Than the gentleman above-named， there is nobody，in the whole circle of my acquaintance， whom I havemore attentively studied， yet of whom I have less realknowledge， beneath the surface which it pleases him topresent. Being anxious to discover who and what he reallyis， and how connected with me， and what are to be theresults， to him and to myself， of the joint interest， which，without any choice on my part， seems to be permanentlyestablished between us—and incited， furthermore， bythe propensities of a student of human nature， thoughdoubtful whether M. du Miroir have aught of humanitybut the figure—I have determined to place a few of hisremarkable points before the public， hoping to be favoredwith some clew to the explanation of his character. —Norlet the reader condemn any part of the narrative asfrivolous， since a subject of such grave reflection diffusesits importance through the minutest particulars， and thereis no judging， beforehand， what odd little circumstancemay do the office of a blind man’s dog， among theperplexities of this dark investigation. And howeverextraordinary， marvellous， preternatural， and utterlyincredible， some of the meditated disclosures may appear，I pledge my honor to maintain as sacred a regard to fact，as if my testimony were given on oath， and involved thedearest interests of the personage in question. Not thatthere is matter for a criminal accusation against M. duMiroir； nor am I the man to bring it forward， if therewere. The chief that I complain of is his impenetrablemystery， which is no better than nonsense， if it concealanything good， and much worse， in the contrary case.
But， if undue partialities could be supposed to influenceme， M. du Miroir might hope to profit， rather than tosuffer by them； for， in the whole of our long intercourse，we have seldom had the slightest disagreement； and，moreover， there are reasons for supposing him a nearrelative of mine， and consequently entitled to the bestword that I can give him. He bears， indisputably， a strongpersonal resemblance to myself， and generally puts onmourning at the funerals of the family. On the other hand，his name would indicate a French descent； in which case，infinitely preferring that my blood should flow from a boldBritish and pure Puritan source， I beg leave to disclaim allkindred with M. du Miroir. Some genealogists trace hisorigin to Spain， and dub him a knight of the order of tileCABALLEROS DE LOS ESPEJOS， one of whom was
overthrown by Don Quixote. But what says M. du Miroir，himself， of his paternity and his father-land？ Not a worddid he ever say about the matter； and herein， perhaps， liesone of his most especial reasons for maintaining such avexatious mystery—that he lacks the faculty of speech toexpound it. His lips are sometimes seen to move； his eyesand countenance are alive with shifting expression， as ifcorresponding by visible hieroglyphics to his modulatedbreath； and anon， he will seem to pause， with as satisfiedan air， as if he had been talking excellent sense. Goodsense or bad， M. du Miroir is the sole judge of his ownconversational powers， never having whispered so much asa syllable， that reached the ears of any other auditor. Is hereally dumb？ —or is all the world deaf？ —or is it merelya piece of my friend’s waggery， meant for nothing but tomake fools of us？ If so， he has the joke all to himself.
This dumb devil， which possesses M. du Miroir， is， Iam persuaded， the sole reason that he does not makeme the most flattering protestations of friendship. Inmany particulars—indeed， as to all his cognizable and notpreternatural points， except that， once in a great while， Ispeak a word or two—there exists the greatest apparentsympathy between us. Such is his confidence in my taste，that he goes astray from the general fashion， and copiesall his dresses after mine. I never try on a new garment，without expecting to meet M. du Miroir in one of thesame pattern. He has duplicates of all my waistcoats andcravats， shirt-bosoms of precisely a similar plait， and anold coat for private wear， manufactured， I suspect， by aChinese tailor， in exact imitation of a beloved old coat ofmine， with a facsimile， stitch by stitch， of a patch uponthe elbow. In truth， the singular and minute coincidencesthat occur， both in the accidents of the passing dayand the serious events of our lives， remind me of thosedoubtful legends of lovers， or twin-children， twins of fate，who have lived， enjoyed， suffered， and died， in unison，each faithfully repeating the least tremor of the other’sbreath， though separated by vast tracts of sea and land.
Strange to say， my incommodities belong equally to mycompanion， though the burthen is nowise alleviated by hisparticipation. The other morning， after a night of tormentfrom the toothache， I met M. du Miroir with such aswollen anguish in his cheek， that my own pangs wereredoubled， as were also his， if I might judge by a freshcontortion of his visage. All the inequalities of my spiritsare communicated to him， causing the unfortunate M.
