jest; might they have a real import? I looked around. The faintly
lighted apartment had all the qualifications requisite for a haunted
chamber. It began in my infected imagination to assume strange
appearances. The old portraits turned paler and paler, and blacker and
blacker; the streaks of light and shadow thrown among the quaint old
articles of furniture, gave them singular shapes and characters. There
was a huge dark clothes-press of antique form, gorgeous in brass and
lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive to me.

Am I then, thought I, indeed, the hero of the haunted room? Is there
really a spell laid upon me, or is this all some contrivance of mine
host, to raise a laugh at my expense? The idea of being hag-ridden by
my own fancy all night, and then bantered on my haggard looks the next
day was intolerable; but the very idea was sufficient to produce the
effect, and to render me still more nervous. Pish, said I, it can be no
such thing. How could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man would
be so worried by a mere picture? It is my own diseased imagination that
torments me. I turned in my bed, and shifted from side to side, to try
to fall asleep; but all in vain. When one cannot get asleep by lying
quiet, it is seldom that tossing about will effect the purpose. The
fire gradually went out and left the room in darkness. Still I had the
idea of this inexplicable countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me
through the darkness. Nay, what was worse, the very darkness seemed to
give it additional power, and to multiply its terrors. It was like
having an unseen enemy hovering about one in the night. Instead of
having one picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I fancied it in
every direction. And there it is, thought I,--and there, and
there,--with its horrible and mysterious expression, still gazing and
gazing on me. No if I must suffer this strange and dismal influence, it
were better face a single foe, than thus be haunted by a thousand