When I have recognized in the every-day name of His Very
Worthy High Eminence of some cabalistic association, the inconspicuous
individual whose trifling indebtedness to me for value received remains
in a quiescent state and is likely long to continue so, I confess to
having experienced a thrill of pleasure. I have smiled to think how
grand his magnificent titular appendages sounded in his own ears and what
a feeble tintinnabulation they made in mine. The crimson sash, the broad
diagonal belt of the mounted marshal of a great procession, so cheap in
themselves, yet so entirely satisfactory to the wearer, tickle my heart's
root.
Perhaps I should have enjoyed all these weaknesses of my infantile
fellow-creatures without an afterthought, except that on a certain
literary anniversary when I tie the narrow blue and pink ribbons in my
button-hole and show my decorated bosom to the admiring public, I am
conscious of a certain sense of distinction and superiority in virtue of
that trifling addition to my personal adornments which reminds me that I
too have some embryonic fibres in my tolerably well-matured organism.
I hope I have not hurt your feelings, if you happen to be a High and
Mighty Grand Functionary in any illustrious Fraternity. When I tell you
that a bit of ribbon in my button-hole sets my vanity prancing, I think
you cannot be grievously offended that I smile at the resonant titles
which make you something more than human in your own eyes.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333