du Miroir to mope and scowl through a whole summer’sday， or to laugh as long， for no better reason than the gayor gloomy crotchets of my brain. Once we were jointsufferers of a three months’ sickness， and met like mutualghosts in the first days of convalescence. Whenever I havebeen in love， M. du Miroir has looked passionate andtender， and never did my mistress discard me， but this toosusceptible gentleman grew lack-a-daisical. His temper，also， rises to blood-heat， fever-heat， or boiling-water heat，according to the measure of any wrong which might seemto have fallen entirely on myself. I have sometimes beencalmed down， by the sight of my own inordinate wrath，depicted on his frowning brow. Yet， however prompt intaking up my quarrels， I cannot call to mind that he everstruck a downright blow in my behalf； nor， in fact， doI perceive that any real and tangible good has resultedfrom his constant interference in my affairs； so that， inmy distrustful moods， I am apt to suspect M. du Miroir’ssympathy to be mere outward show， not a whit betternor worse than other people’s sympathy. Nevertheless， asmortal man must have something in the guise of sympathy，and whether the true metal， or merely copper-washed， isof less moment， I choose rather to content myself withM. du Miroir’s， such as it is， than to seek the sterling coin，and perhaps miss even the counterfeit.
In my age of vanities， I have often seen him in theballroom， and might again， were I to seek him there. Wehave encountered each other at the Tremont theatre，where， however， he took his seat neither in the dresscircle，pit， nor upper regions， nor threw a single glance atthe stage， though the brightest star， even Fanny Kembleherself， might be culminating there. No； this whimsicalfriend of mine chose to linger in the saloon， near oneof the large looking-glasses which throw back theirpictures of the illuminated room. He is so full of theseunaccountable eccentricities， that I never like to notice M.
du Miroir， nor to acknowledge the slightest connectionwith him， in places of public resort. He， however， hasno scruple about claiming my acquaintance， even whenhis common sense， if he had any， might teach him that Iwould as willingly exchange a nod with the Old Nick. Itwas but the other day， that he got into a large brass kettle，at the entrance of a hardware store， and thrust his head，the moment afterwards， into a bright new warming-pan，whence he gave me a most merciless look of recognition.
He smiled， and so did I； but these childish tricks makedecent people rather shy of M. du Miroir， and subject himto more dead cuts than any other gentleman in town.
One of this singular person’s most remarkablepeculiarities is his fondness for water， wherein he excelsany temperance-man whatever. His pleasure， it must beowned， is not so much to drink it， （in which respect， avery moderate quantity will answer his occasions，） as tosouse himself over head and ears， wherever he may meetwith it. Perhaps he is a merman， or born of a mermaid’smarriage with a mortal， and thus amphibious by hereditaryright， like the children which the old river deities， ornymphs of fountains， gave to earthly love. When nocleaner bathing-place happened to be at hand， I haveseen the foolish fellow in a horse-pond. Sometimes herefreshes himself in the trough of a town-pump， withoutcaring what the people think about him. Often， whilecarefully picking my way along the street， after a heavyshower， I have been scandalized to see M. du Miroir， infull dress， paddling from one mud-puddle to another，and plunging into the filthy depths of each. Seldom haveI peeped into a well， without discerning this ridiculousgentleman at the bottom， whence he gazes up， as througha long telescopic tube， and probably makes discoveriesamong the stars by daylight. Wandering along lonesomepaths， or in pathless forests， when I have come to virginfountains，of which it would have been pleasant to deem
myself the first discoverer， I have started to find M. duMiroir there before me. The solitude seemed lonelier forhis presence. I have leaned from a precipice that frownsover Lake George—which the French called Nature’s fontof sacramental water， and used it in their log-churcheshere， and their cathedrals beyond the sea—and seen himfar below， in that pure element. At Niagara， too， where Iwould gladly have forgotten both myself and him， I couldnot help observing my companion， in the smooth water，on the very verge of the cataract， just above the TableRock. Were I to reach the sources of the Nile， I shouldexpect to meet him there. Unless he be another Ladurlad，whose garments the depths of ocean could not moisten， itis difficult to conceive how he keeps himself in any decentpickle； though I am bound to confess， that his clothesseem always as dry and comfortable as my own. But， asa friend， I could wish that he would not so often exposehimself in liquor.
All that I have hitherto related may be classed amongthose little personal oddities which agreeably diversifythe surface of society； and， thought they may sometimesannoy us， yet keep our daily intercourse fresher andlivelier than if they were done away. By an occasional hint，however， I have endeavored to pave the way for strangerthings to come， which， had they been disclosed at once， M.
du Miroir might have been deemed a shadow， and myself aperson of no veracity， and this truthful history a fabulouslegend. But， now that the reader knows me worthy of hisconfidence， I will begin to make him stare.
