ll receive;
knowing that an answer that withholds what is asked for is as real,
and frequently a more merciful answer, than one that grants it."

Ah! That was the faith I could not fathom:--that was why my prayers
gave me no comfort, I suppose. And yet, it is said that God, whom rich
men find so difficult of approach, manifests Himself to us more in
adversity than in prosperity. I could not believe in this myself; for,
when I was successful, I really seemed to have faith, and could pray
from my heart; while, now, despondent, it appeared hypocrisy on my part
to pretend to bend my knees to the Almighty; I felt so despairingly
faithless!

La Mennais says, in his _Paroles d'un Croyant_, that--

"Il y a toujours des vents brulants, qui passent sur l'ame de l'homme,
et la dessechant. La priere est la rosee qui la rafraichit."

And, again,--

"Dieu sait mieux que vous ce dont vous avez besoin, et c'est pour cela
qu'il veut que vous le lui demandiez; car Dieu est lui-meme votre
premier besoin, et prier Dieu, c'est commencer a posseder Dieu."

The sirocco of sorrow had fanned its hot breath over my soul; but, no
grateful spring shower had cooled it through prayer. God, certainly,
knows better than we what we should desire; but why does He not instruct
us in His wishes?

Perhaps you think this all milk-and-watery talk, and that I do not mean
what I say?

But I do. Even those people whom you might think the most unlikely
persons to have such thoughts, will have these reflections, so why not
speak of them?

Some, I know, believe that all religious conversation should be strictly
tabooed in any reference to secular matters. But it seems to me a very
delicate faith that will only stand an airing once a week, like your
church services on Sundays! _I_ have thought of such things, and I'm
not ashamed to mention them.

Acting on my mind at the same time--in concert with these religious
doubts, and the consciousness of my unlucky fortunes--was a strong
feeling of home-sickness, which grew and grew with greater intensity as
the months rolled by.

I got so miserable, that, I felt with Shelley--

"I could lie down, like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear!"

For what profit did this warring against destiny bring me? Nothing--
nothing, but the "vanity and vexation of spirit," which a more believing
soul than mine had apostrophised in agony, ages be