them; Wolstang did the same.
I struck my forehead, bit my lip with vexation, and started back, when,
marvellous to relate, the figure in the glass repeated all my gestures.
I now got alarmed, and, shrinking away from the apparition, threw
himself upon the chair. In a few minutes, my courage being somewhat
revived, I ventured to face the mirror, but without any better
success--the same object presented itself. I desisted, and renewed
the trial several times with the like result. In vain was my
philosophy exerted to unfold this mystery. The doctrines of Aristotle,
the dreams of alchemy, and the wonders of the Cabala, presented
themselves in succession to my disordered fancy. I bethought me of
magic, necromancy, the witch of Endor, Simon Magus, the brazen head of
Friar Bacon, and a multitude of other phantasies. All was in vain;
nothing could account for the present occurrence; nothing in mystical
or scientific lore bore any analogy to it.

In this perturbed state of mind my eye caught the bust of Pythagoras.
This was a flood of light to my understanding. I instantly remembered
what the old fellow had hinted about transmigration of souls: I
remembered what he said about me being myself, or another person. Then
connecting this with the previous events of the day, with the Gottingen
students, with Doctor Dedimus Dunderhead, with Wolstang's domestics,
and, lastly, with the reflection in the looking-glass,--I say, coupling
all these things together, I came to the horrible conclusion that I was
not myself. "There must be some truth in the Pythagorean doctrine, and I
am labouring under a Metempsychosis."

To put the matter beyond a doubt, I went once more to the mirror, where
I beheld the same figure which had first startled me. I then looked at
my hands; they were larger and stronger than formerly. The dress I had
on was also not my own, but evidently that of Wolstang. Every
circumstance contributed to confirm me that I was no longer myself.

It would be a vain attempt for me to describe the horror I endured at
this dreadful transmogrification. After the first burst of dismay was
over, I wept bitterly, bewailing the loss of my dear body, which I now
felt convinced was gone from me for ever. "And poor Wolstang," cried I
lamentably, "you are no longer yourself. You are me and I am you, and
doubtless you are deploring your misfortune as bitterly as your unhappy
friend Stadt."

Night was now coming on, and it became necessary