She is usually a great conscious sufferer, sometimes both mentally and physically; for, while she possesses the physical equipment for marriage in a highly tonic condition, with all the potential virtues of the mother, this equipment and these virtues never have the opportunity of deploying their power. She may, at the cost of great pains, develop other virtues and other adaptations; but the fact to be remembered about her is, that the functions for which she is best fitted and the virtues which are most essentially hers, cannot be used in her life. Whatever else she may become—_that_ is always her second calling. Her true vocation will have been missed. What perfection soever she may attain in her second calling, will always be inferior to that which she would certainly have shown in the calling for which she was primarily and chiefly endowed. In addition, however, to the extra fatigue, worry, pains and distaste always connected with pursuing a vocation not primarily one’s own, she herself will always feel and reveal the disillusionment and bitter regret of one who is conscious of having been designed for something different. The mood of the artist whom circumstances have compelled to adopt accountancy for a livelihood, will be her constant mood. In addition to being a person pursuing a wrong vocation, in this sense, however, she will feel something more than the artist who is doomed to accountancy. She will feel “out of it,” as the popular expression has it—outside that which is most thrilling, most enthralling, and most universally interesting, outside the main _Stream of Life_ itself. All of us, as we look around and behold our big cities, our municipal authorities and their offices, our streets, our traffic on those streets, our railways, our Parliament, our system of Judicature, our industries, our commerce, and finally the land beyond with all its agricultural and mining activities; all of us who can with one sweeping glance comprehend the immensely vast and intricate activities which go to make a modern nation, have sometimes a lucid moment when we can abstract from the wild and confusing tangle of our environment the idea of the _purpose_ for which it is all there, the idea of the _force_ for which it is organized—in short the underlying _fact_ which gives the city, the country beyond, and all the activities we see, a sense, a genuine meaning. This purpose, this force, this fact, is the _Stream of Life_ that runs through our organized State, and to which all these activities, all these complex conditions, do but minister. The factory is thus beheld, not as an end in itself, but like art, like railways, like the bus service and the Government, it is only an instrument serving the most important thing of all, the Stream of Life, Human Life.