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ur natures drag us down； and usually the more a man enjoys good things in life the less he thinks of God； and I suppose this is why the rich and riches are so much denounced in the Gospel。 Anyhow no one ever applied himself seriously to the love of his Creator without feeling the necessity of separating himself more and more from fort。 Even in a monastery it requires a constant effort to set our affections on the things that are above and not to mind things that are on earth； to attend to the invisible which does not pass away。 In fact it cannot be done perfectly till we can say that the world is crucified to us and we to the world； and that with Christ we are nailed to the Cross。 （Of course only the Saints ever really do this。 “Nullus amor sine dolore。”） You are wrong in saying that it is hard to e face to face with God’s will in this world； because God is not far from every one of us。 If any man wants wisdom let him ask of Him Who giveth to all abundantly； and he shall receive it。 The day after receiving your letter I was looking over the life of my patron St。 Justin； it being the eve of his feast； he was a heathen； but possessed by a passion for truth。 He spent his youth wandering from one school of philosophy to another； dissatisfied with them all； till one day he met on the seashore an old man who began telling him of the wisdom of the prophets and of Christ； and after such speaking concluded by saying； “As for thyself； above all things； pray that the gates of life may be open to you； for these are not things to be discerned； unless God and Christ grant to a man knowledge of them。” I believe that anyone who really desires to know the Truth； and who is resolved to embrace it at all costs； and who prays for light； will e to it and will then first understand what it is to “rejoice in hope。”
I am sorry you gave me no news of Norris or Walsh； I never hear of them except from you。 One effect of leading an uneventful life is that the past stands out clearly； unobscured by subsequent impressions。 My pliments to your wife and Mr。 Haggard。
Very sincerely yours；
Brother Basil。
When your book es out ＇Brother B。 here alludes to “Cetewayo and his White Neighbours”＇ I will make one of my sisters send it if it is not too long； I have not much time for reading； especially in summer。
It will be observed from the tenor of this letter that the writer is already almost lost in the monastic atmosphere。 He still retains his personal friendship for myself and is interested in one or two of his old associates； but all his earnest thought is given to his soul and its salvation。 The world is slipping away from him。 He even fears to read my forthing history lest it should be “too long” and take his time from his devotions and self…imposed physical labours； which could have been so much better done by any working man。
Eight years go by and there es another note； also apparently in answer to one from myself。 It is dated September 3； 1890。
Your good memory is very kind； and now that you have bee so famous； highly flattering。 I suppose in your judgment our regime ought to have improved me off the face of the globe； however here I am； by no means dead； and not even； I am sorry to say； in the sense of Colossians iii。 3 ＇“For ye are dead； and your life is hid with Christ in God。” — H。 R。 H。＇。 I should be delighted to see you again if you are able to e here； I have often wished to hear of our mutual friends。 Of you； of course； I have heard； and perused somee since you were here； it is startling to find that we are ten years older。 。 。 。 I hope Mrs。 R。 H。 not only lives but is well and happy。 Please give her my kind regards。
Always your sincere friend；
Brother Basil。
Both this letter and the one which remains are written in a somewhat different handwriting to those already quoted。 It is more careful and less natural。
The last letter； dated September 10； 1891； deals with the death of my son； of which I had written to Brother Basil。 I think； too； that I had sent him a copy of “Allan Quatermain；” which was dedicated to the boy and； after his death； contained his portrait。 Here is the portion of the letter that is essential。
You wrote to me when you came back from Africa； so I have had your son in mind when I have thought of you。 The idea of you as paterfamilias seemed very amusing。 So now there is an end of hopes。 Of course your loss is irreparable； even if you had another son he would not be the same。 Judging from his picture he must have been a very nice fellow。 I am afraid that in the reality of sorrow you have felt the “great breast of Nature” rather too hard to give rest。 What a curious irony that that introduction should have followed that dedication。 ＇The quotation here and the subsequent remark referred to the Introduction to “Allan Quatermain；” in which he laments the death of his only son。 — H。 R。 H。＇
Looking at matters from their point of view I don’t regret much the death of children。 They have been rightly baptised； and they are not old enough to stand in crying need of other sacraments。 I wish my prospects were as bright as your son’s。 Vae nobis quia peccavimus 。 。 。 。
Brother Basil。
I pass on to the end of the story； which the following letter tells。
Mt。 St。 Bernard’s Abbey： August 6； 1893。
Dear Sir； — The notice in the papers was unfortunately too true in the case of good Fr。 Basil。 He died in Rome on May 11th。
For some years he had been suffering from abscesses in different parts of the body； which the doctors considered showed a tendency to consumption； and they strongly remended a change of climate。 Last autumn it was arranged that he should go to Rome for a year or so。 Unhappily instead of improving he became worse； though not seriously so； until the first week in May； when the spine seems to have bee affected； and on the 8th he was seized with paralysis； and died； as I have said； on the 11th； the feast of the Ascension of Our Lord。
From accounts received； his death was most peaceful and happy； he being fully conscious and perfectly resigned to the Will of God。
When he left us he was Sub…Prior； and after being in Rome for a short time he was appointed Procurator…General for the whole Order。 His death has been a great loss to us here and to all the Members of the Reformed Cistercian body。
I am happy thus to testify to the high esteem in which he was held； and very numerous have been the letters received； expressing deep regret at his death； and the highest regard for him。
With every good wish；
I remain； dear sir；
Yours very truly in Christ；
C。 W。 Hipwood；
Abb。 O。C。R。
Thus ends the earthly story of my friend Justin Sheil； known in religion as Brother Basil； between whom and me； different as were our characters and our walks in life； there existed some curious affinity。 As he himself remarks； it is strange that a man of his pleasure…loving nature and somewhat sardonic vein of humour should have bee a Trappist monk and been well pleased with his choice。 To use his own words； this is indeed a mystery； one of those mysteries which appear to suggest that the human heart is much wider than it seems。 We see the point of an iceberg floating on the ocean and are apt to forget that hidden in its depths is a vast； unsuspected bulk。 So it may be with the nature of man。 We perceive its visible portion； we think we know it； we sum it up and declare that its character is this or that。 Nay； more； we declare it of our own natures wherewith we should be well acquainted。 And yet deep in the ocean of being floats the real nature； unmeasured； unsuspected； till perhaps； in some cataclysm of the soul； not all but a new portion of it is revealed； and that which was familiar is submerged。 Is every individuality in truth multiple？ Are reincarnationists right when they assert that only a part of it bees active in this world at one time — a part that we think the whole？ Who can tell？
It was a hard and dreadful life that he led； if measured by our standards； how hard only those who are familiar with the rules of the Trappists will rightly know。 Yet even in these iron bonds his native ability asserted itself； for just as he died he rose to high office in the Order while still a young man； though now； after eighteen years of silence more plete even than that in which he dwelt； probably he is forgotten。 Others pray where he prayed； think what he thought and fast as he fasted； till； worn out by privation and by the burning fire of spiritual ardour； they join him in his unrecorded grave。 So it has ever been with spirits like his own。 In Egypt I have seen the cells occupied by anchorites a thousand years before Christ was born。 On Tabir； Mount of the Transfiguration； I have stood in the living tombs of the hermits who dreamed away their long years； generation after generation of them； and hollowed the rock of the holy mountain with their nightly tossings。 In Tibet the lean and wasted claw of the immured； thrust through some hole to grasp the offering of food； advises the traveller that here； dead and yet breathing； dwells a holy man who thus seeks to propitiate the unanswering gods。 That which was； still is and shall be while the world endures； not in one religion but in many。
I make no excuse for the telling of this true tale； because