The Sphinx lies watching the generations whirled past her into existence. She listens to the cries, the turmoil, the bitter plaints of those within the walls who believed that they had solved her problem a century ago, and as she listens she smiles her cold, incredulous smile. Not yet have they divined her secret, if one may judge from their loud protests, and this new generation pouring in among them has but small patience with their failure. The newcomers are quite sure that they at last have answered the immortal conundrum correctly. They have found it quite easy, and they mean to show their silly predecessors how simple it is to find happiness if one has only the correct formula. All the preceding guesses have been wrong?--well, but it is just because they were wrong that the application failed. Here is the right one at last, triumphantly evolved by the new heir of all the ages, and it will be soon seen how criminally, how almost incredibly mistaken the previous generations have been in their foolish attempts to live by such palpably absurd theories of existence. Make way!--you silly old folk--make way for the young lords of life who come bearing truth and wisdom to the world! Who come to inaugurate a reign of peace and plenty and delight! The old generation, nearing the City's lower gate,--beyond which lies another road, equally broad and well-travelled, but gloomier and more airless than the one by which they came,--shake their heads doubtingly at these assertions. They were quite as confident in their time, and yet, somehow, things did not work out as they expected. No doubt their own guess was quite right; they are almost sure of it; but many unforeseen exigencies interfered. People were obstinate. The formula was perfect, but people were so very wrong-headed that it never had a proper opportunity of proving how infallible it really was. And so difficulties in the application arose, and--But the young newcomers push them, still babbling and explaining, out of the further gate, and set at once about regenerating the unfortunate city which has been forced to wait such a weary while for this the perfect solution of all problems. And the old Questioner lying without the gates stares with her long, calm eyes into the white mist from which yet more generations are to come, and she smiles her fixed and scornful smile. It was after this fashion our century, nineteenth of the era, came in--flushed, happy, confident. It came an army with banners, every standard blazoned in letters of gold with its magic device--"Liberty, Equality, Fraternity."