But No One Came. Because

The First Cause Worked Automatically Like A Somnambulist, And Not Reflectively Like A Sage.

In The Ill-judged Execution Of The Well-judged Plan Of Things The Call Seldom Produces The Comer, The Man To Love Rarely Coincides With The Hour For Loving. Nature Does Not Often Say 'see!' To Her Poor Creature At A Time When Seeing Can Lead To Happy Doing; Or Reply 'here!' To A Body's Cry Of 'where?' Till The Hide-and-seek Has Become An Irksome Outworn Game.

There Is Always An Inertia To Be Overcome In Striking Out A New Line Of Conduct – Not More In Ourselves, It Seems, Than In Circumscribing Events, Which Appear As If Leagued Together To Allow No Novelties In The Way Of Amelioration.

Somebody Might Have Come Along That Way Who Would Have Asked Him His Trouble, And Might Have Cheered Him By Saying That His Notions Were Further Advanced Than Those Of His Grammarian. But Nobody Did Come, Because Nobody Does; And Under The Crushing Recognition Of His Gigantic Error Jude Continued To Wish Himself Out Of The World.

Love Is A Possible Strength In An Actual Weakness.