“Hollo, Dick!” said I, slapping him heartily upon the shoulder. This was the irrepressible outpouring of a bosom, into which a ray of light, imparted by hope, had penetrated, cheering the darksome abode with its enlivening presence. Quickly was my joy turned into sorrow. “What do you mean, sir?” said Dick, drawing himself up with magnificent reserve. “Do you mean to insult me?” “Come, Dick,” said I, in a sort of whimper, for I was really becoming very much alarmed, “don’t put a strange face on the matter. It isn’t possible that you don’t know your old friend, Flashington Highflyer? Why we only parted at midnight, and dined together no later than yesterday.” “Highflyer!” said Buffers. “To be sure I know him, and very well, too. We undoubtedly did dine together yesterday, although I cannot account for your knowledge of the fact. But it will take even more than your impudence to convince me that you are the man. You must be either drunk or a fool. Flashington Highflyer! ha! ha! Your very dress convicts you of a lie.” Buffers might have spared this sarcasm. “Upon my honor, Richard Buffers,” said I, solemnly, while the tears actually stood in my eyes, “I am that most unfortunate man.” “You are? Why, the man’s mad! View that looking glass in yonder shop-window, and if you haven’t been looking into the glass too often this morning already, you will discover that your countenance bears not the slightest resemblance to that of Mr. Highflyer, that is, if you are at all acquainted with the physiognomy of the gentleman to whose name you have laid claim.” I stepped to the window. One glance was sufficient. Oh! how I cursed my super-lunatic folly, and how I longed for my former shape. “Egad, it’s true,” I soliloquized. “It’s all correct, as my Yankee friends have it. That rascal has got into possession of my goods and chattels, as well as of my person, and has left me nothing in return but a most confoundedly disagreeable sense of my own individuality. What a horrid piece of business to be sure!” I turned. Dick was gone. “Who am I, then?” was my next very natural self interrogatory. It was needless to disturb my remaining acquaintance for proofs of my identity, as, indeed, if any body had demanded of me my address, I should have been amazingly puzzled to give it. I turned about, entirely reckless of whither I went. Twelve, one o’clock went by. I met many of my acquaintance, but there was no recognition. I was in despair, and could have sat down upon the curb-stone and wept. My walk procured me one thing, it is true, namely, a very good appetite; but I could have readily dispensed with that, inasmuch as I was painfully conscious that, without pawning my coat, I was utterly unable to satisfy the cravings of hunger.