"'What makes you think so?' said my father.

"'The simple fact, that from the very first day it entered my house, I,
formerly so gay and joyous, became the most anxious melancholy dog that
ever whined under a gallows. I was irritable, ill-tempered, disposed to
cut my own throat, and every body else's. My whole life through, I had
never known what it was to sleep badly. Well, my sleep left me, and when
I did get any, it was broken by dreams. Good Heavens! such horrible
dreams; I could not bring myself to believe they were mere dreams,
ordinary nightmares. I was sometimes nearly stifled in my sleep; and
eternally, my good sir, the old man, that accursed old man, flitted
about me. In short, I was in a pitiable state, lost flesh and appetite,
and cursed the hour I was born. I crawled about, as if drunk or stupid,
tormented with a vague incessant fear, a dread, and anticipation of
something frightful about to happen, of some uncommon danger besetting
me at every turn. At last, I bethought me of the portrait, and gave it
away to a nephew of mine, who had taken a great fancy to it. Since then
I have been much relieved; I feel as if a great stone had been rolled
off my heart; I can sleep and eat, and am recovering my former spirits.
It was a rare devil you cooked up there, my boy!'

"My father listened to his friend's confession with the closest
attention.

"'The portrait, then, is now in your nephew's possession?' he at last
inquired.

"'My nephew's! No, no! He tried it, but could stand it no better than
your humble servant. Assuredly the spirit of the old usurer has
transmigrated into the picture. My nephew declares that he walks out of
the frame, glides about the room; in short the things he tells me, pass
human understanding and belief. I should have taken him for a madman, if
I had not partly experienced the thing myself. He sold the picture to
some dealer or other; and the dealer could not stand it either, and got
it off his hands.'

"This narrative made a deep impression upon my father. About this time
he became subject to long fits of abstraction, and incessant reveries,
which gradually turned to hypochondria. At last, he was firmly convinced
that his pencil had served as an instrument to the evil spirit; that a
portion of the usurer's vitality had actually passed into the picture,
which thus continued to torment and persecute its possessors, inspiring
them with evil passions, tempting them from the paths of virt