“I really don’t know how it began,” said the Sphinx, “but the King, when a young man, had so many sentiments of different kinds, and he mingled them up so much, that no one could ever tell exactly what he thought on any particular subject.  Of course, his people gradually got into the same frame of mind, and you never can know in this kingdom exactly what people think or what they are going to do.  You will find all sorts of people here:  giants, dwarfs, fairies, gnomes, and personages of that kind, who have been drawn here by the mingled sentiments of the people.  I, myself, came into these parts because the people every now and then take a great fancy to puzzles and riddles.”

On entering the city, the King was cordially welcomed by his brother sovereign, to whom he told his story; and he was lodged in a room in the palace.  Such of his followers as came within the limits of the city were entertained by the persons near to whose houses they found themselves when the line halted.

Every day the Sphinx went with him to see the sights of this strange city.  They took long walks through the streets, and sometimes into the surrounding country—­always going one way and returning another, the Sphinx being very careful never to bring the King back by the same road or street by which they went.  In this way the King’s line of followers, which, of course, lengthened out every time he took a walk, came to be arranged in long loops through many parts of the city and suburbs.

Many of the things the King saw showed plainly the mingled sentiments of the people.  For instance, he would one day visit a great smith’s shop, where heavy masses of iron were being forged, the whole place resounding with tremendous blows from heavy hammers, and the clank and din of iron on the anvils; while the next day he would find the place transformed into a studio, where the former blacksmith was painting dainty little pictures on the delicate surface of egg-shells.  The king of the country, in his treatment of his visitor, showed his peculiar nature very plainly.  Sometimes he would receive him with enthusiastic delight, while at others he would upbraid him with having left his dominions to go wandering around the earth in this senseless way.  One day his host invited him to attend a royal dinner, but, when he went to the grand dining-hall, pleased with anticipations of a splendid feast, he found that the sentiments of his majesty had become mingled, and that he had determined, instead of having a dinner, to conduct the funeral services of one of his servants who had died the day before.  All the guests were obliged by politeness to remain during the ceremonies, which our King, not having been acquainted with the deceased servant, had not found at all interesting.

“Now,” said the King to the Sphinx, “I am in favor of moving on.  I am tired of this place, where every sentiment is so mingled with others that you can never tell what anybody really thinks or feels.  I don’t believe any one in this country was ever truly glad or sorry.  They mix one sentiment so quickly with another that they never can discover the actual ingredients of any of their impulses.”