Baring-Gould’s sources: Irish Martyrologies. Authority: — A late life.] Luaid, or Molua, whose name has been Latinized into Lugidus, belonged to the distinguished family of Hy-Figinte, a district of Munster. His father was Cathar, surnamed Coche, and his mother Sochla, a native of Ossory. In his childhood he was a disciple of S. Finnian at Clonard. Afterwards he passed under the direction of S. Comgall at Bangor (circ. a.d. 559). Under this great master he remained for, probably, a considerable time, and. having ■ embraced the monastic life, became so distinguished by his virtue and abilities, that Comgall, finding him duly qualified for governing others, directed him to form an establishment for himself, and to nourish the servants of Christ. Accordingly Luaid returned to Munster, and repaired with some disciples to Mount Luachra, in the county of Limerick Wishing to establish himself in that district, he was advised to remain there by the king, who Was a worthy, God-fearing man, named Foelan. He then removed from that country, and went to Slievebloom, near where his maternal relatives resided, and erected a monastery at a place since called Clonfert Molua, now Clonfert Mulloe, to which a vast number of monks resorted from various parts, who were all received with kindness by Luaid. Afterwards he returned to Hy-Figinte, where he founded several cells and monasteries. He is said to have established many other religious houses, but some of them were probably founded by his disciples, Molua or Luaid drew up a Rule for his monks, which, we are told, was read and approved by Pope Gregory the Great. One of his regulations was the perpetual exclusion of women from the monastery of Clonfert Molua.

The church of Killaloe, in Irish Kill-do-Lua, or cell of Lua, is supposed to have got its name from the saint, either from his having lived there for some time, or from its having been dedicated in his name. This is not improbable, though far from certain. It has been said by some writers, that Molua was afflicted with leprosy, or some cutaneous disorder, for the last twenty years of his life; but there is reason to think that Molua, surnamed the Leper, was a different person, and the real Molua of Killaloe. A short time before his death he is said to have called upon Dagan, Bishop of Achad-Dagan, for the purpose of consulting him as to the appointment of a successor for his monastery. Dagan told him that he would be succeeded by Lactan, a choice with which he was highly pleased. S. Molua departed this life not long after the beginning of the seventh century, according to the annals of the Four Two anecdotes of the saint deserve repetition. He had under his rule a monk who lived in a cell by himself, and would not allow another to live with him. S. Molua went to him one day, and found him seated by the fire. “ Come,” said the monk, 11 sit you down by me and warm yotir toes, it is mighty cold.” The abbot did so. Then the monk went out on some business, and bade Molua remain by the fire till his return. When he came back, he found the abbot running round the fire, and toasting himself now here, now there. “ And what is it you are after, father ?” asked the monk. “ Sure it’s a pity that one should not get all the good out of such a beautiful fire that one can,” answered the abbot; “so I’m making the most of both sides of the blaze; it is a pity to waste good heat." Then the monk understood that the abbot was hinting to him that a fire that would warm one man would warm two very well. So he agreed to let another share his house. There joined his community a bard named Conan. He could make poetry, but not work with his hands. He did not know how to set about it. “ Will you come with me and take a lesson?” said Abbot Molua. “ With the greatest satisfaction,” answered Conan. So Molua got a sickle, and away he went with the bard, till they came to a meadow full of thistles. “ It’s a great pity there is such a forest of these weeds here,” said the abbot. “ Let us set to work and cut them down. There,” said he, putting the sickle into Conan’s hand, “ you just take the instrument thus, and up with it so, and in a moment the thistle is gone. That is the way to do it !” he exclaimed, as Conan smote the thistle, and it fell prostrate. “It is a noble stroke of work,” said the abbot. “Give me the sickle and we will go home.”

“ Shall we not cut down more ?" “ No, we have done our day’s work.” So next day they went to the meadow, and Conan cut down two thistles, and next day three, and at last he could cut down as many thistles in a day as he could make bad verses, and that is saying a great deal. His biographer tells us that when Molua was a boy he made sloe wine in a bottle, and every one who tasted it got tipsy off it, which was certainly a miracle. His father one day was very drunk for seven hours, and when he came round, assured his wife he had not tasted a drop of anything, but had only inhaled the breath of his sleeping babe as he stooped over him to kiss him. His wife believed it, so did his biographer, who relates the circumstance as miraculous, that a man should get drunk for seven hours off a baby’s breath. But the miracle seems to be that any one believed the word of Molua’s father.