the matter of the serpents and the frogs; "a verie gross absurditie," as
Scot judiciously remarks.[1] This, however, would not be a serious
limitation upon the practical usefulness of the power.

[Footnote 1: p. 314.]

46. The great Reformation movement wrought a change in this respect. Men
began to accept argument and reason, though savouring of special
pleading of the schools, in preference to tradition, though never so
venerable and well authenticated; and the leaders of the revolution
could not but recognize the absurdity of laying down as infallible dogma
that God was the Creator of all things, and then insisting with equal
vehemence, by way of postulate, that the devil was the originator of
some. The thing was gross and palpable in its absurdity, and had to be
done away with as quickly as might be. But how? On the other hand, it
was clear as daylight that the devil _did_ appear in various forms to
tempt and annoy the people of God--was at that very time doing so in the
most open and unabashed manner. How were reasonable men to account for
this manifest conflict between rigorous logic and more rigorous fact?
There was a prolonged and violent controversy upon the point--the
Reformers not seeing their way to agree amongst themselves--and tedious
as violent. Sermons were preached; books were written; and, when
argument was exhausted, unpleasant epithets were bandied about, much as
in the present day, in similar cases. The result was that two theories
were evolved, both extremely interesting as illustrations of the
hair-splitting, chop-logic tendency which, amidst all their
straightforwardness, was so strongly characteristic of the Elizabethans.
The first suggestion was, that although the devil could not, of his own
inherent power, create a body, he might get hold of a dead carcase and
temporarily restore animation, and so serve his turn. This belief was
held, amongst others, by the erudite King James,[1] and is pleasantly
satirized by sturdy old Ben Jonson in "The Devil is an Ass," where Satan
(the greater devil, who only appears in the first scene just to set the
storm a-brewing) says to Pug (Puck, the lesser devil, who does all the
mischief; or would have done it, had not man, in those latter times, got
to be rather beyond the devils in evil than otherwise), not without a
touch of regret at the waning of his power--

"You must get a body ready-made, Pug,
I can create you none;"

and consequently Pug is