There are subjects which even thought floats round and round, as a bird above her nestlings or incense over the flame which gave it birth--subjects which the brain-mind hesitates to touch directly, so reverential is the appeal they make to the inner and the best in heart-life. Words seem out of place. Even reason before them pauses, makes obeisance, and dowered with glamor, passes on, as one might pass who stands for a moment in the presence of a new light. There are events, though they are few, that so enshrine within themselves the deeper sacredness of soul-life that words seem poor and mean as carriers of their _largess_. The heart feels intuitively that silence, "the great Empire of Silence," alone could hope to attune human lives to the voice of them. Deep answereth unto deep, but sometimes not by the Marconi messages of the soul. There are times when from deep to deep the mystic, intangible bridge that is to be builded must use living words for its piers and masonry. But they must be _living_ words, golden-tongued words, words glowing with the lambent touch of flame rekindling flame. They must be vital, electric, surcharged with the mighty currents of compassion and that love that layeth down its life for a friend; heart-messengers of Wisdom herself they must be, and even then can build no bridge royal enough for Wisdom's whole mighty _entourage_ to pass over when the Event is such as recent days have brought forth in the world of womanhood--the _world of womanhood_, bear in mind, which is a larger, more soulful realm than the _world of women_, merely. Yet words are the only masonry-stuff at hand, and so build we must with them. Hearts that respond to the finer harmonies of life and nature, and minds that have touched understandingly to a degree the great problem of woman's work and woman's true place in life, will quicken and respond. At Isis Theater, San Diego, on the evening of Monday, February 19, and again on February 27, _Anno Fraternitatis Universalis XIV_, Katherine Tingley looked into the eager, upturned faces of more than a thousand women, respectful, waiting, aspiring, dead-in-earnest women. Both meetings had been called for women only. As I glanced over pit and gallery while the strains of music announced that the meeting was about to begin, the words which Mr. Judge once used in reference to right action and the altruistic life, seemed to sing out in tones of unmistakable triumph from the very bosom of the air: "It is better than philosophy, _for it enables us to know philosophy_."