I resolved to extend my search. I swiftly passed through the avenue of trees, crossed the bridge, and it was not long before I had gained the summit of the road that led into the valley. I stood for a while gazing around me. I gazed earnestly at the dilapidated and time-worn walls of the old castle, in which I had witnessed so many marvelous and horrible sights. I shuddered when I reflected upon them. I resumed my journey, and at length reached a village a few miles distant from my former abode. I walked quickly forward, and on my way met several persons who saluted me, whom I did not remember to have seen before. What could they mean by taking such unwarrantable liberties with me? They did not appear to be drunk, nor to have any intention of insulting me. It was odd—unaccountable. I hurried on. My head began to swim; my eyes were burning hot, and ready to start from their sockets. I was wild—frantic. I reached the shop of an apothecary, and stepped in to ask for water, to quench my thirst. The man smirked, and asked me how I was. I told him, I did not know him; but he persisted in saying he had been in my company only a night or two before. I was confounded. I seized the glass of water he held in his hand, and took a hearty draught, and precipitately departed. I traveled on. I was bewildered—in a maze, from which I found it impossible to extricate myself. I made inquiries about my friend, but the people stared and laughed, as though there was something extraordinary about me. I wandered about till nightfall, and at last found shelter in a cottage by the road-side, which was inhabited by an infirm old woman. The next day I returned to the village. I called upon a gentleman with whom I was intimately acquainted. I thought he might be able to give me some tidings of my friend. When I was ushered into his presence he did not know me. I was incredulous. Was I no longer myself? Had I changed my identity? Whence this mystery? I was unable to fathom it. I handed my card to him; he looked at it, and returned it, saying he did not know Mr. Hoffmeister. The card was that of my friend. How it had come into my possession I knew not. I apologized for the error, and informed him that my name was not Hoffmeister, but Heinrich Gottlieb Langström. My surprise may be conceived, when he informed me Langström—in fact, that I myself was dead, and that my body had been found in the stream that flowed past the village the day previously! I was ready to sink through the floor, and could not find language to reply to the monstrous falsehood. I rushed from his presence, feeling assured that some conspiracy was afoot to drive me mad. I must have become so, or I never would have been exposed to the extraordinary delusion to which I afterward became a victim. I entered a house of public entertainment, and determined to solve this dreadful enigma. I was, unfortunately, acquainted with the doctrines of Pythagoras, and, at the time to which I refer, no doubt insane.