y are perceived. The child looks
at himself in the glass with pleasure and often. If we put anything on
his head and say, "Pretty," his expression changes. He is gratified in a
strange and peculiar fashion; his eyebrows are raised, and the eyes are
opened wide.

In the twenty-first month the child puts some lace or embroidered stuff
about him, lets it hang down from his shoulders, looks round behind at
the train, advancing, stopping, eagerly throwing it into fresh folds.
Here there is a mixture of apish imitation with vanity.

As the child had, moreover, even in the seventeenth month, been fond of
placing himself before the glass and making all sorts of faces, the
experiments with the mirror were no longer continued.

They show the transition from the infant's condition previous to the
development of the _ego_, when he can not yet see distinctly, to the
condition of the developed _ego_, who consciously distinguishes himself
from his image in the glass and from other persons and their images. Yet
for a long time after this step there exists a certain lack of clearness
in regard to names. In the twenty-first month the child laughs at his
image in the glass and points to it when I ask, "Where is Axel?" and at
my image when asked, "Where is papa?" But, being asked with emphasis,
the child turns round to me with a look of doubt. I once brought a large
mirror near the child's bed in the evening after he had gone to sleep,
so that he might perceive himself directly upon waking. He saw his image
immediately after waking, seemed very much surprised at it, gazed
fixedly at it, and when at last I asked, "Where is Axel?" he pointed not
to himself but to the image (six hundred and twentieth day). In the
thirty-first month it still afforded him great pleasure to gaze at his
image in the glass. The child would laugh at it persistently and
heartily.

Animals show great variety of behavior in this respect, as is well
known. A pair of Turkish ducks, that I used to see every day for weeks,
always kept themselves apart from other ducks. When the female died, the
drake, to my surprise, betook himself by preference to a cellar-window
that was covered on the inside and gave strong reflections, and he would
stand with his head before this for hours every day. He saw his image
there, and thought perhaps that it was his lost companion.

A kitten before which I held a small mirror must surely have taken the
image for a second living cat, for