Tell me first, do you love reading ?' Basil answered with simple truth, that of late years he had scarce read at all, his inclination being rather to the active life.
'So I should have surmised.

But chancing to look from my upper window not long after sunrise, I saw you walking with a book in your hand.
What was it ?' Basil murmured that it was the Book of Psalms.
'Look, then,' said Benedict, 'at what lies before me.

Here is a commentary on that book, written by the learned and pious Cassiodorus; written in the religious house which he himself has founded, upon the shore of "ship-wrecking Scylaceum," as saith Virgilius.

Not a week ago it came into my hands, a precious gift from the writer, and I have read much in it.

On the last of his many journeys, travelling from Ravenna to the south, he climbed hither, and sojourned with us for certain days, and great was my solace in the communing we had together.
Perchance you knew him in the world ?' Gladly Basil recounted his memories of the great counsellor.