Nothing in this world of unity can be rightly judged if conceived of as an isolated something, just a fragment. "A primrose by the river's brim" is far other than "a yellow primrose ... and nothing more" to the rational, open mind. It is a part of all the rich nature-environment which, when we think of it _in_ parts, as some mosaicist might think of his design, we call river and bank and forest-wildness and sedge and shimmer and sky. The distant mountain is no mountain, merely, but part of a noble panorama, its base melting into gentler slope and foreground at just what point no living soul can say, its heights suffused in sunshine, its edges softened and purpled and cooled and warmed in the shimmering atmosphere, its stature rising grandly undefined against the misty, illimitable Beyond of azure or gold or gray. No more can the artist in color say "Here, definitely _here_, the foreground or distance end and the mountain begins," than the artist in life can say, "Here we will mark off and limit _truthfulness_, and next to it, _virtue_, and beyond the next hard dividing-line, _compassion_, and a goodly collection of such separate items we will call _character_." Ah no, life is no rag-bag of scraps and shreds and patches, nor is nature. It is one grand whole and no part can be understood, or even seen _as it is_, unless looked at and studied in its relation to all the other parts which with it constitute the whole. So also with historic truth. The mountain-peaks of history, rising as they do above the plain and level of general human action, never rise separate to the philosopher's vision from all that lies behind them, nor are they ever wholly unsuffused by the glow or the dimness that speaks to the prescient mind of glories or of disillusionments ahead. There could be no question, in the minds of those whose duties led them both before and behind the scenes of action at the two meetings referred to, that the twentieth century call for women had come. Katherine Tingley, in inaugurating this work, issued a challenge to all the nobler possibilities of womanhood. Those who could look beyond the present into the dim aerial distance and adown the vistas of the past, knew the Event for what it was and made no mistake in prophesying wonderful things for the future from the glow of promise which fell upon it. It was part of the past, yes, but a nobler than the common part; one felt that it had somehow swung out from old limitations, as some great glorious member of a star group might be conceived of as swinging out into space, into a greater orbit and an orbit of its own. It was as a new note sounded in the long, ascending gamut of woman's evolution, a gamut in which there are, here and there, glorious notes, royal notes, with echoing overtones of soulfulness and strength, but which has, alas! its burden of discord to carry, as well.