Miroir, nor am I the man to bring it forward if there were. The
chief that I complain of is his impenetrable mystery, which is no
better than nonsense if it conceal anything good, and much worse in
the contrary case.

But, if undue partialities could be supposed to influence me,
Monsieur du Miroir might hope to profit rather than to suffer 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 near relative of mine, and consequently entitled to
the best word that I can give him. He bears indisputably a strong
personal resemblance to myself, and generally puts on mourning 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 bold British and pure Puritan source, I
beg leave to disclaim all kindred with Monsieur du Miroir. Some
genealogists trace his origin to Spain, and dub him a knight of the
order of the CABALLEROS DE LOS ESPEJOZ, one of whom was overthrown
by Don Quixote. But what says Monsieur du Miroir himself of his
paternity and his fatherland? Not a word did he ever say about the
matter; and herein, perhaps, lies one of his most especial reasons
for maintaining such a vexatious mystery, that he lacks the faculty
of speech to expound it. His lips are sometimes seen to move; his
eyes and countenance are alive with shifting expression, as if
corresponding by visible hieroglyphics to his modulated breath; and
anon he will seem to pause with as satisfied an air as if he had
been talking excellent sense. Good sense or bad, Monsieur du Miroir
is the sole judge of his own conversational powers, never having
whispered so much as a syllable that reached the ears of any other
auditor. Is he really dumb? or is all the world deaf? or is it