There was the Monk in his brown hood and wrapper, confronting--if he might trust his balls of sight--the red-hot figure of the Prince of Darkness. As yet no mortal tussle had taken place between them. They were arguing: angrily, it was true: yet with the first mutual deference of practised logicians. Latin and German was alternately employed by both. It thrilled Farina’s fervid love of fatherland to hear the German Satan spoke: but his Latin was good, and his command over that tongue remarkable; for, getting the worst of the argument, as usual, he revenged himself by parodying one of the Church canticles with a point that discomposed his adversary, and caused him to retreat a step, claiming support against such shrewd assault. ‘The use of an unexpected weapon in warfare is in itself half a victory. Induce your antagonist to employ it as a match for you, and reckon on completely routing him...’ says the old military chronicle. ‘Come!’ said the Demon with easy raillery. ‘You know your game--I mine! I really want the good people to be happy; dancing, kissing, propagating, what you will. We quite agree. You can have no objection to me, but a foolish old prejudice--not personal, but class; an antipathy of the cowl, for which I pardon you! What I should find in you to complain of--I have only to mention it, I am sure--is, that perhaps you do speak a little too much through your nose.’ The Monk did not fall into the jocular trap by retorting in the same strain. ‘Laugh with the Devil, and you won’t laugh longest,’ says the proverb. Keeping to his own arms, the holy man frowned. ‘Avaunt, Fiend!’ he cried. ‘To thy kingdom below! Thou halt raged over earth a month, causing blights, hurricanes, and epidemics of the deadly sins. Parley no more! Begone!’ The Demon smiled: the corners of his mouth ran up to his ears, and his eyes slid down almost into one. ‘Still through the nose!’ said he reproachfully. ‘I give thee Five Minutes!’ cried the Monk. ‘I had hoped for a longer colloquy,’ sighed the Demon, jogging his left leg and trifling with his tail. ‘One Minute!’ exclaimed the Monk. ‘Truly so!’ said the Demon. ‘I know old Time and his habits better than you really can. We meet every Saturday night, and communicate our best jokes. I keep a book of them Down There!’ And as if he had reason to remember the pavement of his Halls, he stood tiptoe and whipped up his legs. ‘Two Minutes!’ The Demon waved perfect acquiescence, and continued: