But no！ This is unworthy of me. As， of old， I sought hissociety for the bewitching dreams of woman’s love whichhe inspired， and because I fancied a bright fortune in hisaspect， so now will I hold daily and long communion withhim， for the sake of the stern lessons that he will teach mymanhood. With folded arms， we will sit face to face， andlengthen out our silent converse， till a wiser cheerfulnessshall have been wrought from the very texture ofdespondency. He will say， perhaps indignantly， that it befitsonly him to mourn for the decay of outward grace， which，while he possessed it， was his all. But have not you， he willask， a treasure in reserve， to which every year may add farmore value than age， or death itself， can snatch from thatmiserable clay？ He will tell me， that， though the bloom oflife has been nipt with a frost， yet the soul must not sitshivering in its cell， but bestir itself manfully， and kindle agenial warmth from its own exercise， against the autumnaland the wintry atmosphere. And I， in return， will bid himbe of good cheer， nor take it amiss that I must blanch hislocks and wrinkle him up like a wilted apple， since it shallbe my endeavor so to beautify his face with intellect andmild benevolence， that he shall profit immensely by thechange. But here a smile will glimmer somewhat sadlyover M. du Miroir’s visage.
When this subject shall have been sufficiently discussed，we may take up others as important. Reflecting upon hispower of following me to the remotest regions and intothe deepest privacy， I will compare the attempt to escapehim to the hopeless race that men sometimes run withmemory， or their own hearts， or their moral selves， which，though burthened with cares enough to crush an elephant，will never be one step behind. I will be self-contemplative，as nature bids me， and make him the picture or visibletype of what I muse upon， that my mind may not wanderso vaguely as heretofore， chasing its own shadow througha chaos， and catching only the monsters that abide there.
Then will we turn our thoughts to the spiritual world， ofthe reality of which， my companion shall furnish me anillustration， if not an argument. For， as we have only thetestimony of the eye to M. du Miroir’s existence， while allthe other senses would fail to inform us that such a figurestands within arm’s length， wherefore should there notbe beings innumerable， close beside us， and filling heavenand earth with their multitude， yet of whom no corporealperception can take cognizance？ A blind man might asreasonably deny that M. du Miroir exists， as we， becausethe Creator has hitherto withheld the spiritual perception，can therefore contend that there are no spirits. Oh， thereare！ And， at this moment， when the subject of which Iwrite has grown strong within me， and surrounded itselfwith those solemn and awful associations which mighthave seemed most alien to it， I could fancy that M. duMiroir is himself a wanderer from the spiritual world， withnothing human， except his illusive garment of visibility.
Methinks I should tremble now， were his wizard power， ofgliding through all impediments in search of me， to placehim suddenly before my eyes.
Ha！ What is yonder？ Shape of mystery， did the tremor ofmy heart-strings vibrate to shine own， and call thee fromthy home， among the dancers of the Northern Lights，and shadows flung from departed sunshine， and giantspectres that appear on clouds at daybreak， and aflfrightthe climber of the Alps？ In truth， it startled me， as I threwa wary glance eastward across the chamber， to discern anunbidden guest， with his eyes bent on mine. The identicalMONSIEUR DU MIROIR！ Still， there he sits， andreturns my gaze with as much of awe and curiosity， as ifhe， too， had spent a solitary evening in fantastic musings，and made me his theme. So inimitably does he counterfeit，that I could almost doubt which of us is the visionaryform， or whether each be not the other’s mystery， andboth twin brethren of one fate， in mutually reflectedspheres. Oh， friend， canst thou not hear and answer me？
Break down the barrier between us！ Grasp my hand！
Speak！ Listen！ A few words， perhaps， might satisfy thefeverish yearning of my soul for some master-thought， thatshould guide me through this labyrinth of life， teachingwherefore I was born， and how to do my task on earth，and what is death. Alas！ Even that unreal image shouldforget to ape me， and smile at these vain questions. Thusdo mortals deify， as it were， a mere shadow of themselves，a spectre of human reason， and ask of that to unveil themysteries， which Divine Intelligence has revealed so far asneedful to our guidance， and hid the rest.
Farewell， Monsieur du Miroir！ Of you， perhaps， as ofmany men， it may be doubted whether you are the wiser，though your whole business is REFLECTION.
