Curiously enough, my dear fellow, the very next day after dispatching my last, I found my self involved in a long and most interesting conversation with the daughter of one of the city residents. I had brought letters of introduction to a certain gentleman, and after a search of some hours through the eternal labyrinth of these unending streets, found the house to which I had been directed. The gentleman, or rather citizen, as all men are called here, was not at home. I was, however, received by his daughter, a plain but seemingly agreeable, intelligent young woman. The women dress so exactly like the men in this country that it is somewhat difficult to tell the sexes apart. Women, however, usually betray themselves as soon as they speak, by their voices. This young lady had an unusually pleasant voice and manner, and we were soon deep in the agreeable intricacies of a lengthy conversation. I had any number of questions to ask, and she appeared to be most willing to answer them. My first question, I remember, was an eminently practical one. It was on the subject of chimneys and cooking. I had noticed almost immediately on my arrival that, throughout the entire city, not a chimney was to be seen. It was this fact more than any other that gave the city the appearance of a plain, and made the houses seem curiously deformed. It naturally followed that, there being no chimneys, there was also no smoke, which therefore made this already sufficiently clear atmosphere as pure as the air on a mountain-top. All very beautiful, I said to myself, but how do the people get along without cooking? I, in my quality of stranger and foreigner, had made the interesting discovery that my own meals were prepared to my taste by specially appointed State cooks--a law only recently passed to facilitate international relations. The latter, it appears, had become somewhat strained, when travelers had found themselves forced to abide by the rules and regulations governing the socialists’ diet. But what was this diet? This was the mystery which had been puzzling me ever since my arrival. When therefore I found myself face to face with my young lady, I promptly implored her to solve my dilemma. “Oh,” she replied, “cooking has gone out long ago. To do any cooking is considered dreadfully old-fashioned.” “Has eating also gone out of fashion in this wonderful country?” I asked in amazement. She laughed as she replied, “Eating hasn’t, but we do it in a more refined way. Instead of kitchens we now have conduits, culinary conduits.” “Culinary conduits?” I asked, still in a daze of wonderment.