irit into "that state of life into which it has pleased God
to call me". I crushed, compressed, and bruised, but as fast as I managed
it on one side it burst out on another, and defied me to cram it into the
narrow box of Possum Gully.

The restless throbbings and burnings
That hope unsatisfied brings,
The weary longings and yearnings
For the mystical better things,
Are the sands on which is reflected
The pitiless moving lake,
Where the wanderer falls dejected,
By a thirst he never can slake.

In a vain endeavour to slake that cruel thirst my soul groped in strange
dark places. It went out in quest of a God, and finding one not, grew
weary.

By the unknown way that the atmosphere of the higher life penetrated to
me, so came a knowledge of the sin and sorrow abroad in the world--the
cry of the millions oppressed, downtrodden, God-forsaken! The wheels of
social mechanism needed readjusting--things were awry. Oh, that I might
find a cure and give it to my fellows! I dizzied my brain with the
problem; I was too much for myself. A man with these notions is a curse
to himself, but a woman--pity help a woman of that description! She is not
merely a creature out of her sphere, she is a creature without a sphere--a
lonely being!

Recognizing this, I turned and cursed God for casting upon me a burden
greater than I could bear--cursed Him bitterly, and from within came a
whisper that there was nothing there to curse. There was no God. I was an
unbeliever. It was not that I sought after or desired atheism. I longed
to be a Christian, and fought against unbelief. I asked the Christians
around me for help. Unsophisticated fool! I might as well have announced
that I was a harlot. My respectability vanished in one slap. Some said it
was impossible to disbelieve in the existence of a God: I was only doing
it for notoriety, and they washed their hands of me at once.

Not believe in God! I was mad!

If there really was a God, would they kindly tell me how to find Him?

Pray! pray!

I prayed, often and ardently, but ever came that heart-stilling whisper
that there was nothing to pray to.

Ah, the bitter, hopeless heart-hunger of godlessness none but an atheist
can understand! Nothing to live for in life--no hope beyond the grave. It
plunged me into fits of profound melancholy.

Had my father occupied one of the fat positions of the land, no doubt as
his daughter my life would have been so full of pleasant occupation and