me; this was my problem, these my limitations; that I was to make the best I could out of a dulled and shattered life; that I was to learn to be happy, even useful, in spite of it—­that just as other people were given activity, practical energy, success, to learn from them the right balance, the true proportion of life, and not to be submerged and absorbed in them, so to me was given a simpler problem still, to have all the temptations of activity removed—­temptations to which with my zest for experience I might have fallen an easy victim—­and to keep my courage high, my spirit pure and expectant, if I could, waiting upon God.  This little estate fell to me soon afterwards, and I soon saw what a tender gift it was, because it gave me a home; every other source of interest and pleasure was removed, because the simplest visits, the wildest distractions were too much for me—­the jarring of any kind of vehicle upset me.  By what slow degrees I attained happiness I can hardly say.  But now, looking back, I see this—­that whereas others have to learn by hard experience, that detachment, self-purification, self-control are the only conditions of happiness on earth, I was detached, purified, controlled by God Himself.  I was detached, because my life was utterly precarious, I was taught purification and control, because whereas more robust people can defer and even defy the penalties of luxury, comfort, gross desires, material pleasures, I was forced, every day and hour, to deny myself the smallest freedom—­I was made ascetic by necessity.  Then came a greater happiness still; for years I was lost in a sort of individualistic self-absorption, with no thoughts of anything but God and His concern with myself—­often hopeful and beautiful enough—­when I found myself drawn into nearer and dearer relationships with those around me.  That came through my niece, whom I adopted as an orphan child, and who is one of those people who live naturally and instinctively in the lives of other people.  I got to know all the inhabitants of this little place—­simple country people, you will say—­but as interesting, as complex in emotion and intellect, as any other circle in the world.  The only reason why one ever thinks people dull and limited, is because one does not know them; if one talks directly and frankly to people, one passes through the closed doors at once.  Looking back, I can see that I have been used by God, not with mere compassion and careless tenderness, but with an intent, exacting, momentary love, of an almost awful intensity and intimacy.  It is the same with all of us, if we can only see it.  Our faults, our weaknesses, our qualities good or bad, are all bestowed with an anxious and deliberate care.  The reason why some of us make shipwreck—­and even that is mercifully and lovingly dispensed to us—­is because we will not throw ourselves on the side of God at every moment.  Every time that the voice says ‘Do this,’ or ‘Leave that undone,’ and we reply fretfully,