Mayor, he must have at least considered himself next to one.
In proposing the toast of the evening Mr, Dickens said:-]
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, – You receive me with so much cordiality that
I fear you believe that I really did once sit in a Lord Mayor’s
state coach. Permit me to assure you, in spite of the information
received from Mr. Alderman Cotton, that I never had that honour.
Furthermore, I beg to assure you that I never witnessed a Lord
Mayor’s show except from the point of view obtained by the other
vagabonds upon the pavement. Now, ladies and gentlemen, in spite
of this great cordiality of yours, I doubt if you fully know yet
what a blessing it is to you that I occupy this chair to-night,
because, having filled it on several previous occasions for the
society on whose behalf we are assembled, and having said
everything that I could think of to say about it, and being,
moreover, the president of the institution itself, I am placed tonight
in the modest position of a host who is not so much to
display himself as to call out his guests – perhaps even to try to
induce some among them to occupy his place on another occasion.
And, therefore, you may be safely sure that, like Falstaff, but
with a modification almost as large as himself, I shall try rather
to be the cause of speaking in others than to speak myself tonight.
Much in this manner they exhibit at the door of a snuff
shop the effigy of a Highlander with an empty mull in his hand,
who, having apparently taken all the snuff he can carry, and
discharged all the sneezes of which he is capable, politely invites
his friends and patrons to step in and try what they can do in the
same line.
It is an appropriate instance of the universality of the newsman’s
calling that no toast we have drunk to-night – and no toast we
Page 118
Dickens, Charles – Speeches, Literary & Social
shall drink to-night – and no toast we might, could, should, or
would drink to-night, is separable for a moment from that great
inclusion of all possible subjects of human interest which he
delivers at our doors every day. Further, it may be worthy the
consideration of everybody here who has talked cheerfully to his or
her neighbour since we have sat down at the table, what in the name
of Heaven should we have talked about, and how on earth could we
have possibly got on, if our newsman had only for one single day
forgotten us. Now, ladies and gentlemen, as our newsman is not by
any means in the habit of forgetting us, let us try to form a
little habit of not forgetting our newsman. Let us remember that
his work is very arduous; that it occupies him early and late; that
the profits he derives from us are at the best very small; that the
services he renders to us are very great; that if he be a master,
his little capital is exposed to all sorts of mischances,
anxieties, and hazards; and if he be a journeyman, he himself is
exposed to all manner of weathers, of tempers, and of difficult and
unreasonable requirements.
Let me illustrate this. I was once present at a social discussion,
which originated by chance. The subject was, What was the most
absorbing and longest-lived passion in the human breast? What was
the passion so powerful that it would almost induce the generous to
be mean, the careless to be cautious, the guileless to be deeply
designing, and the dove to emulate the serpent? A daily editor of
vast experience and great acuteness, who was one of the company,
considerably surprised us by saying with the greatest confidence
that the passion in question was the passion of getting orders for
the play.
There had recently been a terrible shipwreck, and very few of the
surviving sailors had escaped in an open boat. One of these on
making land came straight to London, and straight to the newspaper
office, with his story of how he had seen the ship go down before