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love mingled with its pain. Each face shows resignation mingled with its grief. It is the old story of human love and human limitations. It is also a story of deeper import --- the story of the soul.

Every lip is closed. Each man and woman is silent. And yet each understands the other. Soul is communing with soul, in the Silence. And in the Silence alone can soul converse with soul. Words cheapen the communication of soul to soul. With those who understand us well, we can best commune in Silence. Hand in hand --- cheek to cheek --- sit those who love well. The tale of love is told and re-told without a word. Words serve their purpose in conveying the commonplaces of life, but seem strangely inadequate to express the deeper utterances of the soul. The tale of love --- the story of sorrow --- needs no words. The soul understands the message of the soul --- mind flashes the message to mind --- and all is known. The fondest memory of the one whom you loved and lost, is not of moments in which he spoke even the most endearing words. The memory most sacred to you is that of some great Silence lived out with the loved one --- some moment in which each soul drew aside its veil and gazed with awe into the depths of the other soul. Silence is the sanctuary of the soul. Enter it only with due reverence. Uncover the head --- tread softly.

Each figure stands alone, and yet in touch with all the rest. Each is apparently separate and yet each is but a part of the whole. Each feels the frightful solitude which comes to the soul when first it recognizes what it is. And yet, in that dreadful moment each knows itself to be in touch with all of life. Each feels that intense longing for a closer soul union --- a reunion of the separated parts of the whole. And yet each realizes the impossibility of the consummation of that desire at this time --- and they show their grief --- they place the head upon the shoulder of the other --- they clasp the hand of the other --- they touch the flesh of the other --- all as a symbol of the desire for the union of the soul.

This group is a symbol of the oneness of life and its apparent separateness. A picture of the in-touchness of each part of the whole, with every other part. A story of the pain of the soul in its awful solitude --- of its impotent striving for at-one-ment. A representation of the communion of soul with soul, in the Silence. A tale of the comfort and joy in the presence of another human form. A message of The Brotherhood of Man. All this --- and more --- is in this group.

I wonder if the sculptor saw it all, or whether he chiseled better than he knew. Sometimes the Divine in man causes him to write better --- paint better --- cut better --- than he realizes. Others see much more in his essays, stories, poems, paintings, statuary, than the maker knew was there. And the man himself, after years have past again views his work, and wonders at the new