ow that I am not myself?"

"My dear friend," replied he, with a smile, "I hinted as much the last
time I saw you."

"And pray how did you ascertain that?"

"You don't ask me such a question," said he, with an air of surprise; "I
knew it by your own signature."

"My own signature! I know not what you mean by my signature."

"Eh--eh--the signature, you know--that is, the compact you made with
Wolstang."

"I know of no compact," cried I, in a passion; "nor did I ever make one
with any man living. I defy either you or Wolstang to produce any such
instrument."

"I believe it is in my pocket at this very moment. Look here, my dear
sir." And he brought out a small manuscript book, and, turning up the
leaves, pointed to view the following words:--

"I hereby, in consideration of the sum of fifty gilders, give
to Albert Wolstang the use of my body, at any time he is
disposed, provided that, for the time being, he gives me the
use of his.--FREDERICK STADT."

"It is a damnable forgery," said I, starting up with fury; "a _deceptio
visus_, at least--something like your scales."

"What about the scales, my dear friend?" said he, with a whining voice.

"Go," replied I, "into that room, and you shall see." He accordingly
went, but returned immediately, saying that he observed nothing
remarkable. "No!" said I, rising up; "then I shall take the trouble to
point it out to you." My astonishment may be better conceived than
described, when, instead of the small apothecary's scales, I beheld the
immense ones in which I had been weighed two days before. I felt
confounded and mortified, and returned with him to the study, muttering
something about _deceptio visus_, necromancy, and demonology.

"Well," continued I, after recovering a little, "what about this
compact--when and where was it made?"

"It was made some three days ago, at the Devil's Hoof Tavern. You may
remember that you and Wolstang were drinking there at that time."

"Yes, I remember it well enough; but I understood that I was putting my
name to a receipt for fifty gilders which he paid me. I never read the
writing; I merely subscribed it."

"That was a pity; for really you have bound yourself as firmly as
signing with a person's own blood can do."

"Did I sign it with my own blood?" said I, alarmed.

"Exactly so. You may recollect of cutting your finger. I had the
pleasure of stanching the blood, a sufficient quantity of which was
nevertheles