am_) of the sacred remains. Eginhard's indignation at
the "rapine" of this "nequissimus nebulo" is exquisitely droll. It
would appear that the adage about the receiver being as bad as the
thief was not current in the ninth century.

Let us now briefly sum up the history of the acquisition of the
relics. Eginhard makes a contract with Deusdona for the delivery of
certain relics which the latter says he possesses. Eginhard makes no
inquiry how he came by them; otherwise, the transaction is innocent
enough.

Deusdona turns out to be a swindler, and has no relics. Thereupon
Eginhard's agent, after due fasting and prayer, breaks open the tombs
and helps himself.

Eginhard discovers by the self-betrayal of his brother abbot, Hildoin,
that portions of his relics have been stolen and conveyed to the
latter. With much ado he succeeds in getting them back.

Hildoin's agent, Hunus, in delivering these stolen goods to him, at
first declared they were the relics of St. Tiburtius, which Hildoin
desired him to obtain; but afterwards invented a story of their being
the product of a theft, which the providential drowsiness of his
companions enabled him to perpetrate, from the relics which Hildoin
well knew were the property of his friend.

Lunison, on the contrary, swears that all his story is false, and that
he himself was bribed by Hunus to allow him to steal what he pleased
from the property confided to his own and his brother's care by their
guest Ratleig. And the honest notary himself seems to have no
hesitation about lying and stealing to any extent, where the
acquisition of relics is the object in view.

For a parallel to these transactions one must read a police report of
the doings of a "long firm" or of a set of horse-coupers; yet Eginhard
seems to be aware of nothing, but that he has been rather badly used
by his friend Hildoin, and the "nequissimus nebulo" Hunus.

It is not easy for a modern Protestant, still less for any one who has
the least tincture of scientific culture, whether physical or
historical, to picture to himself the state of mind of a man of the
ninth century, however cultivated, enlightened, and sincere he may
have been. His deepest convictions, his most cherished hopes, were
bound up with the belief in the miraculous. Life was a constant battle
between saints and demons for the possession of the souls of men. The
most superstitious among our modern countrymen turn to supernatural
agencies only when