I never think of the Devil as that atrocious creature in red tights, with cloven hoofs and a tail and a two-tined fork. I think of him rather as an extremely fascinating, strong, steel-willed person in conventional clothes--a man with whom to fall completely, madly in love. I rather think, I believe, that he is incarnate at times. Why not? Periodically I fall completely, madly in love with the Devil. He is so fascinating, so strong--so strong, exactly the sort of man whom my wooden heart awaits. I would like to throw myself at his head. I would make him a dear little wife. He would love me--he would love me. I would be in raptures. And I would love him, oh, madly, madly! “What would you have me do, little MacLane?” the Devil would say. “I would have you conquer me, crush me, know me,” I would answer. “What shall I say to you?” the Devil would ask. “Say to me, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ in your strong, steel, fascinating voice. Say it to me often, always--a million times.” “What would you have me do, little MacLane?” he would say again. I would answer: “Hurt me, burn me, consume me with hot love, shake me violently, embrace me hard, _hard_ in your strong, steel arms, kiss me with wonderful burning kisses--press your lips to mine with passion, and your soul and mine would meet then in an anguish of joy for me!” “How shall I treat you, little MacLane?” “Treat me cruelly, brutally.” “How long shall I stay with you?” “Through the life everlasting--it will be as one day; or for one day--it will be as the life everlasting.” “And what kind of children will you bear me, little MacLane?” he would say. “I will bear wonderful, beautiful children--with great pain.” “But you hate pain,” the Devil will say, “and when you are in your pain you will hate me.” “But no,” I will answer, “pain that comes of you whom I love will be ineffable exaltation.” “And how will you treat me, little MacLane?” “I will cast myself at your feet; or I will minister to you with divine tenderness; or I will charm you with fantastic deviltry; when you weep, I will melt into tears; when you rejoice, I will go wild with delight; when you go deaf I will stop my ears; when you go blind I will put out my eyes; when you go lame I will cut off my legs. Oh, I will be divinely dear, unutterably sweet!” “Indeed you are rarely sweet,” the Devil will say. And I will be in transports. Oh, Devil, Devil, Devil! Oh, misery, _misery_ of Nothingness! The days are long--long and very weary as I await the Devil’s coming. January 31.