348 Timehri. 
in any part of Europe would have beenshockeda that date. It was a custom 
in Israel. Perhaps another method was tried. O'Neill was nearly seventy- 
six, his sight was failing and the inactivity and the malarial Roman climate 
were telling on a constitution used to hawking andthe chase in the 
intervals of war, and to the keen airofthe Ulster hills. Still he meant 
to “have a day in Ireland yet.” At this stage enters a physician 
of uncertain nationality, one Dr. Doyne, a spy of Cecil. He gains the 
confidence of the exiled Earl, lives in his palace and bleeds him (aged 76 
and weak) from his legs, some sixteen ounces of blood. O’Neill’s herculean 
frame and great will-power keeps him alive for some months but we are 
hardly surprised to hear that he suffers constantly from intermittent fever 
and dies in the torrid Roman heat of July, 1616. I can find no record of any 
faithful clansman having slipped a sgian dhu into the worthy Dr. Doyne. 
His good faith has never yet been questioned. He had departed, ostensibly 
for study of the healing art in Padua, his work in Rome welldone. Perhaps 
although a spy, his empirical mystery was exercised honestly enough and 
haply he lived long and visiting Spain in his old age assumed the name of 
Sangrado instead of Doyne. 
In the Church of San Pietro in Montorio on the Janiculum, hard by the 
traditional site of St. Peter’s martyrdom, under the clouted shoes of the 
Trastevere popolani, there are two recumbent tombstones marked with 
a red hand and a cross. As one examines the wreaths which are 
seldom absent, or kneels to pray, a Spanish lay-brother (the church 
being under the protection of the Sovereign of Spain) will lay down his 
sweeping brush and drawing near point to one grave and then to the other, 
uttering in the accent of Barcelona, his only information on this head, the words, 
** Oneglio ” and “ Odonnello.”’ I have been there about twenty times and I 
never heard himsay any other words. One nods insilence, revolving memories, 
and he moves tactfully away unfeed. Perhaps he dimly knows, this Catalonian 
Minorite, that to an Irishman, for no other nation turns aside from the 
magnificent Roman panorama of the terrace to pause at those memorials 
of a forgotten cause, he need not say too much about the last native Princes 
of the Gael. 
With the very letter announcing the flight of the Earls the Lord Deputy 
Chichester broached the great scheme of the Ulster plantation. Bacon had 
already given the idea some attention as colonization was in the air and had a 
particular attraction for his practical mind. ‘‘ Their principalities’ write 
the Four Masters, with biblical simplicity, amid the ruins of Donegal Abbey, 
a few years later : ‘‘ their territories, their estates, their lands, their ports, their 
“fruitful harbours and their fishful bays, were taken from the Irish of the 
“province of Ulster, and given in their presence to foreign tribes ; and they were 
“expelled and banished into other countries where most of them died.” Six 
counties in Ulster were confiscated and disposed of to English and Scots planters 
and O’Cahan’s country went to the City of London companies. O’Cahan went 
to the Tower. In Simpson’s Statistical Survey of the County of Derry, the 
story is told that the Duchess of Buckingham passed through Limavady in 
O’Cahan’s country during the Cromwellian war. She visited the great castle 
