three conditions for him to fulfill, on failure of which the
parchment should be torn up, and asked whether she might impose them.
The devil politely replied in the affirmative. "Here, then," said she,
"see this horse painted on the wall of the inn: I wish to mount him, and
you must make me a whip of sand and a staple of walnuts." The devil
bowed, and in a moment the horse was prancing before their eyes. The
lady now had a large tub of holy water brought in, and invited the
devil, as his second task, to plunge into it and refresh his weary
limbs. He coughed, shivered, then went in resolutely, coming out again
as quickly as possible, and shaking himself well. "The third task will
be a pleasant one," said the lady with her most bewitching smile: "The
first year my husband passes in hell you shall spend with me, swearing
to me love, fidelity and implicit obedience. Will you?" The devil rushed
toward the door, but she was too quick for him, and succeeded in locking
it and putting the key into her pocket. Satan, resolved to escape from
the servitude in store for him, could only do so by going through the
keyhole, which has been black ever since.

E. C. R.

A LETTER FROM HAVANA.

HAVANA, Feb. 14, 1875.

It is not a very long sail from home to Cuba--you pass into the Bay of
Havana on the morning of the fifth day, if you have luck--but the sky
and land you left behind at this wintry season at home are very
different from those you find on arriving here. It is a great change in
so short a time from the dun-colored shore and the frozen river to the
waving verdure of the Cuban coast and the sparkling blue and white of
the water. We made the land before daylight, and, the rules forbidding
us to enter the harbor till sunrise, we bobbed up and down for two or
three hours a mile or so outside of the Moro Castle, which guards the
narrow entrance to Havana. The moon was so brilliant that we did not
have to wait for day to enjoy the scene before us: in fact, it could not
have been improved by the sun. The fortress of Moro crouches on a bed of
rock, rearing a tall lighthouse aloft. Its Moorish turrets have a soft
rounded outline, and the undulations of the shore blend with the masonry
of the castle; only a sharp retiring angle here and there gives an
occasional glimpse of a grim purpose. When the Moro light is put out,
ships in the offing may enter the bay. The mouth of the harbor is not