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THE PHONOGRAM called in a friend to hear it. He grinned with delight. ‘That’s one of the most natural records 1 ever heard in my life,* he declared heartily, and I yearned for his gore. But, as I just remarked, everybody who tries the experi- ment has the same experience. The voice is always ab- solutely unfamiliar and positively unpleasant. Yet there is a certain something about it that differentiates it from any other voice you ever heard in your life—something indes- cribable, that gives you a little secret thrill clear down to the soles of your feet. It is the voice of the mysterious body which you inhabit and don’t know. “Seeing one’s self is another great surprise,” continued the amateur philosopher. “You think you do that every day in your looking glass but you don’t. What you see there is a conventional image, a symbol. It stands for you just as certain arbitrary ink scratches stand for your name, and it is handy in showing you where to part your hair and how to tie your cravat; but it doesn’t give you any idea of how you would look if you were to meet yourself here on Canal street. It is only by the rarest accident, happening may be twice or thrice in a lifetime, that dne gets a glimpse of one’s real self. I went one evening with a friend from the North to see a Kinetoscope show, and among the pictures exhibited was an excellent view of an afternoon crowd on Clark s tre e t, Chicago. The people came streaming directly toward us, growing very large as they approached the foreground; and the faces were as plain as day. All of a sudden my friend grabbed me by the arm: ‘Who is that man?’ he gasped in a whisper; ‘look quick —that man in that silk hat!* The figure was near the edge of the canvas and recognizable. ‘Why, by Jove! that’s you!* I replied. ‘Good God!* said he.”—From the Nnv Orleans Times-Democrat.