one of the demons who tempted St. Anthony, and retailed anecdotes of that eremite which Euschemon had never heard mentioned in Paradise.  He was versed in all scandal respecting saints in general, and Euschemon found with astonishment how much about his own order was known downstairs.  On the whole he had never enjoyed himself so much in his life; he became proficient in all manner of minor devilries, and was ceasing to trouble himself about his bell or his ecclesiastical duties, when an untoward incident interrupted his felicity.

It chanced that the Bishop of Metz, in whose diocese Epinal was situated, finding himself during a visitation journey within a short distance of the town, determined to put, up there for the night.  He did not arrive until nightfall, but word of his intention having been sent forward by a messenger the authorities, civil and ecclesiastical, were ready to receive him.  When, escorted in state, he had arrived at the house prepared for his reception, the Mayor ventured to express a hope that everything had been satisfactory to his Lordship.

“Everything,” said the bishop emphatically.  “I did indeed seem to remark one little omission, which no doubt may be easily accounted for.”

“What was that, my Lord?”

“It hath,” said the bishop, “usually been the practice to receive a bishop with the ringing of bells.  It is a laudable custom, conducive to the purification of the air and the discomfiture of the prince of the powers thereof.  I caught no sound of chimes on the present occasion, yet I am sensible that my hearing is not what it was.”

The civil and ecclesiastical authorities looked at each other.  “That graceless knave of a sacristan!” said the Mayor.

“He hath indeed of late strangely neglected his charge,” said a priest.

“Poor man, I doubt his wits are touched,” charitably added another.

“What!” exclaimed the bishop, who was very active, very fussy, and a great stickler for discipline.  “This important church, so renowned for its three miraculous bells, confided to the tender mercies of an imbecile rogue who may burn it down any night!  I will look to it myself without losing a minute.”

And in spite of all remonstrances, off he started.  The keys were brought, the doors flung open, the body of the church thoroughly examined, but neither in nave, choir, or chancel could the slightest trace of the sacristan be found.

“Perhaps he is in the belfry,” suggested a chorister.

“We’ll see,” responded the bishop, and bustling nimbly up the ladder, he emerged into the open belfry in full moonlight.

Heavens! what a sight met his eye!  The sacristan and the devil sitting vis-a-vis close by the miraculous bell, with a smoking can of hot spiced wine between them, finishing a close game of cribbage.

“Seven,” declared Euschemon.

“And eight are fifteen,” retorted the demon, marking two.