Médash broke fast the next morning with Edhsél at his right, Lílabhél at his left, and Bhéalmal at hers. There was yet much fruit upon which all delighted and bread baked in the great stone ovens of the mountain.

There came of a sudden a messenger announcing the arrival of the final princess, the fair daughter of King Natanér of the North and his queen Selédenél. Right into his hall she rode upon a dappled horse, her long green cape draped upon it haunches. Her hood was upraised, veiling her face in shadow, but rumors of her beauty preceded her and soon enough the anticipation of all was ended, for pale hands were uplifted and, gently taking the edges of the hood, removed it to reveal three interwoven braids of long red hair as though of fire, and eyes of hazel set in a snowy face. Faerie-kisses dotted her skin as roses rising from winter’s pall, or sanguine stars in a white sky, and her smile was faint and sweet.

“Oh King,” she began, lowering her head, “I am named Celereshél the Starkissed, daughter of Natanér of the North and Queen Selédenél of the Willows. I bring thee tribute: the furs of one-hundred mammoth beasts and their tusks, mineral water from the Springs of Cangrélan for your health, and twenty firedancers for your entertainment while I remain here. Also I bring four oxcarts of obsidian, I bring crystal from the deepest of our caves and ingots of iron, and I bring much mead for the enjoyment of your people.”

Dismounting in one graceful motion, her long cape flowing off of the horse and pooling around her feet, she strode forward and knelt before him, head bowed, the silver circlet upon her head shining in the shaft of morning sunlight that bathed them both. Médash felt his heart leap at the sight of her beautiful locks, and the perfume of the oils in her hair and the ointments upon her skin filled his head with visions of spring in vales thick with flowers and honey.

“Majesty of the Mountain, the final gift I offer is for your ears only. Will you receive it?”

With a small motion of his hand, he granted her leave to continue. She leant in closer so as to speak softly to him.

“My king, I have known of your greatness since I was but a small child upon my mother’s lap, sitting by the great fires within my father’s hall, too young yet for the long hunts and the drinking of mead. I heard tales of the King of Gold, whose mountain was full of treasure beyond compare. Even beyond these tellings I heard of your kindness, your generosity, and the love which you bore for your people, yet there was no Queen of Silver by your side, and no children of Brass, of Iron, of Emerald or other jewel. I pitied this king, for gold’s worth is in the eye of one who finds it beautiful and desires to hold it, and yet I saw his golden heart from afar off, then beholden by no eye, loving or no. Were I to have a treasury of my own, I would not need a mountain of riches to fill it; nay, but only a heart so kind as thine, of which the tales tell. I would possess such a treasure above all else, and offer likewise mine in exchange.”

As she spoke, so soft as to be almost a whisper, he felt his heart weighing more heavy within him as though burdened by the loveliness it was drinking in. Soon his eyes quivered in weakness, and a mist rose above them, and by the end of Princess Celereshél’s message he had hidden his face behind his hands to catch each tear. No words had so moved him, and though it was not as though this woman’s beauty surpassed any other, no beauty and no tribute had moved him as did these words. It was as though she knew his very soul and smote it utterly to the quick.

“My lady,” he muttered softly, taking her hands in his own, “I thank you for this gift, and I beg you take your place at this table. Find rest and joy here for as long as you would honor my halls.”

She arose and, passing her cape to a servant, took a seat at the right of Edhsél, smoothing the creases out of the simple burgundy dress she wore. He engaged his guests in conversation, inquiring as to their homelands, their families, and their interests. All four answered always simply, politely, with Edhsél always looking into his eyes, with Lílabhél speaking with her head bowed but glancing up to view him, with Bhéalmal gazing always ahead as though viewing someone afar off, and Celereshél always speaking with eyes cast down and head bowed, though all voices were beautiful and sweet.

Once certain affairs were attended to and he saw to the afternoon entertainment of his company, Médash returned to his chambers seeking rest. His heart felt as though it were being drawn in the way of every wind, but he knew that it must soon enough be torn free of three. All other of his summons had returned with regrets, so his choice of a bride must come from those that now dwelt in his palace. But which? Each moved him this way and that, and all brought generous tribute. Could he, as king, not have four wives?

Alas, he thought, this cannot be, for it was that God gave Man one Wife in Eve, and so it must be that in one woman can be found all the love and joy any man could need on this earth, and though Médash was considered by many to be great, he knew he was certainly not so great as his ancestor Adama, who yet dwelt outside Éfelget with many of his line, in whose memory yet remained the Garden-Beyond-the-Gate and the Face of God. Oh the tears Adama wept when he dwelt upon the memory of it, and oh the sobs of Eve who would join him in remembering those days. For long she would do nothing but weep at her error and at the death of her second-born and the banishment of her first, but ever did she end by singing the promise of God, of she who would crush the tempting serpent, named by the people as Hélmeardh, the holy woman who would bear the salvation of all people one day as a horse bears forth a victorious king.

Consumed in deep thought, Médash fell asleep upon his couch, with but his waist-wrapping upon him and naught else. The noonday sun bore upon him with a warm embrace, giving him the appearance of a fallen statue of white-gold.

 

“Médash!”

He awoke as a whisper pierced his sleeping mind. Glancing around, he saw no one that could have birthed the summons to awaken.

“Who goes there and shatters the king’s peace?”

A white dove he saw perched upon the sill of his window, and it looked upon him with small black eyes, tilting its head as though questioning him. Turning to the air beyond it fluttered away, and the king swore he heard his name whispered in the fluttering of its wings.

Running to the sill he looked out and saw naught but the mountainside and the vast desert plains below. Something inside his heart beckoned him to go in the direction of the dove, to follow it to its nest and there await the revelation of a mystery. Hastily scrawling a note of his intentions, he fled barefoot to his private stable and leapt upon his great steed Cedothon and rode down the mountain.

As he reached the end of the mountain road, long and straight from the palace entrance and down the gentle slope unto the dusty plain, he saw the dove perched upon the milestone. Looking at him again, it fluttered away and again he heard his name, and he followed.

Médash raced through the desert, long black locks drawn behind him, the wind roaring in his ears. He could see the dove ever before him, and soon it was but a small speck amidst the bleeding gold of the setting sun, and as the chill of night approached Médash comprehended his sudden peril, and darkness was upon him. No longer could he see the dove, the mountain was lost in the darkness, and the King of Gold was adrift in a sea of fear and sand.

For a long while he led his horse through the dusts, his bare feet relishing the warmth beneath while his bare chest trembled in the cold air. When he could walk no more he mounted his horse, and hours later he fell asleep, wondering at his own rashness.

 

When he awoke in the light of dawn he found himself alone and lying upon the ground with the grit of sand in his mouth and the dryness of the desert upon his tongue. He ached for water, and saw now no sign of his mountain on the horizon; yea nothing but a small rocky outcropping to the east showed any promise of shade in the heat of the sun, so he walked toward it. The journey was many hours, and when he arrove he collapsed in the shade of a large stone. There upon the ground lay a white feather, and clutching it in his hand he prayed to God, begging forgiveness for his great folly, and asking for rescue.

Soon the sun boiled away his shade and, overcome with heat and thirst, all sense left him and King Médash, with a mountain of gold once at his disposal, fell upon the dust from whence he and all his people came.

As a Christmas treat, here is Part One of my version of the story of King Midas. Enjoy! Yes, I know there are some funny words but I trust you are all intelligent enough to come up with your own way of pronouncing them! Please pardon any errors; it is still a work in progress.

 

In the days following the breaking of the earth, after the Man and the Woman came into the Wilderland beyond the gates of Héleredh, from whence they were brought from the dust and made to live, there came to be many kingdoms.

Far was the land between realms and there were no marches on maps, no pale or post to be seen but merely vast wastes through which only the very brave or foolish dared to tread. Therefore it was that the wastes kept the peace, and as the sons and daughters of Mankind grew and multiplied, they settled and formed kingdoms under the guidance of the Elves-Who-Remained, the Héloshtaíc. They were taught also the planting of crops, the husbandry of animals, the delving of earth for gems and metals and the working thereof. These manifold kingdoms of men prospered, but none so much as Médash who seemed to have endless stores of gold.

Médash it was who lay no cornerstone for a city, but rather bore into the very living mountain and there made his people to dwell. When he discovered that the whole of the great stone was struck through with gold and gems, he began to hoard it all within hidden chambers upon which he affixed his seal: a great golden hand. Atop the mountain, above the tunnels and chambers within which dwelt his many people, Médash raised a palace that glittered in crystal as though it were eternal snow, and even kingdoms across the wastes could see it afar off, and the moon at night shone upon it, causing many to think that a new star had been kindled in the sky. So did he prosper, and all under his rule flourished.

One day, beneath the mountain in the great market chamber, there was a wedding festival taking place. There in the center, where seven shafts of light of different colors met, stood a young man and a young woman, and all rejoiced with them. The petals of flowers were strewn before them as the Elves had taught, and new-forged rings of gold were upon their hands. Already had the wine been taken, already the veil lifted, and it seemed that as the wedded two stood in the varied light, Médash could descry an eighth color of a shade no man could name, and he then desired a thing more than all his vaults possessed, and that was love. Whatever shade love shone in, he thought unto himself, he wished to be illuminated within its rays.

Thus he stuck his rod upon the flags and cried aloud, “Oh my people, hear your king! Long have we labored together in this mountain and long has been our bliss. Alas, each beast in our caves has a mate, and every man who comes of age finds his peace and joy in a wife. Yet your king, so long satisfied pouring his heart into his people, has naught left to give unless he can find another to draw out the deeper measure. Am I doomed to have everything, and yet nothing?”

The people were silent, and a man spoke, “Surely, my king, your gold could summon forth the daughters of kings from across God’s earth, and they would come gladly even across the peril of the Wastes? For songs of your kindness and prosperity are sung far and wide, and even further shines the moonlight upon the Towers of Acton!”

A song arose, praising their king, but still he bore a grim face. “I fear,” he uttered in the heavy silence that fell before his words, “that I shant taste food, nor drink sweet wines, nor sleep until the vault of my loneliness is utterly spent and replenished with such company as my heart desires.”

Within that very hour he dispatched his golden eagles with tidings to all the kings within their reach. Over the coming days word arrove by the very same means, parchments written upon with scarlet inks and sealed with golden wax, wrapped around a sprig of olive signifying peace. Those kings with daughters promised to send a long caravan of revelers, that the great King Médash may yet behold a gem for which he has not yet delved, a precious metal wrought not by his expert craftsmen, a treasure that he desired above all else—that of a maiden fairest of all.

First to arrive was the daughter of King Korobhda, who was well known for the many fruits grown in the fertile floodplain along a great river that flowed through his lands. She was called Lílabhél, and her hair was bound in a long, obsidian braid woven with gold and white ribbon. Her skin was dark like wet sands and her eyes brown like carved wood in the shade of midday, set in windows like unto the Elves of Eséa’s House. Strong men bore her on a bier, and she lay upon plush cushions filled with cotton and cedar shavings, and the pungent scent emanated from her and drew every face to its sweetness. Golden earrings bearing emeralds dangled from her ears, and a simple chain of silver and gold was draped around her slender neck. Rings adorned her fingers, bracelets her wrists, and the whole of her body was thinly veiled in a dress made of red silk that shimmered gold when she moved. The mere sight of her caused men’s hearts to pound and they cast their eyes to the ground lest they be overwhelmed, and women looked upon her with awe.

When she was brought before Médash she arose shimmering as a spout of lithe red and gold, and servants seemingly without number lay baskets of many kinds of fruit about her in tribute.

“Oh King,” she said in a rich voice, as though one had drawn a bow across the strings of a great viol, “my father sends his deepest respects, and wishes for you every blessing. He sends the second fruits of the first harvest—the first fruits being offered to God our Father—that you may taste the sweetness of his land. He sends me that you may consider yet a different fruit, of the tree of Korobhda and Marohél, and find it equally pleasing.”

She stood as an oak, rooted in a strength that caused Médash to pause in awe. There was a dignity to her pose that seemed beyond even his own royalty, seeming to touch upon a line of kings of far greater standing than any he had known. This princess left an impression upon him that he would not soon forget, and from that moment when she stood there before him, Médash wondered if indeed she would be his bride.

“Worthy daughter! Even amongst my many treasures wrought by the hand of Elf, Man or Dwarf, all would be as dust were you to stand among them! These eyes, made dim by the luster of gold, are opened anew in wonder as in days long past when they first knew beauty. I beg you, please, take your ease and make this mountain your home for a time; let my servants attend to you as though you were already queen.”

She bowed gracefully as his attendants led her away. Others came forward and raised the baskets of fruit, looking to Médash for a command.

“Bring an empty basket and place the smallest of each kind within it for my own pleasure; distribute the rest to my people.” And so it was done.

 

The next day King Merenérn’s daughter arrove, and Médash thought his heart would burst, for a new standard of beauty had been set within. At his right hand sat already Lílabhél, lounging luxuriantly, yet before him stood a woman pale as ivory and painted with thin swirls and flares of silvery-blue, clad in an airy white raiment seemingly made of mist. Sapphires set in silver dangled like dewdrops from her neck and ears, and pearls shone upon each finger and about her wrists. Bhéalmal was her name, and her hair flowed loose from atop her head as an auburn stream, leaves of mother-of-pearl floating upon it, and her sea-green eyes gazed peacefully at him.

“Majesty,” she said in a voice like flowing water, “I bring tidings from my father, along with the bounty of the sea. Here are baskets of dried fish to feast upon, as well as pearls and ivory to enrich your treasury. He begs, however, that you drink deep of the sweetness of the river of his line, that she may nourish the tree of Médash for many prosperous years and bring water to every desert you may cross.”

Touched by her message and awed by her beauty, the great king who was ordinarily eloquent and ready to speak, found himself hardly able to move. “It would please me immensely,” he said shakily, “to have the sea at my left hand, as I have the sun at my right. Your gift of food will be offered to the people once I have tasted of its goodness,” he paused as she proffered a piece of seasoned swordfish to him, and he savored it, “Indeed my people will delight in it, as I delight in thee. Please, do sit.”

Smiling she took her place at his side, the fishing-net shawl upon her shoulders draped upon a deep-blue gown that shimmered silver-green like water in moonlight, and her body was strong as though hardened by much time at swimming, yet was supple and gentle and a pleasure to look upon.

 

That evening, while King Médash was at supper, with Lílabhél and Bhéalmal at either side, a servant entered and announced the daughter of King Bhelegérn: the Princess Edhsél. A place was prepared for her and she entered, her dark skin a startling contrast to the brilliant white gown that clothed her. Awe struck him, and it seemed that a warrior angel had come before him, for she wore the helm of a spearman and bore even such arms, thrusting the spear point-first into the floor and placing her helm atop it. Thin braids of jet poured from out it, the helm revealing her strong face, and the shining silver breastplate she wore was removed by her own servants, that she might dine without cumbrance. Her eyes were white and set with turquoise, and her face was fine and proud. A body shaped for war and sport commanded with every movement, each motion a victory of its own. Such was the extent of his intrigue and fascination that he pondered what it would be like to hunt with such a woman, to rule with one so capable, that could ride to the defense of her nation at his side.

“My Lady Edhsél,” he began, “I am most humbled by your coming here. You have traveled far.”

“My Lord,” she said in a deep voice that would cause a lesser man to tremble, “so unbearable was my anticipation that I rode far ahead of my caravan, sleeping beneath moon and star to arrive here before you. I bathed in oasis and river and dried in the sun; I perfumed my hair with the oil of desert flowers and have no gift to offer but my presence before you, and the glad tidings of my father, King Bhelegérn. The caravan should arrive in three days to bring to you a thousand of our finest cattle, as well as the heartwood of seventy fine cedars, for your use.”

“Worthy Lady,” he replied, wetting his dry tongue with wine before speaking, “such generosity is without match. And the speed with which you have come… I cannot help but wonder what it is you expected to find here that makes such toil worthwhile?”

Smiling with teeth as white as snow, Edhsél tilted her head to honor him and replied, “To look upon so great a king is worth the journey; to be seen by such as would have so discerning an eye for what is truly beautiful… I would ride the very dawn to be weighed upon his scales and found desirable.”

Her response smote him to the heart, and he found that he could eat no more. All in attendance gasped at the eloquence of her reply, and wondered if they indeed beheld the woman that would become their queen. Servants soon lay a golden plate before her with meats and roasted vegetables, as well as a small platter of the fruits brought by Lílabhél, and a silver chalice of wine. Even the manner of her eating was beautiful and sure, with one quick slice of the knife, a practiced raising of the morsel to her mouth, modest chewing, a swallow, and one small sip of wine or water. All the while her bright eyes were upon him, and the king felt as though his appetite could be cured merely by her glances.

St. Edmund Campion’s feast day is today, December 1st. I remember first hearing about him in the novitiate as well as his amazing story. He was Anglican, somewhat of a celebrity in England and even an acquaintance of Queen Elizabeth. But as he continued his education at Oxford he began to realize that Catholic Church was the true Church, but to convert to Catholicism in England at that time was a dangerous venture. So eventually he snuck out of England and made for France, becoming Catholic and teaching at a Catholic university there where, ironically, he encountered some of his old Oxford buddies. After teaching for a few years he traveled on foot to Rome and was accepted into the Society of Jesus, teaching in Prague for several years. In 1580 a mission to England began, a secret and forbidden one that took volunteers only (since to be caught as a Catholic priest in England always resulted in considerable unpleasantries…) and he entered his homeland disguised as a jewel merchant. While there he sought out those people who still practiced their Catholic faith in secret and did all he could to try and help England remember its true faith. But in the end a spy ratted him out and he was captured. During the time when several public disputations were held, at which his opponents tried to discredit him,  he was never allowed to sleep or prepare his defense in any way, yet day in and day out he defended himself admirably and skillfully, winning the public’s hearts and minds. He was accused of treason, and the accompanying trial was conducted entirely out of the public’s eye and when the guilty verdict was read he responded, “In condemning us, you condemn all your own ancestors, all our ancient bishops and kings, all that was once the glory of England — the island of saints, and the most devoted child of the See of Peter.”

His sentence was thus: “You must go to the place from whence you came, there to remain until ye shall be drawn through the open city of London upon hurdles to the place of execution, and there be hanged and let down alive, and your privy parts cut off, and your entrails taken out and burnt in your sight; then your heads to be cut off and your bodies divided into four parts, to be disposed of at Her Majesty’s pleasure. And God have mercy on your souls.”

What did he say to that? Nothing; instead he burst into song, singing the Te Deum. Here are the English words to what would have been sung in Latin:

We praise thee, O God :
    we acknowledge thee to be the Lord.
All the earth doth worship thee :
    the Father everlasting.
To thee all Angels cry aloud :
    the Heavens, and all the Powers therein.
To thee Cherubim and Seraphim :
    continually do cry,
Holy, Holy, Holy :
    Lord God of Sabaoth;
Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty :
    of thy glory.
The glorious company of the Apostles : praise thee.
The goodly fellowship of the Prophets : praise thee.
The noble army of Martyrs : praise thee.
The holy Church throughout all the world :
    doth acknowledge thee;
The Father : of an infinite Majesty;
Thine honourable, true : and only Son;
Also the Holy Ghost : the Comforter.
Thou art the King of Glory : O Christ.
Thou art the everlasting Son : of the Father.
When thou tookest upon thee to deliver man :
    thou didst not abhor the Virgin’s womb.
When thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death :
    thou didst open the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers.
Thou sittest at the right hand of God : in the glory of the Father.
We believe that thou shalt come : to be our Judge.
We therefore pray thee, help thy servants :
    whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood.
Make them to be numbered with thy Saints : in glory everlasting.

 

At the age of 41 Edmund Campion was publically hung, drawn and quartered along with two other priests, on December 1st, 1581.

During the time of his mission in England a famous publication was circulated all over the place, in one case copies being placed in the seats at Oxford during a prestigious event, and the students went nuts with it. The tale is told that his “Challenge to the Privy Council,” known more famously as “Campion’s Brag,” was written so that, in the event of his capture, the true reasons for his sneaking into England would be known so that charges of spying, treason or any other action against the Crown would be unjustified. Not that it helped him any, but it really captures the passion this man had for Jesus Christ, for His Church, and for his country.

“To the Right Honourable, the Lords of Her Majesty’s Privy Council:

Whereas I have come out of Germany and Bohemia, being sent by my superiors, and adventured myself into this noble realm, my dear country, for the glory of God and benefit of souls, I thought it like enough that, in this busy, watchful, and suspicious world, I should either sooner or later be intercepted and stopped of my course.

Wherefore, providing for all events, and uncertain what may become of me, when God shall haply deliver my body into durance, I supposed it needful to put this in writing in a readiness, desiring your good lordships to give it your reading, for to know my cause. This doing, I trust I shall ease you of some labour. For that which otherwise you must have sought for by practice of wit, I do now lay into your hands by plain confession. And to the intent that the whole matter may be conceived in order, and so the better both understood and remembered, I make thereof these nine points or articles, directly, truly and resolutely opening my full enterprise and purpose.

i. I confess that I am (albeit unworthy) a priest of the Catholic Church, and through the great mercy of God vowed now these eight years into the religion [religious order] of the Society of Jesus. Hereby I have taken upon me a special kind of warfare under the banner of obedience, and also resigned all my interest or possibility of wealth, honour, pleasure, and other worldly felicity.

ii. At the voice of our General, which is to me a warrant from heaven and oracle of Christ, I took my voyage from Prague to Rome (where our General Father is always resident) and from Rome to England, as I might and would have done joyously into any part of Christendom or Heatheness, had I been thereto assigned.

iii. My charge is, of free cost to preach the Gospel, to minister the Sacraments, to instruct the simple, to reform sinners, to confute errors—in brief, to cry alarm spiritual against foul vice and proud ignorance, wherewith many of my dear countrymen are abused.

iv. I never had mind, and am strictly forbidden by our Father that sent me, to deal in any respect with matter of state or policy of this realm, as things which appertain not to my vocation, and from which I gladly restrain and sequester my thoughts.

v. I do ask, to the glory of God, with all humility, and under your correction, three sorts of indifferent and quiet audiences: the first, before your Honours, wherein I will discourse of religion, so far as it toucheth the common weal and your nobilities: the second, whereof I make more account, before the Doctors and Masters and chosen men of both universities, wherein I undertake to avow the faith of our Catholic Church by proofs innumerable—Scriptures, councils, Fathers, history, natural and moral reasons: the third, before the lawyers, spiritual and temporal, wherein I will justify the said faith by the common wisdom of the laws standing yet in force and practice.

vi. I would be loath to speak anything that might sound of any insolent brag or challenge, especially being now as a dead man to this world and willing to put my head under every man’s foot, and to kiss the ground they tread upon. Yet I have such courage in avouching the majesty of Jesus my King, and such affiance in his gracious favour, and such assurance in my quarrel, and my evidence so impregnable, and because I know perfectly that no one Protestant, nor all the Protestants living, nor any sect of our adversaries (howsoever they face men down in pulpits, and overrule us in their kingdom of grammarians and unlearned ears) can maintain their doctrine in disputation. I am to sue most humbly and instantly for combat with all and every of them, and the most principal that may be found: protesting that in this trial the better furnished they come, the better welcome they shall be.

vii. And because it hath pleased God to enrich the Queen my Sovereign Lady with notable gifts of nature, learning, and princely education, I do verily trust that if her Highness would vouchsafe her royal person and good attention to such a conference as, in the second part of my fifth article I have motioned, or to a few sermons, which in her or your hearing I am to utter such manifest and fair light by good method and plain dealing may be cast upon these controversies, that possibly her zeal of truth and love of her people shall incline her noble Grace to disfavour some proceedings hurtful to the realm, and procure towards us oppressed more equity.

viii. Moreover I doubt not but you, her Highness’ Council, being of such wisdom and discreet in cases most important, when you shall have heard these questions of religion opened faithfully, which many times by our adversaries are huddled up and confounded, will see upon what substantial grounds our Catholic Faith is builded, how feeble that side is which by sway of the time prevaileth against us, and so at last for your own souls, and for many thousand souls that depend upon your government, will discountenance error when it is bewrayed [revealed], and hearken to those who would spend the best blood in their bodies for your salvation. Many innocent hands are lifted up to heaven for you daily by those English students, whose posterity shall never die, which beyond seas, gathering virtue and sufficient knowledge for the purpose, are determined never to give you over, but either to win you heaven, or to die upon your pikes. And touching our Society, be it known to you that we have made a league—all the Jesuits in the world, whose succession and multitude must overreach all the practice of England—cheerfully to carry the cross you shall lay upon us, and never to despair your recovery, while we have a man left to enjoy your Tyburn, or to be racked with your torments, or consumed with your prisons. The expense is reckoned, the enterprise is begun; it is of God; it cannot be withstood. So the faith was planted: So it must be restored.

ix. If these my offers be refused, and my endeavours can take no place, and I, having run thousands of miles to do you good, shall be rewarded with rigour. I have no more to say but to recommend your case and mine to Almighty God, the Searcher of Hearts, who send us his grace, and see us at accord before the day of payment, to the end we may at last be friends in heaven, when all injuries shall be forgotten.”

 

St. Edmund Campion, pray for us!