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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 it seems to me to constitute a human document of great interest。 It is not often that we have the opportunity of ing face to face with this kind of heart as it reveals itself in the foregoing letters。 Besides； any whom it does not interest can leave it unread。
May my dear friend’s prayer be fulfilled： may we meet again in some other phase of life and there learn the true reason of these matters； if a mon； erring man may hope to associate with a spirit so purified and — yes； so holy。 Peace be with him； but since I for one cannot believe that he and all mankind are the victims of a ghastly delusion； or are led forward by mocking marsh…fires of self…evolved aspirations to be lost in some bottomless gulf of death； I will not add — farewell。
To return to my own history。 When I reached home everyone was very glad to see me； especially my mother； but my father did not wele my reappearance with whole…hearted enthusiasm。 He remarked with great candour that I should probably bee “a waif and a stray；” or possibly — my taste for writing being already known — “a miserable penny…a…liner。” I am sure I do not wonder at his irritation； which； were I in his place today； I should certainly share。 He saw that I had thrown up my billet and he had no faith in the possibilities of African farming。
All of these things； and others； he told me in the course of a row which arose over the loss of a gigantic turtle which I had brought home from the Island of Ascension； where I had visited my brother John； who at that time was first…lieutenant of H。M。S。 Flora。 The Island of Ascension； by the way； where they catch these turtles on the beach and store them in tanks； is a very interesting spot； for there one sees a part of the world in the making。 On the top of a peak is a green area of soil that I presume owes its origin to the droppings of sea…birds。 Below is bare rock。 This area must have been formed within recent times； say during the last 500；000 years； and in another million or so of years doubtless it will have spread all over the island。 The processes of nature are distinctly slow。
In some mysterious way my turtle got lost in the London Docks。 Personally I thought the occurrence fortunate； for what would have been done with the creature if I had succeeded in conveying it safely to Bradenham Hall still alive and flapping； I cannot conceive。 Imagine the local butcher confronted with a turtle； imagine the domestic cook and the quantities of soup that would have resulted； if it ever got so far as soup！ I pointed all this out to my father； but he took another view。 He wanted his turtle and said so； often； and alas！ it had vanished in the London Docks。 Probably a steward sold it to a City pany on the sly。 A sportive passenger on the ship made a rhyme on the matter。 It began：
’Tis true； O my Father； from distant lands I’ve e； a bad penny； back on your hands； But when once you have tasted this nice green fat； You won’t care； O my parent； one kipper for that。
The trouble was that he never did �