A JOURNEY TO NATURE 



a quiet change in me. I was getting on better 

 terms with myself without knowing it. 



I recalled a curiously trivial experience I once 

 had in the city similar to something narrated by 

 a well-known Frenchman. I came home one 

 night from a late and rather riotous supper to my 

 room. There was a full-length mirror in it, and 

 as I lit my gas I got a glimpse of myself, flushed 

 and eager, and it gave me a strange start ; why, I 

 never could tell. But I regarded myself for a 

 moment with startled awe. That ghost of iden 

 tity, forgotten in the rush of impressions, had 

 caught me alone, and I must have shuddered at 

 myself. It was nothing more than what Burns 

 means when he says, &quot; Oh, wad some power the 

 giftie gie us to see oursel s as ithers see us.&quot; 

 But it was an analogue of that old superstition 

 which turns the mirror to the wall when there is 

 a death in the house, for no one knows what 

 uncanny recognitions may flit over its surface. 

 There is always a lurking suspicion that some 

 wraith will pass and taunt us. If you make the 

 inquiry, you will find that no belle looks in her 

 glass when she comes home from the revelry. 

 The confounded thing betrays her. It reflects. 



How to get on comfortable terms with your 

 self when you are alone. This is where the 

 Doctor s &quot; Charlie philosophy,&quot; as I called it, 

 came in. &quot;The best way to contemplate your 

 self,&quot; he wrote me, &quot; both medicinally and mor 

 ally, is through parentage. If a man would see 

 himself through a crystal lens, let him become 



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