Campion came to Westminster and Whitefriars, and set to work, diligently as ever. With Father Robert he had frequent occasion to visit the Bellamys of Uxenden Hall near Harrow, a family under whose roof his old friend Richard Bristow had died in the preceding autumn. Their later adversities and annihilation were only too typical of Catholic domestic history under Elizabeth. Going to Harrow meant going up the Edgware Road, and in the mouth of that road, between waste lands (facing the spot across the street where the Marble Arch now stands), was the famous Tyburn gallows. This particular one had been put up new for Dr. Storey’s execution, ten years before: it had three posts set in a triangle, with connecting cross-bars at the top. Once every week, without intermission, batches of criminals perished there. Even now, and with far greater frequency afterwards, holy and innocent men and women made up a large proportion of the “criminals”; and remembering these dear souls, and conscious that there he was to follow them in confession of the King of Martyrs, Campion would always solemnly take off his hat and pause, in passing, to salute Tyburn Tree. Meanwhile, in the quiet and seclusion of Dame Cecily Stonor’s park, near Henley, and in the attics which she bravely set apart for the purpose, the _Decem Rationes_ got itself safely printed by Stephen Brinkley and his seven honest men. Campion, with fine bravado, dated it from “Cosmopolis”; and the distribution of it was as audacious as the dating. The first copies bound, about four hundred in number, were hurriedly stabbed, instead of stitched, in time to go up for the Oxford commemoration, June 27th of that year. The church of St. Mary-the-Virgin was then used for all the “Acts,” for the accommodation of which, a century later, the Sheldonian Theatre was built. When the company entered St. Mary’s, the benches were found littered with the “seditious” books. Their dedication was “to the studious Collegians flourishing at Oxford and Cambridge,” and the youths in question were just in the humour to read them; and read them they did, then and there, instead of attending to the important annual function going on! This rudeness bred protest, and protest bred a lively scene. To understand it we must recall that the undergraduate element was then, by comparison, the conservative element. Heads of Houses, Fellows and Tutors, learned and popular men, had been removed wholesale by the Elizabethan settlement of religion in favour of new men concisely described as “extremists from Geneva, intellectually inferior to those who had been displaced, and representing a different spirit, and different traditions.” The student body looked on them with scorn. Again, to quote another chief authority on this subject, “the young Oxonians did not bear easily the Elizabethan drill, and felt that if their liberty must be crushed they would fain have it crushed by