space. And when I looked close in my heart, I saw
cunning little men on it, nations and things running around on it. And
when I looked still nearer, looked at the lighted side of it, I saw that
each little man was not what I thought--a dot or fleck on the universe.
And I saw that he was a reflection, a serious, wondrous miniature of all
the rest. It all seemed strange to me at first--to a man who lives, as I
do, in a rather weary, laborious, painstaking age--that this should be
so. As I looked at the little man I wondered if it really could be so.
Then, as I looked, the great light flowed all around the little man, and
the little man reflected the great light.

But he did not seem to know it.

I felt like calling out to him--to one of them--telling him out loud to
himself, wrapped away as he was, in his haste and dumbness, not knowing,
and in the funny little noise of cities in the great still light. And so
while the godlikeness and the might of sleep was upon me, I watched him,
longed for him, wanted him for myself. I thought of my great cold,
stretched-out wisdom. How empty and bare it was, this staring at stars
one by one, this taking notes on creation, this slow painful tour of
space, when after all right down there in this little man, I said "Is
not all I can know, or hope to know stowed away and written up?" And
when I thought of this--the blur of sleep still upon me--I could hardly
help reaching down for him, half-patronising him, half-worshipping him,
taking him up to myself, where I could keep him by me, keep him to
consult, watch for the sun, face for the infinite.--"Dear little
fellow!" I said, "my own queer little fellow! my own little Kosmos,
pocket-size!"

I thought how convenient it would be if I could take one in my hand, do
my seeing through it, focus my universe with it. And when the strange
mood left me and I came to, I remembered or thought I remembered that I
was one of Those myself. "Why not be your own little Kosmos-glass?" I
said.

I have been trying it now for some time. It is hard to regulate the
focus of course, and it is not always what it ought to be. It has to be
allowed for some. I do not claim much for it. But it's better, such as
it is, than a sheer bit of Nothing, I think, to look at a universe with.

II

The Human Unit

It matters little that the worlds that are made in this way are very
different in detail or emphasis, that some of them are much smaller and
more twisted tha