finitely superstitious. They had no head for science, nor have they
to this day; but they were past-masters in every magical art, and
connoisseurs in amulets and charms. Their rabbis were the hierophants
of their fanatical folly. They devoted amazing industry, and sometimes
remarkable ingenuity, to its development; frequently glossing the very
scriptures of their religion with dexterious imbecilities that raise
a sinister admiration in the midst of our laughter. This propensity is
most noticeable in connection with Bible stories. When the chroniclers
and prophets record a good solemn wonder, which reads as though it ought
to be true if it is not, they allege or suggest little additions that
give it an air of ostentatious silliness. Hundreds of such instances
have come under my eyes in foraging for extra-Biblical matter for my
_Bible Heroes_, but I have only room for one or two specimens.

King Nimrod was jealous of young Abraham, as Herod was jealous of young
Jesus. He tried various methods to get rid of the boy, but all in
vain. At last he resolved to burn Abraham alive. This would have made a
striking scene, but the pious puerility of the sequel spoils it all. The
king issued a decree, ordering every man in his kingdom to bring wood
to heat the kiln. What a laughable picture! Behold every adult subject
wending his way to the crematorium with a bundle of sticks on his
back--"For Abraham." The The Mussulman tradition (Mohammedans and Jews
are much alike, and both their religions are Semitic) informs us that
Nimrod himself died in the most extraordinary manner. A paltry little
gnat, with a game leg and one eye, flew up his nostril, and lodged in
his brain, where it tormented him for five hundred years. During the
whole of that period, in which the gnat displayed a longevity that casts
Methuselah's into the shade, the agonising king could only obtain repose
by being struck on the head; and relays of men were kept at the palace
to pound his royal skull with a blacksmith's hammer. The absurdity of
the story is transcendent. One is charitably tempted to believe, for the
credit of human nature, that it was the work of a subtle, solemn wag,
who thought it a safe way of satirising the proverbial thick-headedness
of kings.

What reader of the Bible does not remember the pathetic picture of Esau
falling on Jacob's neck and weeping, in a paroxysm of brotherly love and
forgiveness? But the rabbis daub it over with their pious pueri