Of all of which, what is the moral?--Humph! Frankly, I do not know what
is the moral. Only this I see: that each little heart creates its own
little universe: the bee's, the that of its hive and the fields; man's,
that of his earth and the stars. What may be above or beyond the stars,
man no more knows than the bee knows what is beyond the fields. The
heart--be it man's or a bee's--is the centre of its self-made sphere.
Some day, perhaps, man's sphere will extend as far beyond the stars as
today it extends beyond the fields. Then--who knows?--perhaps
unlimited senses and an uncircumcised intellect may find themselves
commensurate with this high-aspiring heart, and an emancipated and
ecstatic Jack unite with a congenial Jill.

That there is a Universe, is apparent; that it is one and complete, we
suppose; that there are in it Jacks and Jills, is indubitable; that these
Jacks and Jills crave mutual support, sympathy, love, friendship,
wifehood, sistership, companionship, brotherhood, is also indubitable.
If therefore the whole scheme of the Universe is not a farce, what does
this craving of Love for Lover mean? And yet,

It is quite impossible to conceive of a Universe of Love, in which all
the claims of Heart and Soul and Senses shall be eternally and infinitely
satisfied? Nevertheless, on this little earth, perhaps

Ill betides the heart that leans overmuch on another. For, alas!
Not even the entire immolation of one heart for another will satisfy that
other.--Indeed, indeed,

In this life, would one seek comfort and solace, one must seek it--in
one's own self, or in one's God. For