"It is curious," said MR. PUNCH, when they were outside again, "that I have not as yet seen a single policeman." "Not at all curious. We _have_ none. Crime simply proceeded from the galling sense of social inequality. Consequently, as soon as that was removed, Justice, with all its machinery, became an anachronism." "I think," said MR. PUNCH, presently, "I should like to take a stroll in Hyde Park." "That," said his guide, "has not been possible for at least fifty years. All the parks are now cut up into three-acre allotments, where every able-bodied citizen does an hour's compulsory spade-work once a fortnight. A most admirable reform, as you will agree!" "Capital!" gasped MR. PUNCH, with an anticipatory pain in his back. "Then I am curious to see what strides have been made by your modern painters. Could you take me to a picture-gallery?" "There are _no_ modern painters. It is perhaps a pity--but quite unavoidable. It was an obvious injustice that, when all citizens had to perform their share of more or less distasteful manual labour, there should be any one class that earned a living by work in which they took a positive pleasure. So that every artist had to do his six hours' stone-breaking or brick-making; or what not, as an antecedent condition of being permitted to paint at all, and naturally the State declined to provide him with paints and brushes at the expense of the community. A few artists persisted for a while, from sheer love of the thing; but as no picture fetched more than a pound of sausages, and the average price was a bowl of porridge, they found it expedient to turn to some more useful occupation. And it is undeniable that they contribute more to the resources of the commonwealth by wielding a trowel or a broom than by messing about with brushes and paint. As a concession to hereditary instinct, however, their descendants are still set apart as State white-washers." "And the drama?" MR. PUNCH inquired next. "How is _that_ getting on? Has the New Dramatist made his appearance at last?" "On the contrary, I am glad to say he has disappeared--let us hope for ever. For, the essence of Drama, as I understand, was Emotion--Passion, Jealousy, Marital and Parental relations, and so on. Now that marriages are the subject of State regulation, and extend only for a limited period, Passion, of course is obsolete; Jealousy, too, is recognised as merely Selfishness in disguise, and we have grown too altruistic to desire the exclusive possession of anything. While as the offspring of every union are removed at birth to a communal _crèche_, and brought up and educated by the State, there are no longer any opportunities for filial or parental affection." "Then I presume Fiction is equally----?" "Just so. Fiction depended on Contrast. When everybody is on precisely the same level, the novelist is, happily, unnecessary. What are you looking for _now_?"