perceived that the popular belief that the Devil avoids holy edifices,
and vanishes at the sound of a Credo or Pater-noster, is long since
exploded. Indeed, modern scepticism asserts that he is not averse to
these orthodox discourses, which particularly bear reference to himself,
and in a measure recognize his power and importance.

I am inclined to think, however, that his choice of a resting-place was
a good deal influenced by its contiguity to a populous thoroughfare.
When he was comfortably seated, he began pulling out the joints of a
small rod which he held in his hand, and which presently proved to be an
extraordinary fishing-pole, with a telescopic adjustment that permitted
its protraction to a marvellous extent. Affixing a line thereto, he
selected a fly of a particular pattern from a small box which he carried
with him, and, making a skilful cast, threw his line into the very
centre of that living stream which ebbed and flowed through Montgomery
Street.

Either the people were very virtuous that evening or the bait was not a
taking one. In vain the Devil whipped the stream at an eddy in front
of the Occidental, or trolled his line into the shadows of the
Cosmopolitan; five minutes passed without even a nibble. "Dear me!"
quoth the Devil, "that's very singular; one of my most popular flies,
too! Why, they'd have risen by shoals in Broadway or Beacon Street
for that. Well, here goes another." And, fitting a new fly from his
well-filled box, he gracefully recast his line.

For a few moments there was every prospect of sport. The line was
continually bobbing and the nibbles were distinct and gratifying. Once
or twice the bait was apparently gorged and carried off in the upper
stories of the hotels to be digested at leisure. At such times the