other equally objectionable preliminaries of citizenship were insisted upon. At any rate, to doom innocence to be born into such a place as that would be a fouler crime than any the criminals there had committed. That spot would in that case be darker than hell itself; for in hell, doubtless, as in heaven," they neither marry nor are given in marriage."

I presume therefore we must give up all hope of realising any such "normal prison." Yet it is not without its use to let the mind dwell on such a theme, if it but excite one salutary thought of the horror of going into any resembling world!

Ever yours,

R. E. H. G.

LETTER XLIV.

To C. Mason, Esq,

Inverary, July, 1848.

My dear Mason,

I think if you had been with us yesterday, you would have

- not to say instructed,

been amused, by the illusions of a harmless sort of madman, who— be not shocked-turned out to be an intimate friend of the "de'il."

I was seated, in company with a young stranger, on a stone bench in front of a little inn on my way here, lazily looking out on the sunny mountains, when a man decently dressed as to the materials, though rather fantastically as to the colours, sat down beside me; and the mutter of his lips, his restless air, and the bright but wandering eye, convinced me that he was "no just that right in his mind." He was a Scotchman, who, like so many of his countrymen, had received in his youth an education much beyond that of a similar class in our own country; and seemed to have lost none of his native shrewdness under the influence of his malady. After sitting for a few minutes twitching his fea

tures, muttering his "wayward fancies," stealing rapid glances at me, shifting his limbs in incessant restlessness, he suddenly turned, and, with that mysterious confidential undertone in which a maniac loves to utter his absurdities, and which renders them so fearful to the listener, said, “Did ye e'er see the deʼil, mon?” "I do not know that I have ever seen him," said I.'

"I have, then," said he, with much such an air of superiority as a vulgar tuft-hunter might have assumed in claiming acquaintance with my Lord Dulldrum ; (nodding his head and compressing his lips at the same time ;) "I have, then," said he ; "mony's the fine crack we hae had thegither; amaist always by night, ye ken," he added, with a mysterious air; "he dinna bide a blink of the sun, I'm thinking."

"Why," said my young stranger companion, who seemed to know something of the madman, "they say, Dandie, that there never was such a thing as the de'il !"

"Ah! are ye there now, mon?" said the madman, in high dudgeon. "He kens you, mon, better than ye ken him. He was a gay gude preacher as once said to a daft young fule like you, ́ Ye're an undutifu' laddie to deny your ain father.' If ye dinna ken him yet, ye will, mon, ye will if ye live; or if ye dinna live, ye'll ken him still better, I'm thinking."

Madman you may be, thought I; but, like many more of your brotherhood, you have a sharp humour of your own.

"Well, but," said I, wishing to humour his illusion, and desir. ing, I fear, — Heaven forgive me!—to derive a little amusement from it; at the same time anxious to prevent the passion into which it was evident the thoughtlessness of the youth might plunge him by wanton contradiction," Well, but, Dandie, have you never seen him by day?"

"To be sure, I have," said he, with an air of superiority; "though not sae aften as by night,- that I canna gainsay. And when I hae seen him by day, it is mostly in the shadow of yon pine wood, which you can just see frae this, in a dark glen where the stream comes tumbling down, and sounds awsome in the gloaming. I hae whiles met him there, and had a wee crack wi'

him; but he does na seem that cheerful and frank-like as in the bonny starlight."

“Pooh!" said the young man, who seemed to take a delight in teasing him; "you've seen some madman wandering there, Dandie, and have mistaken him for the de'il; that's all.”

Begging your pardon, then, Mr. MacDonald, the de'il's nae mair wud than I am;" little thinking of the compliment he was paying his patron.

"Well, but,” said I, "did you never see him in the broad daylight?"

"Ance I did," said the maniac, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper; "but eh! sirs, it's a sair sight that; I wadna see it again. Ye maun ken we were walking a wee bit out of the shade of the wood on a stormy day, and just then the sun glinted frae between the clouds in a bright light; but it wasna to shine on him, or he wadna be shone upon by it; a dark shadow fell in a ring all about him, and in that shadow I seemed to feel as cauld as I would under the northern peak of Ben Cruachan yonder!" "And has he," said I, "the claws and hoof usually given to him?"

"Na, na,” replied this enlightened gentleman, "that is just vulgar superstition, mon. He is as weel favoured a gentlemandressed in black, though, ye ken, like a clergyman, for he aye likes seeming as I am."

"But," said I, soothingly, " did you never use your privilege to tell him that some of the young folks of our acquaintance doubt his existence altogether?"

"That have I," said he: "and it's amaist the only time I ever saw a giggle on his face. 'Ay, ay,' says he, 'that is just what I tell them mysel, and they speak as I bid them, puir unconscious fules ! It's at times ane o' my delights now to hear them saying there is na sic thing as the de'il, while I am just at their elbows, and hae put that vera lie into their mouths. But it is na aften that I am at the pains; for the greater part of mankind are sic fules that they are equally deceived, though they do believe that there is a de'il!' Eh ! but," said the madman, "the

Oh! but it's sad to see that man

de'il spak truth there, ony way. will throw away life, weal, wife, childer, heaven, and a' for a gill o' whisky, or a bit rag o' painted harlotry. They say the de'il is very busy in tempting men; but he maun hae an easy time o't, I'm thinking. All of them meet him mair than half-way. Ilk ane seems to gang to him, and say—'Hae na ye some dainty temptation for me to-day, now, Daddie Satan? I'm sair wracked for a coaxing temptation.""

"Well, but," said I, "Dandie, have you never expostulated with him on the cruelty of his conduct, and asked him what pleasure he can have in inflicting tortures on the miserable victims of his arts? You remember what your countryman, Burns, says in his address to the de’il ——

'I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie ye —””

66 Hoot, mon," broke in the madman, "Rob was a fine poet puir fellow-nae doot o' that; but I'm thinking he was na always in his right senses; when the whisky was in, the brains were out, ye ken; and I'm sure he was never sae weel acquent wi' auld Clootie as I am, puir blinded mon! -he continued, as if his intimacy was a singular privilege.

"But," said I, recalling him, "about his cruelty, now did ye never expostulate with him? I really think, that, as a good man, you should. Who knows what you might do with him?"

“I kenna,” said he, sagely shaking his head; "he's a dour carl to persuade to onything; and, after a', how does he do waur than mony a king and great captain, who slay, and hang, and burn thousands upon thousands to slake their pride and vain glory?" "But the cruelty of tormenting men," said I

"And how do ye ken it is just cruelty?" said this devil's advocate, "ony mair than it's just cruelty that makes kings and captains cut throats, and burn towns and villages. It's, may be, just the luv o' power, and what for suld na Satan be as fond of a braw kingdom as a man?"

Here our curious colloquy closed; for this last answer set me musing. Yes, thought I, this madman has unwittingly replied to

one of the favourite arguments for the devil's non-existence, the supposition of gratuitous and motiveless malignity. Why should there not be, as the solemn intimations of the Scripture seem to show us, a greater than even the greatest of evil men, fighting for empire, for the gratification of pride, ambition, and "immortal hate ?" And how is his conduct, on that supposition, more inexplicable than that of the petty conquerors among men, who, with less potent means, do mischief from the same motives? who, as my madman said, burn, and slay, and hang, and cut the throats of thousands for power? Can even the devil do more than those who cry "havock!" and wantonly "let slip the dogs of war," for ambition's sake? who know that the burning rooftree, fathers murdered on their own hearth, and weeping captives, and smoking harvests, are among the

conquest

"incidents" of

And if it be said, as sciolists are so apt to say, that God, with His omnipotence, would not let such a being as the devil play such pranks as are attributed to him, in His universe,-alas ! the question returns -May he not, for reasons unknown to us, permit it, since, for reasons equally unknown, He has suffered so many incarnate demons to lay waste and desolate this fair world of ours?

I am living here in absolute solitude, but in the midst of the most delightful mountain scenery you can imagine. I am "located," at a little farm-house of the most primitive Highland

M