an exquisite thing!
Admirably hit off! you have caught the old fellow's eyes to perfection.
One would almost swear you had transplanted them from the head to the
picture. They look out of the canvass.'

"'We'll see how they look in the fire,' said my father surlily, making a
movement to thrust the picture into the grate.

"'Stop, stop!' cried his friend, checking his arm. 'Give it me, rather
than burn it.' My father was at first unwilling, but at last consented;
and the jolly old painter, enchanted with his acquisition, carried off
the portrait.

"The picture gone, my father felt himself more tranquil. 'It seemed,' he
said, 'as if its departure had taken a load off his heart.' He was
astonished at his recent conduct, at the malice and envy that had filled
his soul. The more he reflected, the stronger became his sorrow and
repentance. 'Yes,' he at last exclaimed, with sincere self-reproach,
'God has punished me for my sins; my picture was really a shameful and
abominable thing. It was inspired by the wicked hope of injuring a
fellow-man, and a brother artist. Hatred and envy guided my pencil; what
better feelings could I expect it to portray?' Without a moment's delay
he went in search of his former pupil, embraced him affectionately,
entreated his forgiveness, and did all in his power to efface from the
young man's mind the remembrance of his offence. Once more his days
glided on in peaceful and contented toll, although his face had assumed
a pensive and melancholy expression, previously a stranger to it. He
prayed more frequently and fervently, was more often silent, and spoke
less bluntly and roughly to others; the rugged suffice of his character
was smoothed and softened.

"A long time had elapsed without his seeing or hearing any thing of the
friend to whom he had given the portrait, and he was one day about to go
out and inquire after him, when the man himself entered the room. But
his former joviality of manner was gone. He looked worn and melancholy,
his checks were hollow, his complexion pale, and his clothes hung
loosely upon him. My father was struck with the change, and inquired
what ailed him.

"'Nothing now,' was the reply: 'nothing since I got rid of that infernal
portrait. I was wrong, my friend, not to let you burn it. The devil fly
away with the thing, say I! I am no believer in witchcraft and the like,
but I am more than half persuaded some evil spirit is lodged in the
portrait of the usurer.'