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fore taking solemn vows； which can only be dissolved by the Pope。 pare this caution with the approved facility with which a man may bind himself for long periods as a soldier or for life in marriage！ I may eventually regret it； but what may not be regretted； and how many things have most men done which they do regret！ Surely you should not omit to do a good thing because you may regret it。 I might say a good deal more； but have no time。 I once more thank you for writing as you did； with your old warmth and not without your old eloquence。 Finally； if you like to e here； if you have the time； the inclination； and the opportunity； I am sure the Abbot would be very glad to acmodate you for any time under three months （that is the rule） in the guest…house。 I warn you however that the fare is very frugal； and twenty…four hours might exhaust your patience。
Very sincerely yours；
J。 Sheil。
It seems to me that； in the above letter； dear Sheil goes far towards justifying the attack that I had evidently made upon his position。 “Permit me 。 。 。 at least to think of flight。” He admits that he had run away from the world and its temptations because of “the hideous consequences of defeat；” i。e。 the loss of his soul。 His idea was that by shutting himself up in an iron box he would avoid sin and its “hideous consequences。” But I wonder now； as I wondered then； whether； supposing the capitulation to the natural impulses of the body to be cardinal sin； such sin is really avoided by the method of the iron box？ True； they cannot be gratified； for； if you wish to drink； there is no whisky； if you wish to make love； there is no woman； and so forth。 Yet in that case does not the wish assume the proportions of the acplished deed？ A noted passage in the New Testament seems to suggest that this may be so； also incidents in the lives of the saints occur to me； though we are told only of those in which they triumphed。 Of course if； by the aid of terrible abstinence or of prayer； every human desire and frailty can be banished and the mind can bee； so to speak； sterilised of all harmful thoughts； then a condition of absolute though negative virtue will be attained。 Whether the virtue thus gained — if it be possible to gain it while even sleep and its dreams remain — is of a truer and higher quality than that proportion of goodness which can be won； that more soiled garment which must be worn by him who remains in the world and bears the heat and burden of its day； often falling； but struggling to his feet again； sinning； and lamenting his sins； striving to do better； yet frequently in vain； living the full life； bringing others into that life and； to the best of his ability； bearing their burdens； doing here a good and there； perhaps； a harm； and at length； filled with experience； departing penitent and mercy…seeking to whatever future career may await him — is not for me to say。 Probably the question must be answered in accordance with the temperament and gifts of the questioner。 For me it is too hard。 However； it is more or less dealt with on one side of some of Sheil’s remaining epistles。
The next of these is dated nearly a year later than that which I have quoted：
Mount St。 Bernard’s Abbey； August 3； 1880。
I thank you for thinking of writing to tell me of your marrying； you were right in thinking it would interest me。 If joy and prosperity came by my wishing you would certainly have your fill in all your life to e。 I am glad you are marrying； as I think it much better for a man than knocking about by himself。 I suppose you had some photos struck on this auspicious occasion； if so； may I suggest that the one I have of you was youthful when you gave it； I think six years ago； and that I should very much like to have another； and； if it is not asking too much； one of Miss Margitson （I hope that is rightly spelt； but your writing is more shocking than ever）？ I am not surprised at your anxiety to get back to South Africa and your weariness of England； I suppose our brightest sky is only a fog to you。
As for myself； I took the simple vows a short time since； of course I cannot consider myself absolutely fixed till the solemn vows； but I hope I am。 I don’t see how anyone can avoid having an intellectual if not a practical contempt for this life if he believes in eternity。 I was reading the other day that if a man had been born at the beginning of the world and shed one tear every thousand years； he would now have shed six tears； yet the time will most infallibly e when any and every one will be able to say that at that rate he would have filled the ocean with tears。 This seems to me striking and true。 The thing is that the happiness or misery of all this future （there is only one alternative） depends on what you love in this life； you must love the Invisible。 The beauty of the life we lead here is that it makes this paratively easy。
I should have liked to give you a small token of my feeling for you； but； as I suppose you know； a man who takes the vows ceases to be the owner of any moneys or of anything else； （of course if I was not admitted to solemn vows I should recover what I have given）。 I hope you will accept my good will。 Have you seen Walsh and Fuller and de Roebeck？ Remember me to them； and also particularly to Mr。 Norris。 Good…bye。 I hope you will not forget Auld lang syne （nor the photograph）。 I should like to have been at your wedding and seen your bride。
Very affectionately yours；
Brother Basil。
In due course I married； but before alluding to that matter I will continue and finish the story of Brother Basil。 At the end of our honeymoon my wife and I made a pilgrimage to Mount St。 Bernard’s Abbey。 This I did both because I wished to see him and because in my vanity I thought that if we could e face to face I might be able by my personal influence to induce him to return to the world。 I confess that I felt afraid； needlessly afraid as it proved； of facing these stern and silent monks on an errand which they would know well was inimical to them。 Still I determined on the attempt。
There were some difficulties about the journey — I forget their exact nature — but at length we arrived without being expected。 I stated my object and； somewhat to my surprise； was admitted with my wife。 I was almost sure that a young woman would not be allowed to pass those portals。 On the contrary we were most courteously received by an extremely charming sub…prior； a thorough man of the world and a gentleman who was able to talk to us of many lands and events。 He said that Brother Basil should be sent for； and after a while I heard heavy wooden shoes — I think they were wooden — clumping down a passage； the door opened and there appeared the Sheil from whom I had parted some six years before。 He was clad in a coarse robe； his head was tonsured； or such is my recollection； his face was pale； and it seemed to me as though the work in that scorching weather in the hot harvest field from which he had been summoned had exhausted him。 At first he could hardly speak； which was not wonderful seeing the unexpected nature of the occasion and the rule of silence in which he lived。 His delight at our visit seemed very great。 After some talk； greatly daring； I asked if I might see him alone。 To my astonishment the request was granted at once。 We went out； I think into a graveyard — or it may have been the garden； though certainly I saw a graveyard with its nameless little wooden crosses — leaving my wife with the sub…prior。
Then came the struggle。 I argued high and low； I implored； and was utterly worsted。 I could not move him one inch； my arguments he answered； my beseeching he put aside with the most sweet and tender gratitude。
“Many have scolded and lectured me；” he said； “you are the first who ever came here to try to snatch me from what you believe to be an intolerable fate。”
That was the substance of his words； mingled with thanks and blessings。
We returned； and my wife and I were shown something of their farm and of the school where the monks taught children； also all their terrible mode of life was exposed to us： the dormitories； the bare board on which they took their scanty vegetable fare； the stern rules of their Order — nothing was kept back。 I remember that I was filled with admiration； although I remained in moral rebellion against this terrific system which turned men into dumb creatures and fed their bodies with the bread and water of affliction for the benefit of their souls。 I was shown a prize bull they had which was in the charge of a monk who had been a Yorkshire yeoman。 A sign was made to him： he was allowed to speak to me； about the bull but nothing else。 How the words poured from those silent lips； jumbled； incoherent at first； then growing clearer as the habit of speech returned to him。 The broad Yorkshire accent and the familiar terms of farm life sounded bizarre in those surroundings as he sang the praises of his bull。
Another sign and he was silent。 We returned and were served with a bountiful meal and most hospitably attended。 Then came the farewell。 I shook Sheil’s hand and looked into his patient eyes。 The door clanged to behind us。 It was our last meeting in the world。
A letter written by him a few days later shows something of the state of mind excited in him by our visit。 It is dated September 8； 1880； over thirty…one years ago。
I had intended asking you about the photographs you promised； but duly forgot them； I hope you will not do so。 There were other things too which I had intended saying； but I suppose the flurry of first meeting obfuscated my memory。 It takes time to get into one’s old swing； and I generally feel awkward at first meeting with people I have known well after a long absence； there are so many things to say； so many memories； that one does not know where to begin； and flies from one thing to another in a most unsatisfactory way。 What made it worse in our case was that we were both in new circumstances； and that you had not bee reconciled to mine。 I feel ashamed at all the trouble and expense you have been at to e and see me； I wish I could show my gratitude better than by words； but it is hard to see in what I could be of use to you； if however there is ever anything I could do； and you let me know； I will。 Perhaps when you e back again； if you have not had enough of it； if you will e and see me we will arrange things much better。
I wish you and your wife all happiness； I think I said it was a poor affection which only wished for its object happiness for fifty years or so of this life； and what I wish is that we may all go home together and be together always。 Remember me to Walsh and to poor Norris。
I remain； affectionately yours；
Brother Basil。
Where would a letter find you in Africa？
Something less than two years have gone by and I find another letter in answer to one of mine written on my second return from South Africa owing to events which I hope to describe in due course。 It is dated Mount St。 Bernard’s Abbey； June 4； 1882。
I was glad to get a letter from you of the old length if in a new vein。 I am sorry you have been obliged to leave Africa； though I confess I think your new profession ＇that of the Bar。 — H。 R。 H。＇ more in your line than developing ostrich plumes。 I suppose at the Cape there