of a bishop, after laying the Bible upon his
head, the book was opened, and the first verse that the eye fell on
was supposed to throw light on the bishop's future career. A bishop of
Rochester, at his consecration by Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury,
had a happy presage in these words: "Bring hither the best robe, and
put it on him." But the answer of the Scriptures at the consecration
of St. Lietbert, Bishop of Cambray, was still more propitious: "This
is my beloved son." The death of Albert, Bishop of Liege, was reported
to have been made known to him by these words, which the archbishop
who consecrated him found on opening the New Testament: "And the king
sent an executioner, and commanded his head to be brought; and he went
and beheaded him in prison." The Primate, greatly moved, embraced the
new bishop, and said: "My son, having given yourself up to the sacred
office, carry yourself righteously and devoutly, and prepare yourself
for the trial of martyrdom." The bishop was afterwards murdered by the
treacherous connivance of Henry VI.

De Garlande, Bishop of Orleans, became so odious to his clergy that
they sent a complaint against him to Pope Alexander III., concluding:
"Let your apostolical hands put on strength to strip naked the
iniquity of this man, that the curse prognosticated on the day of his
consecration may overtake him; for, the gospel being opened according
to custom, the first words that appeared were: 'And the young man,
leaving his linen cloth, fled from them naked.'"

William of Malmesbury relates that Hugh de Montaigne, Bishop of
Auxerre, was obliged to go to Rome to answer several charges brought
against him by some of his chapter, touching his morals; but his
friends urged as undoubted testimony of his chastity the prognostic on
the day of his consecration: "Hail Mary, full of grace."

Piously-inclined people not unfrequently went to church with the
intention of receiving a declaration of the divine will, by hearing
words of Scripture read or sung at the moment of the person's
entrance. St. Anthony, when irresolute about his retirement, went to a
church, where on entering he heard the words: "Go, sell all thou hast,
and give it to the poor, then come and follow me." These expressions
terminated his wavering: he withdrew to his solitude, leaving wealth
and friends behind, and took up his abode in an old ruin on the top of
a hill, where he spent many years of rigorous seclusion. He became the