“It is not wholly, as yet, extinct, but lingers in the communal kitchens and canteens, as introduced by the Young Men’s Christian Association in the days of the Great Skirmish. While there is appetite there is hope, nor is it wholly discouraging that taste should now centre in the stomach; for is not that the real centre of man’s activity? Who dare affirm that from so universal a foundation the fair structure of æstheticism shall not be rebuilt? The eye, accustomed to the look of dainty dishes and pleasant cookery, may once more demand the architecture of Wren, the sculpture of Rodin, the paintings of--dear me--whom? Why, sir, even before the days of the Great Skirmish, when you were last on earth, we had already begun to put the future of æstheticism on a more real basis, and were converting the concert-halls of London into hotels. Few at the time saw the far-reaching significance of that movement, or realised that æstheticism was to be levelled down to the stomach, in order that it might be levelled up again to the head, on true democratic principles.” “But what,” said the Angel, with one of his preternatural flashes of acumen, “what if, on the other hand, taste should continue to sink and lose even its present hold on the stomach? If all else has gone, why should not the beauty of the kitchen go?” “That indeed,” sighed his dragoman, placing his hand on his heart, “is a thought which often gives me a sinking sensation. Two liqueur brandies,” he murmured to the waiter. “But the stout heart refuses to despair. Besides, advertisements show decided traces of æsthetic advance. All the great painters, poets, and fiction writers are working on them; the movement had its origin in the propaganda demanded by the Great Skirmish. You will not recollect the war poetry of that period, the patriotic films, the death cartoons, and other remarkable achievements. We have just as great talents now, though their object has not perhaps the religious singleness of those stirring times. Not a food, corset, or collar which has not its artist working for it! Toothbrushes, nut-crackers, babies’ baths--the whole caboodle of manufacture--are now set to music. Such themes are considered subliminal if not sublime. No, sir, I will not despair; it is only at moments when I have dined poorly that the horizon seems dark. Listen--they have turned on the ‘Kalophone,’ for you must know that all music now is beautifully made by machine--so much easier for every one.” The Angel raised his head, and into his eyes came the glow associated with celestial strains. “The tune,” he said, “is familiar to me.”