Blessed Edmund Campion

s of the Spaniards in the same line. Therefore each of the missionaries was cautioned to travel under a name other t

Pope's active good-will in the matter, joined the expedition with James Fitzmaurice, Spanish soldiers, Roman officers, ships and supplies. That expedition did not, as we know, dislodge Jezebel from her throne, but it gave sufficient heartbreak to our messengers of the Gospel of Peace, who were now sure to be mixed up with it in the popular mind. The situation was certainly an awkward one. It gave unique plausibility to Walsingham's claim that (to quote Fr. Pollen) "the preaching of the old Faith was only a political propaganda." Father Robert Parsons face

well in so gladly laying down what was, after all, steady and successful work in Bohemia. With this buzzing scruple he went to the President for advice. Allen replied that the work in "Boemeland," excellent at all poi

t a manner: "Fire, fire, fire, fire!" that those outside the Chapel ran for the water-buckets! But a careful reading of what was then spoken suggests quite a different passage of Holy Scripture as present in Campion's mind. His theme was the ruin wrought by the conflagration of heresy, now attacking a third generation of Christian souls, and to be put out, he says, by "water of Catholic doctrine, milk of sweet and holy conversation,

ome on foot nearly nine hundred miles, and were not likely to give up the object of their journey. But they took precautions. It was decided that[93] Parsons should go first, in military attire, accompanied from the Low Countries by a good youth who passed as his man George; and that if Parsons got safely to Dover, he was to send for Campion and the faithful little soul Ralph Emerson. An English gentleman "living over seas for his conscience," brought Fr. Parsons his fine disguise: nothing less than a Captain's uniform of buff leather, with gold lace, big boots, sword, hat, plume, and all. Campion, when he had gone, sat down to write to the General of the Society about him, with his inevitably pictorial touch. "Father Robert sailed from Calais after midnight. . . . They got him up like a soldier: such a peacock! such a swaggerer! . . . such duds, such a glance, such a strut! A man must have a sharp eye indeed," he adds, "to catch any glimpse of the holiness and modesty that lurk there u

vessel bound for Dover. At daybreak they stepped ashore under the white cliffs, and there kneeling a moment in the shadow of a rock, Cam

er arrest. With an accuracy which he was not in the least aware of, the Mayor charged him and the lay brother of being "foes to the Queen's religion and friends to the old Faith; with sailing under false names, and with returning for the purpose of propagating Popery." Campion offered to swear that he was not Gabriel Allen, but offered in vain. The Mayor held a hasty conference, and ordered a mounted guard to carry both prisoners up to Sir[96] Francis Walsingham and the Council. All this time, Campio

a welcoming gesture, saying: "Mr. Edmunds, give me your hand: I stay here for you, to lead you to your friends." Under this guidance Campion reached London and Chancery Lane, where he was clothed and armed, and provided with a horse. He must have been astonished to learn under whose roof he was so safe and so comfortable: for it was none other than that of the chief pursuivant! Here was, indeed, a case of the bird nesting in the cannon's mouth. St. Augustine warns us that we are not to think that ungodly men are kept in this world for nothing, nor th

"a sort of hypocrites," "a rabble of vagrant friars." The leader of them all, in his inspiring zeal, though not highest in station, was George Gilbert, a rich young squire owning estates (which were confiscated in the end) in Buckinghamshire and Suffolk. He was a convert, a great rider and athlete, dear to many; but in secret a lover of apostolic poverty, living for others: in short, a saint. He spent himself to the last breath for the Faith as