"Take good, strong wine," wrote he to the nuns in Oedenbach, at a later period, "it tastes good to the healthy, makes him glad of heart, strengthens him, warms his blood. But he, who lies sick of a distemper, or fever, and cannot taste it, much less drink it, wonders how those who are healthy can drink it. The fault is not in the wine, but in the disease. So the Divine Word is altogether right in itself, and revealed for the good of men. But he, who cannot bear it, nor understand it, and will not receive it, is sick. Thus let them be answered, who wickedly say, God would not have his Word _understood_," (we must subject reason to faith) "as if God wished to expose us to danger." In order to attain completely that firm ground, where settled conviction is the result of the union of faith and knowledge, he could scarcely have done a wiser thing, than to withdraw into the more quiet retreat, which was opened for him in the neighboring Einsiedeln. Far and wide, throughout the Confederacy, and the surrounding countries, was spread the name and glory of this monastery, which, like St. Gall and Muri, was subject to the rule of Benedict. It dates its origin as far back as the ninth century, and was built on that spot, occupied in the beginning by the hermit's cell of Meinhard, a German count. A legend of a voice, that fell from heaven, when in the following century the Bishop of Constance was dedicating a new chapel there, and of a song of angels repeatedly and distinctly heard, gave rise to the yearly festival of the "Consecration of the Angels," which, when it happened on a Sunday, as it did every seventh year, was celebrated with increased splendor. The story of Meinhard's death and the discovery of his murderers by means of ravens, who followed them, survived among the traditions of the people, and the miracle being accredited by Pope Leo VIII, and the power of granting plenary indulgences allowed to the monastery, vast crowds of pilgrims were attracted thither. By their offerings and the donations of the great it became wealthy. The Abbos enjoyed the rank of a Prince, and the monks, as a body, were descended from noble families. They were a proud, irritable race, and could talk as much almost about the history of their quarrels as of their pious exercises. Conrad of Hohenrechberg, who, in the beginning of the sixteenth century, stood at their head, troubled himself little about incense and choral singing, and thought it a wicked thing in his relations to have forced him to take the cowl. He took a knightly pleasure in the chase, and his heart leapt at the sight of a drawn sword. To cunning and hypocrisy his nature was averse. Whoever was open, simple, and sincerely pious found a friend in him. For learned men he had a great esteem, but from lack of elementary knowledge, was not able to follow their investigations. This he modestly confessed. The reading of the mass he avoided as often as it