summer's day, or to laugh as long, for no better reason than the gay
or gloomy crotchets of my brain. Once we were joint sufferers of a
three months' sickness, and met like mutual ghosts in the first days
of convalescence. Whenever I have been in love, Monsieur du Miroir
has looked passionate and tender; and never did my mistress discard
me, but this too susceptible gentleman grew lackadaisical. His
temper, also, rises to blood heat, fever heat, or boiling-water
beat, according to the measure of any wrong which might seem to have
fallen entirely on myself. I have sometimes been calmed down by the
sight of my own inordinate wrath depicted on his frowning brow.
Yet, however prompt in taking up my quarrels, I cannot call to mind
that he ever struck a downright blow in my behalf; nor, in fact, do
I perceive that any real and tangible good has resulted from his
constant interference in my affairs; so that, in my distrustful
moods, I am apt to suspect Monsieur du Miroir's sympathy to be mere
outward show, not a whit better nor worse than other people's
sympathy. Nevertheless, as mortal man must have something in the
guise of sympathy,--and whether the true metal, or merely
copper-washed, is of less moment,--I choose rather to content myself
with Monsieur 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 the ballroom, and
might again were I to seek him there. We have encountered each
other at the Tremont Theatre, where, however, he took his seat
neither in the dress-circle, pit, nor upper regions, nor threw a
single glance at the stage, though the brightest star, even Fanny
Kemble herself, might be culminating there. No; this whimsical
friend of mine chose to linger in the saloon, near one of the large
looking-glasses which throw back their pictures of the illuminated