To speak frankly， then， I could bring the mostastounding proofs that M. du Miroir is at least a conjuror，if not one of that unearthly tribe with whom conjurorsdeal. He has inscrutable methods of conveying himselffrom place to place， with the rapidity of the swifteststeam-boat， or rail-car. Brick walls， and oaken doors， andiron bolts， are no impediment to his passage. Here inmy chamber， for instance， as the evening deepens intonight， I sit alone—the key turned and withdrawn fromthe lock—the key-hole stuffed with paper， to keep out apeevish little blast of wind. Yet， lonely as I seem， were Ito lift one of the lamps and step five paces eastward， M.
du Miroir would be sure to meet me， with a lamp also inhis hand. And， were I to take the stage coach to-morrow，without giving him the least hint of my design， and postonward till the week’s end， at whatever hotel I might findmyself， I should expect to share my private apartmentwith this inevitable M. du Miroir. Or， out of a merewayward fantasy， were I to go， by moonlight， and standbeside the stone font of the Shaker Spring at Canterbury，M. du Miroir would set forth on the same fool’s errand，and would not fail to meet me there. Shall I heighten thereader’s wonder； While writing these latter sentences， Ihappened to glance towards the large round globe of oneof the brass andirons； and lo！ —a miniature apparitionof M. du Miroir， with his face widened and grotesquelycontorted， as if he were making fun of my amazement.
But he has played so many of these jokes， that they beginto lose their effect. Once， presumptuous that he was， hestole into the heaven of a young lady’s eyes， so that while Igazed， and was dreaming only of herself， I found him alsoin my dream. Years have so changed him since， that heneed never hope to enter those heavenly orbs again.
From these veritable statements， it will be readilyconcluded， that， had M. du Miroir played such pranksin old witch times， matters might have gone hard withhim； at least， if the constable and posse comitatus couldhave executed a warrant， or the jailor had been cunningenough to keep him. But it has often occurred to me asa very singular circumstance， and as betokening eithera temperament morbidly suspicious， or some weightycause of apprehension， that he never trusts himself withinthe grasp even of his most intimate friend. If you stepforward to meet him， he readily advances； if you offer himyour hand， he extends his own， with an air of the utmostfrankness； but though you calculate upon a hearty shake，you do not get hold of his little finger. Ah， this M. duMiroir is a slippery fellow！
These， truly， are matters of special admiration. Aftervainly endeavoring， by the strenuous exertion of my ownwits， to gain a satisfactory insight into the character of M.
du Miroir， I had recourse to certain wise men， and alsoto books of abstruse philosophy， seeking who it was thathaunted me， and why. I heard long lectures， and read hugevolumes， with little profit beyond the knowledge thatmany former instances are recorded， in successive ages， ofsimilar connections between ordinary mortals and beingspossessing the attributes of M. du Miroir. Some now alive，perhaps， besides myself， have such attendants. Wouldthat M. du Miroir could be persuaded to transfer hisattachment to one of those， and allow some other of hisrace to assume the situation that he now holds in regardto me！ If I must needs have so instrusive an intimate， whostares me in the face in my closest privacy， and followsme even to my bed-chamber， I should prefer—scandalapart—the laughing bloom of a young girl， to the darkand bearded gravity of my present companion. But suchdesires are never to be gratified. Though the members ofM. du Miroir’s family have been accused， perhaps justly， ofvisiting their friends often in splendid halls and seldom ina darksome dungeons， yet they exhibit a rare constancy tothe objects of their first attachment， however unlovely inperson or unamiable in disposition， however unfortunate，or even infamous， and deserted by all the world besides. Sowill it be with my associate. Our fates appear inseparablyblended. It is my belief， as I find him mingling withmy earliest recollections， that we came into existencetogether， as my shadow follows me into the sunshine， andthat， hereafter， as heretofore， the brightness or gloom ofmy fortunes will shine upon， or darken， the face of M. duMiroir. As we have been young together， and as it is nownear the summer noon with both of us， so， if long life begranted， shall each count his own wrinkles on the other’sbrow， and his white hairs on the other’s head. And whenthe coffin lid shall have closed over me， and that face andform， which， more truly than the lover swears it to hisbeloved， are the sole light of his existence， when they shallbe laid in that dark chamber， whither his swift and secretfootsteps cannot bring him， —then what is to become ofpoor M. du Miroir！ Will he have the fortitude， with myother friends， to take a last look at my pale countenance？
Will he walk foremost in the funeral train？ Will he comeoften and haunt around my grave， and weed away thenettles， and plant flowers amid the verdure， and scrape themoss out of the letters of my burial-stone？ Will he lingerwhere I have lived， to remind the neglectful world of onewho staked much to win a name， but will not then carewhether he lost or won？
Not thus will he prove his deep fidelity. Oh， what terror，if this friend of mine， after our last farewell， should stepinto the crowded street， or roam along our odd frequentedpath， by the still waters， or sit down in the domesticcircle， where our faces are most familiar and beloved！
No； but when the ray of Heaven shall bless me no more，nor the thoughtful lamplight gleam upon my studies，nor the cheerful fireside gladden the meditative man，then， his task fulfilled， shall this mysterious being vanishfrom the earth forever. He will pass to the dark realm ofNothingness， but will not find me there.
