ALICE. They don't ever really go. For what would become of us without them? But it rounds off the play. They just go back as flowers die to come again forever. For the seed of the gods is sown in the hearts of men. The seeds of Love and of the Magic of High Adventure and of Laughter and of Foolishness, too. Well, when they reach the Styx there still sits that philosopher, who wasn't a philosopher at all because he sought no wisdom but his own. Because of that, you see, he has found none. There he sits, deaf and blind, while Olympus flashes and thunders behind him. There he sits, chattering that there are no gods. * * * * * The curtains are drawn back on the last scene. The Styx again, flowing black beneath its black mountains. There sits the Philosopher, patiently. He is dressed now as a Member of Parliament, or worse. He has a fountain pen and a notebook. And the gods arrive. Mercury, Charon, Momus, and Psyche. PHILOSOPHER. Who are you? MERCURY. We are the gods returning. PHILOSOPHER. [Very definitely indeed.] There are no gods. Though from time to time it has been necessary to invent them. PANTALOON. Why, it's my friend, the philosopher! PHILOSOPHER. Pardon me. Nothing so unpractical. I am a Political Economist. I write Blue Books. I make laws. MERCURY. Can you row us over? PHILOSOPHER. What a question! I have established several rowing academies. I know how rowing is done. But, as a matter of fact, I cannot row. Still it's of little consequence, for the boat was given to a museum some time ago. Besides, the latest theories tell us that there is no other side. CLOWN. Ain't there? Well, I'm going to swim and see. PHILOSOPHER. Pardon me, bathing is not allowed in the Styx. CLOWN. Ain't it? [Off tumbles Momus, and you hear him splash in the river. The Political Economist has risen indignantly. Under the bench, dusty and neglected, Psyche spies something. She runs to see. With a little cry she picks them up, and shakes and smooths them. They are the Talaria. (Do you know what Talaria are? Look up Mercurius in Lempriere's Classical Dictionary.) MERCURY. Wings! My wings! PHILOSOPHER. Yes, they are wings. Left here by two children, and I hadn't the heart to destroy them. But I hid them away; they are dangerous. The very sight of wings makes men and women feel above themselves. MERCURY. Bind them on. [And Psyche kneels to bind them on his feet. Sir, I return you your rags and your mask. They are at least more picturesque than your present attire. Listen, the great gods are waking! Monday morning in Olympus. Charon, stay with this fellow. He means well by the world; but teach him to rebuild the boat. For when his work is done he'll be glad to escape and to rest as you row him across the river. Psyche, we're late. Let us fly. [For the last time the blue curtains close. UNCLE EDWARD. Now, your last bit ... the bit the journalist wrote in your album.