“I now took cheap lodgings in North Adelaide.  Here I had slight recurrences of the strangeness and fear of going mad which I had experienced once before.  I led such a solitary life and fell into such a queer state that I turned to religion and attended church regularly.  It was approaching the time for those young men and women who wished to be confirmed to prepare themselves, and a struggle now ensued between my pride and my wish to gain rest and peace of mind in Jesus.  I was self-conscious to an incredible degree, and dreaded exposure or making an exhibition of myself, but still went to church, hoping the grace of God would descend on me.  I had no other resources.  I had no pleasure in life, and was so shattered and in such misery of dread that I welcomed the only refuge that seemed open to me.  At last, one Sunday, I had what I thought was a call; I shed a few tears, and although tingling all down my spine I went up in the cathedral and joined those who were going to be confirmed.  I attended special meetings and shocked the good bishop very much by telling him I had never been baptized.  I had to be baptized first and went one day to the cathedral and he baptized me.  When the critical awful moment came the bishop, whose faith even then surprised me somehow, held my hand in his cold palm, and gave it a pressure, eyeing me, expectantly, inquisitively, to see any change for the better.  But, it so happened, that morning I was in a horrible temper and black mood, hard and dry-eyed, and no change came.  Still, I tried to believe there was a change.

“I was confirmed with others, had a prayer-book given me with prayers for nearly every hour in the day, and was always kneeling and praying.  I procured a long, white surplice, and assisted at suburban services, even conducting small ones myself, reading the sermons out of books.  But my mood of rage increased, and one Sunday I had to walk a long way in a new pair of boots.  I shall never forget that hot Sunday afternoon.  My feet commenced to ache and a murderous humor seized me.  I swore and blasphemed one moment and prayed to God to forgive me the next.  When I reached the chapel where I had to assist the chaplain I was exhausted with rage, pain, fear, and religious mania.  I thought it probable I had offended the Holy Ghost.  When, next Sunday, I went to try my hand at Sunday-school teaching I wore a pair of boots so old that the little boys laughed.  I was always talking of my conversion and the spirit of our Saviour.  I do not know what the clergymen I met thought of me.  I thought I should like to be a minister myself, and questioned a Church of England parson as to the amount of study necessary.  He received my question rather coldly, I thought, which discouraged me.  As my dread gradually diminished, though I still felt strange, I made excuses for not conducting