detestable potions.

"In the name of Belus, how can this have happened?" said the
king.

Merolchazzar, the high-priest, muttered something about the anger
of the Gods at the toleration shown to a sect of impious heretics
who ate pigeons broiled, "whereas," said he, "our religion
commands us to eat them roasted. Now therefore, O King,"
continued this respectable divine, "give command to thy men of
war, and let them smite the disobedient people with the sword,
them, and their wives, and their children, and let their houses,
and their flocks, and their herds, be given to thy servants the
priests. Then shall the land yield its increase, and the fruits
of the earth shall be no more blasted by the vengeance of
Heaven."

"Nay," said the king, "the ground lies under no general curse
from Heaven. The season has been singularly good. The wine
which thou didst thyself drink at the banquet a few nights ago, O
venerable Merolchazzar, was of this year's vintage. Dost thou
not remember how thou didst praise it? It was the same night
that thou wast inspired by Belus and didst reel to and fro, and
discourse sacred mysteries. These things are too hard for me. I
comprehend them not. The only wine which is bad is that which is
sent to my judges. Who can expound this to us?"

The king scratched his head. Upon which all the courtiers
scratched their heads.