the devil in manuscript

THE DEVIL IN MANUSCRIPTOn a bitter evening of December, I arrived by mail in a largetown, which was then the residence of an intimate friend, one ofthose gifted youths who cultivate poetry and the belles-lettres,and call themselves students at law. My first business, aftersupper, was to visit him at the office of his distinguishedinstructor. As I have said, it was a bitter night, clearstarlight, but cold as Nova Zembla,the shop-windows along thestreet being frosted, so as almost to hide the lights, while thewheels of coaches thundered equally loud over frozen earth andpavements of stone. There was no snow, either on the ground orthe roofs of the houses. The wind blew so violently, that I ha

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