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adviser of Dr, M'Creagh, then Bishop of Cork and Cloyne, who consulted him in all his difficulties. The following incident in the life of Dr. M‘Creagh, will give our readers some idea of the sufferings and dangers of a Catholic bishop in those days. It is taken from the Pacata Hibernia, page 190, of the Dublin edition. The Earl of Thomond, Sir George Thornton and others, were led by a spy to Drumfinnim Woods. “No sooner were they entred into the fastnesse, but presently the sentinells which were placed in the skirt of the wood, raised the crie, which as it should seem, rowsed 'the counterfeit Earle of Desmond, and Dermond MacGraghe, the Pope's Bishop of Cork, who were lodged there in a poore ragged Cabbin : Desmond fled away barefoot, having no leisure to pull on his shooes, and was not discovered ; but MacGraghe was met by some of the souldiers, cloathed in a simple mantle and torne trowsers, like an aged churle; and they neglecting so poore a creature, not able to carry weapon, suffered him to pass unregarded." Thus lived those apostles and martyrs of the faith of Jesus Christ. Hunted as the wolf, no home, no comfort, no shelter but “ “а poore ragged cabbin,” exposed to betrayal and death even in the depths of the forest, and so meanly clad that the soldiers take them for "some aged churles," some “poore creatures,” and allow them to pass in contempt!

To many such dangers was Father O'Sullivan exposed: Sometimes he sought refuge for a time among his kinsmen in Bear. Sometimes, as Wadding and other writers relate, he owed his deliverance to a manifest miracle. On one occasion, when the heretics lay in ambush, he suddenly approached their hiding-place, and confronting them, said, I know your object. I know the reward you will receive for my capture. Here I am ; fulfil your purpose. I am ready, if it be the will of God to deliver me up to my enemies." Astounded at his boldness, and believing their intentions had been revealed to him by God, they let him

pass free. Another time, when pursued by a company of soldiers, he came to a cross on the wayside, and turning towards it, prayed :-“By the power of the Cross, deliver me, O Lord, from my enemies. Allow them not to pass this sacred sign.” His prayer was heard. Beyond the cross they could not go, until their victim had reached a place of safety.

Father Thaddeus O'Sullivan died in December, 1597, far away from his convent, but the people who loved him resolved that he should rest with his brethren in Kilcrea. They dare not attempt their object unless in the secrecy of the night. The country was without roads, and they lost their way among the mountain-passes. In their difficulty they implored God, through the intercession of His servant, whose body they bore, that He would come to their aid. It was decided to let the horse, on which was placed the body of the Saint, take its own way. Guided by the hand of God, it led them safely through the darkness to the convent gate. They buried him in the cloister before the door of the chapter

The English soldiers then occupied the surrounding country, and it was only by night the pious work could be performed. As his brethren and his friends, who had followed his long and dangerous funeral procession, stood in sorrow beside his grave, they beheld a light shine out from the church and rest upon the mortal remains of their beloved Father. With joy they entered the convent, knowing that his soul was with God.

Here, also, rests the body of Thomas O'Herlihy, Bishop of Ross. This illustrious Confessor of the Faith was born in 1519, in a small village of that diocese. We have no particulars of his youth, but he must have entered the priesthood at an early age, and have been distinguished for his piety and learning. We learn from the Consistorial Acts that, at the time of his appointment, he was Canon of Cork, and was on a visit to Rome.

Dr. O'Herlihy was created Bishop of Ross, in succession

room.

to Dr. Maurice O'Hea, on the 17th December, 1561, on the recommendation of Father David, a Jesuit, who held, at that time, an important position in the Irish Church. He was consecrated in Rome, and shortly afterwards set out for Trent, where he arrived on the 25th May, 1562. Donagh M'Congail, Bishop of Raphoe, and Eugene O'Hairt, Bishop of Achonry, reached that city about the same date, and probably travelled wảh him from Rome. These, with Dr. Waucop, Archbishop of Armagh, who had been present at some of the earlier sessions twenty years before, were the only Irish prelates who attended that celebrated Council. They took an active part in the proceedings, and spoke and voted on many important questions. When the obligation of bishops to reside in their dioceses was under discussion, one of them the records do not mention which-voted that the Council should declare that the obligation of residence was of Divine law. The opinion of the others is not given, but this we know, that all three returned to Ireland and fulfilled that law at the risk of their liberty and life.

(To be continued.)

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(Continued from page 694.) “Iet me pass, wretched man! You shall not have the child !” A cry of pain followed on these words—the murderer's dagger had been plunged deep into his arm. With a horrible curse the stranger sprang forward and tried to drag the child to himself; his dagger stabbed ceaselessly at the defenceless priest, but the blows were cautiously aimed to avoid injuring the little bundle in his arms. The priest sunk on his knees, holding the child tight to his breast with superhuman strength. A fearful struggle began—a struggle for life or death—there seemed little doubt as to which. “Oh, God! send Thine angel to protect the child !” cried the priest aloud.

He had sunk to the ground, pouring with blood from innumerable wounds, but still holding tight to the weeping babe for whom he made a rampart of his body; but loss of blood and agony were fast depriving him of his power.

At this supreme moment a loud unearthly yell, rang out on the silent night air. It came from Martin, who at that moment came up, and rapidly comprehended the situation. “Triple brute !” hissed out the stranger, lifting himself up

and looking round. He made a move towards Martin, who instinctively sought shelter behind a large beech tree, at the same time giving utterance to another cry, which echoed back an erie sound from the neighbouring hills. This time the Count, with a horrible imprecation, darted like a wild animal on the boy, who took rapid flight down the precipitous mountain side, still uttering the same piercing cry, and followed closely by his pursuer. This chase lasted a few minutes. In spite of Martin's intimate knowledge of the ground his pursuer was gaining on him rapidly; only a short distance separated the two. But a loud halloo ! from the neighbouring heights stopped him in his course.

The boy's agonizing cry had been heard, and people were approaching rapidly—shepherds, men and boy's, who, like himself, had been out all night on the hills. Martin's piercing yells were drawing near, and he must flee with all possible speed under pain of being taken. The priest and his little adopted son were saved. That was the first hotir of Professor Halden's life.

IX.

The first yellow glimmer of dawn shone faintly into the wide, empty-looking room, lighting up the bed whereon the Italian was dying. His eyes shone with an unholy light in their sockets as he ended his tale. He held himself in an upright position by grasping the back of a chair, a bloodtinged foam had gathered round his lips, and his breath came in short, painful gasps. .

You are no Halden, my fine Professor, but my son. I am Count Marinelli,” he gasped out, looking steadfastly at the side of his couch, where the form of the man he addressed was leaning up against the wall as though in need of a support. Some time previously, in the midst of the terrible avowal, he had arisen, and remained ever since leaning against the white-washed wall. The dying man made a pause as to observe the effect of his declaration ; but no remark, no answer came, and his eyes, glazing in death, no longer distinguish the features of his son.

A violent paroxysm threw the old man back on his bed. The end was approaching rapidly.

“Give me some more of that medicine, yonder; it lengthens one's life; and I have yet to tell you why we, Marinellis, hate the Nordenflychts. You must complete my revenge ; one scion of that hateful race yet lives, and he must die ! I

“Stop !--for God's sake, stop! I know enough !"

Felix's voice sounded hoarse and wearied. For the first time during all that dreadful night he showed some sign of emotion. He stepped to the bedside, but with faltering, uncertain steps, his hand seeking a support, as it would seem, from the wall. His voice was hoarse ; all its accustomed vibrations had gone; but it was calm_deadly calm.

“No, you do not know all. So far in your life you have heard only of the curse and inevitable consequences of crime.

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