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have looked on it as a higher and more perfect state； and therefore I will assume it； it has been often and eloquently defended； and moreover it could not be done in a letter。 However； the fact that it is good in itself is not at all a conclusive reason why I should embrace it； and if you had tried to dissuade me from it on the score that I had made myself unfit and unworthy for it I should have had very little to answer。 I did not e here in consequence of any trouble of the kind you allude to； nor any other； nor in a fit of disgust。 When I said I was afraid if I left of dropping into my old ways； I meant the idle； aimless； useless life I led when you knew me and some time after： my only object was pleasure and happiness； and I was unscrupulous in trying to get them。 However； about six months previous to ing here I had made a great change and lived more or less as a Catholic should： I had got out of Chancery and paid my debts and begun reading for the Bar in a Conveyancer’s rooms； and it was under these circumstances that I came here； and it is what I shall resume if I leave。 I prefer London and Paris to Africa how fair soever be its skies； and the Park to the Sahara。 You see my prospects in the world are not so darkened as you think； nevertheless they do not wear a very fascinating smile to my eyes。 For； take everything at its best and assume that I should succeed in everything： after many years’ drudging I should be a successful barrister； and perhaps end by being a judge if I was very lucky。 What good should I have done my fellow…men by that？ Don’t you know that when a man in practice dies； a hundred rejoice； thinking that they will get some of his work； for one who is sorry？ Do you feel grateful to a lawyer worn out with briefs； as if he were a public benefactor in consenting to work in the world instead of retiring to some rural or suburban retreat？ Judging by the ordinary run of man； in fifty years I should be a crabbed bachelor； or still worse a tormented and disappointed married man — not much better than your “soured monk。” Besides； I believe in the immortality of the soul； and in fact it was the great “hereafter” which weighed on my mind and prevented my being content with prospects which sound well enough to most people。 And if I made myself my own and only centre in this life； why should I at the hour of death suddenly change and love my Creator； and if I did not what chance should I have of enjoying Him？ You will say that it is possible to love God in the world； and so it is： the thing I am trying to decide is where it will be easiest for me to do so。 It may be more heroic to remain and fight your battles bravely； but permit me； where the consequences of defeat are so hideous； who really am in such matters nothing but a coward； who have been so often overe； at least to think of flight。
I repeat I have decided nothing； the Church insists upon people being tried for two years at least before taking simple vows （i。e。 that can be dissolved by the superiors if they find you unfit）； and five years before 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