may be said for the City 

 Marshal, I have my doubts whether the man 



