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e 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 is only a step between law and politics。 I wish you all success and prosperity。 Many thanks for your interest in me； I still continue content in my position； and I look forward to making my final vows about this time next year。 I am satisfied that this is a high vocation and that I personally am called to it。 I should like to know how you account for the fact that I； being what I am； not given to virtue nor enthusiasm； should have conceived the idea of ing to such a place； that I should have executed it； not without sacrifice； that I should have persevered in it； and that now after four years’ trial I should have no greater hope than to pass the rest of my life here。 It is a marvel even to myself； there is but one explanation — the inprehensible mercy of God。 You may prefer the vocation of St。 Paul to that of St。 John Baptist； but it is safer to remend both。 Anyhow it is more modest not to condemn a way of life which has been followed by so many； so great； so holy men now these fourteen centuries。 There is no country that owes more to St。 Benedict and his rule than England。 No one that I am aware of says that it is necessary for everyone to bee a monk in order to be saved； but some are called； and if they are faithful they will have an easier and better salvation。 Everyone who believes the truth faith and keeps the mandments is safe。 All this is the penny Catechism （I wish you would buy one）； for as yet my theological science extends little further。
One reason why people have a difficulty in understanding such a life as ours is that they forget original sin。 They say； God created the good things of life in order to be used； etc。 But we are fallen and corrupt； and things no longer have the effect upon us that God intended in creating them； they were to have raised by their use our minds and hearts to God； and of course it would have been absurd for the unfallen Adam to practise asceticism。 But now unfortunately our natures drag us down； and usually the more a man enjoys good things in life the less he thinks of